Last night, his tee had hit her mid-thigh. The white tails of his dress shirt skimmed the tops of her knees. She finished buttoning it and rolled up the cuffs, then retrieved her phone.
As much as she wanted to call Mira, she still couldn't. There was no way she'd risk putting the woman in the middle of the situation with Riyad and that missing SDV. Not after the rocky start—and near career-ending insinuations—that had caused Mira to switch her focus from a budding Navy career years earlier to join NCIS instead.
She could, however, enlist the aid of another good friend, this one Army CID.
Regan pulled up Agent Jelling's text stream on her phone and typed in her request—as well as a warning to pursue it carefully. Fortunately, Hohenfels was four hours behind Islamabad. Jelly was just sitting down to dinner, but if it worked for her, he'd be happy to head back to the office in a few hours and do his digital snooping while no one was around to glance over his shoulder.
Regan texted her sincere thanks and backed out of her text app.
She was about to hit Nathan Castile's number when several knocks reverberated from the opposite side of the hotel room's door.
Neither she nor John had ordered dinner, so who—
More knocks. These were louder, heavier. Seriously pissed.
And then, "Open the fucking door!"
Riyad.
How the devil had he found them?
Why?
21
The shower was still on. The cover noise from the running water had prevented John from hearing the knocking.
Thank God. Relief swept in as Regan quickly crossed the plush carpet of the hotel suite. Given the mood of the man behind that current round of pounding, John's absence was a definite plus. She thought about retrieving her 9mm as she passed the desk, but decided against its attendance as well. If her growing suspicions about the spook were correct, the SIG's open participation would only enflame the situation.
Unfortunately, the fourth round of pounding grew heavier still as she reached the door. Louder. Along with the outrage in Riyad's voice.
"Damn it, man. I said open—"
"Good evening, Sam." She scanned the hallway behind the spook. "What brings you to the Serena tonight—alone?"
Where the hell was Agent Castile? Because Nathan hadn't accompanied him.
Fortunately, there was no one else out there either.
Despite that racket in the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Goethe's cover identities just might remain intact. And, if she could get the spook inside and calmed down before John finished showering, she just might be able to get a handle on the rest of their case.
That noise from the shower would help.
She motioned the spook inside, swiftly closing the door behind him.
"Where the hell does Garrison get off—"
"Lower your voice."
That scowl she'd become so familiar with finally shifted—to a sneer. "Why? Afraid lover boy will think—"
"—think what, asshole?" John.
Score one for cover noise, zero for her. The shower was still running, but of course, John was no longer inside it. Before she could blink, he'd crossed the remainder of the suite and swiftly inserted his body between hers and the spook's.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
John was buck naked. And every single inch of that scarred mountain of muscle was dripping with water and barely suppressed, ice-cold rage.
Could this get any worse?
Unfortunately, the spook's deepening sneer suggested yes. It swept down the dress shirt she'd put on, then slid over to the rumpled sheets of the bed across the suite, before returning to John. "Quite the cozy bolthole you two managed to scrounge up on Uncle Sam's dime—" The sneer snapped to her left hand, to the cover-story rings she'd donned and long since forgotten about. "—or should I say diamond?"
"You got a point to make, Riyad?"
"Yeah, you're on the job."
"Wrong. I was on the job—two hours ago. Unless the shit hits the fan between now and then, I will be again in another eight. Until then, this happens to be my downtime and hers. What she and I do during our mutual downtime is none of your goddamned business. Nor is how I spent my dimes—not the government's. So you can scurry back to the embassy compound and hole up there tonight, because I have no intention of paying for your bed."
"Damn it, Garrison—"
"Goethe. At the moment, the name is Karl Goethe." He snapped his chin toward her as she stepped up beside him, hoping to calm the rumbling storm before it broke free. Though that wasn't looking likely. "This is Rachel Goethe. It's called a cover. Sometimes—while on the job—it's necessary. And when it is, we do our best to maintain it. Now, I know you've still got memories of live, tasty fish treats and all those bouncing beachballs you've had to balance on your nose filling up that slippery head of yours, but try and gather up enough human brain cells to remember that, okay?"
The scowl had returned, only this time it was leveled on John. "You know."
"Buddy, I knew within two minutes of meeting you. What I didn't know was why you were so damned determined to hide it."
"Because you weren't cleared to know. And after that stunt you pulled today—"
"Stunt?" Crap. She should've kept her mouth shut.
At least until John had donned something.
Instead, he turned to her in all his still dripping glory, dragging out this entire ludicrous scenario as he casually crossed those obscenely hefty arms and shrugged. "He's still pissed because I lost his incompetent tail ten seconds into Abbottabad."
"That wasn't me."
John turned back to the spook. "Obviously—unless you managed to shrink a good four inches and bleach your hair down to dirty blond. Which brings me to my question of the night. How did you know I was here?"
"Kettering. He called Palisade. Then called me back."
"Well, well. You really are on first names with the Big Bubble. Congratulations. That'll do wonders for your new career. 'Course the way I also hear it, you've got your nose stuck so far up that man's ass, you've got permanent ring around the collar."
The
