As he handed one to each of them, Eva and Mike both glanced up and locked gazes. The heat that flashed in Mike’s eyes told Eva he was thinking exactly what she was: They were going to be spending several days and nights in close quarters as a married couple.
She knew all about close quarters with Mike Brown. Close quarters in the dark, naked and begging him to come inside her.
Gabe cleared his throat, and she snapped her gaze to his like a kid caught cheating on a spelling test. He didn’t mention the very obvious exchange between her and Mike but he couldn’t have missed the sexual tension. The small office felt like it had heated by fifty degrees.
“Might as well start getting used to wearing them.” She’d slipped hers on, not surprised they knew her ring size, when a phone rang from inside the apartment.
“That would be the bat phone.” Gabe pushed away from the table and stood. “HQ,” he clarified. “Be right back. In the meantime, everything we’ve got on the UWD compound grounds and surrounding area is in there.” He handed them each another envelope. “Have fun.”
Eva was glad for the diversion. Apparently Mike was, too. He dug into the packet like it was the Holy Grail.
As she sifted through photographs, aerial maps, and detailed diagrams of the topography, waterways, and roads, she couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at his long, strong hand and the plain gold band circling his ring finger.
When Gabe joined them outside again a few minutes later, the look on his face had the hair on Eva’s nape standing on end. “What? What’s happened?”
“I asked Joe to go check out your apartment this morning to see if there were any signs anyone had been there. The fire department had already arrived in force when he got there.”
“Oh, God.” The blood drained from her head and a rush of dizziness filled the vacuum.
“I’m sorry, Eva. Your apartment and the two adjacent ones were destroyed in a fire that broke out right before dawn.”
She felt Mike’s hand on her shoulder.
“Was anyone hurt?” Please, God. Don’t let sweet Mrs. Bolger be hurt… or worse, dead. If anyone was harmed because someone was after her—
“No,” Gabe broke in before she could finish the horrible thought. “Everyone got out okay.” He gave her a kind smile. “Even your neighbor’s cat. I’m sorry. Of course it was deliberate, but the arson report will no doubt come back that it was faulty wiring, a gas leak… whatever. These guys after you are pros. They’ll make certain there won’t be an investigation.”
She breathed deep, working to regain her composure. She willed herself not to think about everything she’d lost. The artwork, her favorite chair—those were just things. She could replace them. But the photographs of family, friends. Ramon. Those were gone forever.
The sense of loss and violation she felt could be crippling if she let it. She was determined not to.
“The police are going to be looking for Eva.” Mike glanced up at Gabe, his brows drawn. “When she doesn’t show up, they’ll start a search for anyone not accounted for in the fire.”
“It’s okay.” She breathed deep, marshalling her composure. “My parents and my boss all think I’m on vacation in Italy. But they’ll try to reach me to tell me about the fire. If they can’t get in touch, they’ll panic. I need to tell them.”
Mike looked at Gabe. “Can we make that happen?”
Gabe looked grim. “I think we have to.”
22
He stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows of bulletproof glass, in a lushly appointed apartment overlooking the sprawling, bustling city. And felt like a fucking prisoner. While five thousand square feet of luxury did not equate to a prison, the fact that he was basically captive here did. He was a captive of circumstance until this Eva Salinas/Mike Brown mess was sorted out and it was safe to resume normal operations. Anyone who might be suspicious of his absence assumed he was on a much overdue vacation in the French countryside.
Twenty stories below, sun baked a pavement lined with compact cars maneuvering the Quebec rush hour like a string of worker ants, all hot-wired to serve their queen. The queen in his world was the mighty dollar. Always had been. Always would be. He was only paid, however, if he kept his suppliers happy. And he could only keep them happy if he didn’t blow his carefully nurtured cover. That cover was his first line of defense.
Because of Eva Salinas, that line was threatening to crumble. Because of Eva Salinas, he was hiding like a common criminal. The rage that indignity dealt him was eclipsed only by his determination to repair the damage before it got out of control.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he brooded about his dilemma. She had to die, of course. Both her and Brown. If Jane had fulfilled her obligation, all of this would be behind him. But she hadn’t, and they’d both paid the price. He’d been relieved when his man had delivered her, weak and in pain, but stoically bearing up, a few hours ago. She rested comfortably now. A doctor had seen her. And he had insisted she take the pain medication, unable to bear seeing her in such agony.
He was not accustomed to feeling tenderness for a woman—for another human being, for that matter. That Jane provoked not only tenderness but an unfamiliar fear of loss was not something he chose to analyze. She mattered in a way that his well-bred wife and pampered children had never mattered.
On an equally disturbing front, neither Brown nor Eva had turned up yet. Which royally pissed him off.
Jaw clenched, he walked to the bar and poured two fingers of whiskey from a $2,500 bottle of Bruichladdich Forty. He savored the first sip, then walked across the Italian marble floor and sank down onto one of a trio of white leather sofas flanking a spectacular saltwater reef aquarium that spanned the width of the room.
A spotted ray—his favorite, next to the stingray from which he’d taken his code name—floated across the panorama, blissfully unmindful of a reef shark skimming along the white sand below him. Flashes of purple, red, and yellow darted by, all fish of various sizes and shapes. The variety of colorful sea life, live rock, and luminous, undulating corals was designed to soothe and mesmerize, but the brilliant spectacle barely registered. He was looking inward. And all he saw was red.
He’d made a huge mistake. He’d attempted to handle Eva’s inquisitiveness by monitoring her activities, waiting for her to back off on her impromptu investigation. He still didn’t know what had set her off in that direction. He just knew it couldn’t be good. And that he’d let sentiment blind him to grim necessity. He’d also underestimated her determination. He would never make either mistake again.
Where the hell had she gone? Where was Brown?
Deductive reasoning pointed to one or both of them returning to the States. Probably D.C. It only made sense. And it only made sense that they were working together—whether as adversaries or allies, time would tell. Either way, they were more dangerous together. Like dynamite was dangerous.
He had to get to them, silence them, before they found out the truth. If that happened, his current problems would look about as lethal as an overdue book fine.
All of his resources were focused on finding them. While he had hoped the team he’d sent to toss her apartment would lead him to her or Brown, or at the very least turn up some clue to what had triggered her investigation into OSD and Afghanistan, they’d found nothing.
Her apartment had been clean, but in case she’d hidden something damaging there, he’d made certain it was destroyed. Because his team was competent, any possibility of determining the fire was due to arson was a solid 95 percent in his favor. An empty apartment, with a coffeepot negligently left turned on or a faulty TV or other small appliance, would be the first place an investigator would look for cause. And the only place when they had evidence that an electrical fire had, indeed, been the culprit.
Regardless, they were still at square one. The only positive note was that if Salinas and Brown had what they needed to expose him, it would have hit the papers by now. He’d have been notified that charges had been
