Compromised (13 page)

Now she had to get there and set everything up in less than an hour.

W
ell, it's not looking good for your bird,” Garrett said over his earpiece. He and Simon had come to a kind of peace treaty, where they would split covering the minister and Sadie between them. Simon wondered how long Garrett would agree to that, how long it would be before she got herself into some kind of trouble that needed their intervention.

He'd been watching Stamov and planning the best way to exfiltrate him. “What's not looking good? I thought you were having brunch?” Simon smiled to himself. Of all the people he'd ever met, Garrett was the least likely to even know what brunch was, let alone go get some.

“Very funny, G.I. Joe. I'm talking about your girl. Unless she's given her purse to someone, which I understand women rarely do, she is in the port of Piraeus, making her way through containers and shipments and a lot of dockworkers who are swinging around to get a better look at her.”

What the fuck? He tried to think of a reason she'd be there. Truth was, no matter how he felt about her emotionally, he didn't know anything about her life here now. Seriously nothing. Maybe she had a book club at the docks. Or maybe there was a consignment sale. He shook his head as the thoughts occurred to him. He really needed to get to know her better if he had any chance with her again. “Give me a minute, dude.”

“Sure, sure,” Garrett said.

Simon did a Google Maps search for Devries Construction. The map showed an office in the city and one at the docks. As he zoomed in, he could see it was a warehouse. Okay. So she was there for work.

“Garrett. Her company has a warehouse at the port. It's okay. She must be there for some work thing.”

There was silence. “Garrett?” He heard two taps on the earpiece, meaning he couldn't talk.

His mind set at rest, Simon went back to his plan. Whoever was going to take the Russian finance minister and blame it on the US, well—he wasn't going to let them get away with it. There were sixteen days until the president landed, so he suspected something would go down either way before he even boarded Air Force One.

“Tennant. Sorry, she walked right past my position. What were you saying?” Garrett asked.

“Her company has a warehouse in the port area. I'm sure it's no problem.”

“Hmm,” he replied.

“What do you mean ‘hmm'?” His mind was still on the plan. Maybe they could force the plan to be executed earlier. Garrett could offer to take the minister away somewhere he couldn't resist, maybe.

“If that were the case, why do you think she'd be wearing a disguise?”

That got his attention. He frowned. “You mean like dark-glasses-and-a-hat kind of disguise?”

“Nope. I mean like disguised like a man. A short-haired wig, a hard hat, glasses. Thing is, no matter how she's trying, she cannot hide that crazy body. Am I right?”

“Get your eyes off her body. I'm coming to you. Give me your position.” Stamov seemed to be entrenched in a meeting that wasn't due to end for hours. And worst case, Simon could locate him with the tracker if need be.

Ten minutes later, he was on the move. The Metro gave the cleanest straight shot to the port, and the cars were largely empty save for backpackers heading to the port for one of the many ferries that operate between Athens and the Greek islands.

He tried to order his thoughts. She was in disguise? She must be doing something for her ridiculous boyfriend. If you could call him that. He certainly didn't. Fuck lifting the finance minister; he was ready to lift Sadie and keep her until she came to her senses about that man.

By the time he reached the port, Garrett was sitting on a concrete trash can, eating a Greek kebab, presumably from the nearby food truck, and drinking a bottle of beer.

“What the fuck are you doing? You're supposed to be following her.” He wanted to punch through the man's Ray-Bans and rip his brain out.

Garrett took another bite and nodded toward a building. He chewed, swallowed, took a sip of beer, and then said, “She's still in there. Whoops. Speak of the devil.”

Simon looked at the doorway and saw Sadie locking it. She looked perfectly normal. “What disguise?” He turned his back on her so she wouldn't notice him.

“Nah, I just said that to make you come down for…brunch.” Garrett smiled for about two seconds, just long enough for Simon to make a reach for him. He ducked out of the way. “Kidding, mate. She changed while she was in there. Oh, fuck. Don't look now but she's not going anywhere; she looks like she's waiting for someone. Do you want to head over there, out of her direct sight line so we can get a proper look?”

Simon snatched his beer away from him so it looked like they were just workers stopped for a break as they walked slowly away. Neither of them looked back; neither seemed as if he was in a hurry.

As soon as they rounded the side of a shipping container, they stopped, back to its metal wall. Simon nodded skyward, and Garrett, to his credit, didn't ask questions. He bent his knee so Simon could climb up, using his knee and then his shoulder to get enough height to pull himself onto the roof of the container. Fuck, it was hot—like burning hot. Simon could feel the heat through his shoes. He quietly lay down and shuffled to the far edge, trying to ignore the burning. He'd been in more painful stakeouts. Not many, but some.

Something soft landed on his legs. Garrett's jacket. Simon grabbed it and tucked it under his elbows to relieve the scorching heat. It was kind of like Garrett was part of his team already. They'd always been taught to anticipate one another's needs on an op, and he guessed that Garrett had received similar training somewhere in the UK.

His gaze didn't leave Sadie. She paced up and down in front of the door, checking her watch occasionally and looking toward the entrance. Then five men appeared from the opposite direction she'd been expecting. As she turned at the end of her pacing path, she was startled to see them. Suddenly he wanted to be in a more accessible place in case she needed him. He saw movement out of his peripheral vision and turned slightly to see Garrett pressed against the opposite container, sleeves rolled up and waiting for an instruction.

He pointed at Garrett's eyes with two fingers, then at his own, and then at the meeting going on, telling him that Simon would watch Sadie and give the signal if he needed Garrett to intervene. He responded with a sharp nod and stayed back to the wall, watching only Simon.

Simon made a mental note to ease up on him. He was obviously a stellar soldier. Of course, the heavily redacted file Barnum sent him didn't give any information on any military service, but Garrett was too good not to be military.

Simon watched Sadie hug her “boyfriend” briefly, causing bile to rise in his throat. She held his hand while passing the older guy something small and taking an envelope in return. He kissed her on both cheeks, and Simon sensed rather than saw her recoil. Interesting dynamic. She really didn't like the older guy. But that didn't necessarily mean anything—maybe he made a pass at her before?

Focus, dammit; focus on the mission
. Except what kind of mission was this? The mission to spy on his ex? Sadie kissed her “boyfriend” on the lips and walked away, back toward the entrance. The other five watched her leave, then looked at each other without saying anything and turned to the warehouse. The older guy unlocked it and the others filed in, Sadie's boyfriend only pausing to receive a pat on the back from the guy with the key.

So that's what Sadie gave him. The key. He would give anything to have eyes inside that warehouse. Anything. As soon as they all disappeared, he threw Garrett's jacket down and climbed down, jumping the last few feet.

“She gave the warehouse key to the anarchist group,” he said, still watching the doorway.

“Well, that doesn't look good.”

“No kidding. I want to see if there are any other access points—or windows, come to that.” They made their way around the warehouse and found nothing that wasn't locked up tight. As they surveilled the rear of the warehouse, the giant doors started to slide slowly open. They bolted for opposite corners of the building. Nothing happened for a while, and Simon had to restrain himself from looking.

“Transport coming at your nine o'clock. Back up, back up.” Garrett's voice came low and urgent over his earpiece.

Shit. He backed up to the front corner, trying to remain out of sight. “Do you have eyes on them?” he whispered back.

“Eyes and video. Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you at the food truck.”

Simon retreated, squashing the thought that he wanted to hug that man. When they rendezvoused, they decided to bolt back to the hotel to make it in time for the end of Stamov's morning meeting. He had been known to ditch the afternoon meetings in favor of a girlfriend or two.

But one thing Simon knew. He had to see Sadie.

When Sadie retuned to the office, the street and doorway were swarming with civilians. If she hadn't recognized one of them from the embassy, she might have backed away and not seen the paramedics close up their doors and drive off.

She ran up the stairs two at a time. “What happened?” she asked the guy she knew who had beaten her back into the office.

“Where were
you
?” he replied with a frown.

What was his name? What was his…ha!
She remembered: weak jaw—Shaw.

“I was out, Mr. Shaw. What happened?” She was getting annoyed, and she certainly wasn't cluing this bureaucrat in on her whereabouts.

“Sebastian Seeker's wife couldn't reach him. Not on his cell or on his office number, so she dropped by and found him unresponsive. A suspected heart attack.”

Sadie's heart didn't just drop; it shriveled into a ball. Why hadn't she checked on him before she left? Maybe he was having a heart attack while she was still in the office and she just sneaked off, worried that he might stop her. “Will he be okay?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I have no idea. But I'm suspending all activity from this office until Lassiter returns or is replaced.” He barely looked up from the phone he was typing into, but she saw his smirk. God help them if he was angling for the station chief job himself.

“Go home. Enjoy yourself; take a vacation. You'll be called when the office is reopened,” he said.

This wasn't happening. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him away from the paramedics. “You can't just close down the intelligence office sixteen days before the president comes. That's crazy. You have no idea—”

“Stop it right there, Ms. Walker. You will obey this order, and you will suspend any operation you are involved in. We'll all be back up and running soon.” He stuffed his phone back in his pants pocket and shot his cuffs. “This ridiculous outfit has seen its day. High time Lassiter was put out to pasture, anyway.” He gestured around the room. “This mess is typical of his leadership, or lack of.”

Concentrate, Sadie. Don't waste your time here; you can break back in anytime you want.

“I'm going to the hospital to sit with Netta. If you need me…”

“I won't. Leave your office keys with Darnish at the door.” He gave her a tight grin and turned away, all but dismissing her. She assumed Darnish was the fresh-faced guy in the button-down. He smiled and held a box out to her. Inside were a set of keys and Sebastian's ID. She clenched her fist as she dropped her own in alongside. Fucking Shaw had fucking
frisked
Sebastian before he left for the hospital. There was no reason for that. Their CIA magnetized IDs were actually branded with their cover companies, so hers said Devries Construction. There was absolutely no reason to take them.

“Shaw needs you,” she said as she made to leave. As soon as Darnish started walking into the other room, she snagged the diplomatic pouch from the hook by the door. The pouch allowed them to send things to other countries without the local governments being allowed to look in them. She had an idea about the forgotten thumb drive.

She ran out of the office and hailed a cab to the hospital. Her stomach was rolling at the thought of what she'd done to Sebastian.
Please let him have been okay when I left.
How would she be able to look Netta in the face?

She rushed in and was directed to Intensive Care. Netta was there, white faced and rigid in her seat.

“Netta.”

She rose and at the sight of Sadie, her shoulders slumped. “Thank you for coming, darling.”

Sadie hugged her, trying not to show the terror and desperation she felt. “How is he?”

“Still unconscious. Hooked up to a million machines. I just don't know.”

They held hands and sat in silence, only looking up when nurses and doctors walked by, just in case they had some information. They never did.

W
hen Garrett told him that Sadie's tracker was absolutely still in a private hospital, Simon couldn't stay away. He tasked Garrett with keeping an eye on the minister and headed out into the night.

What was Sadie doing in the hospital? Was she hurt? Sick? Had that bastard done something to her? Would he ever forgive himself if he'd stood by while that had happened?

Taking deep breaths of the humid air to stop him from freaking the fuck out, he found a taxi and folded himself into the back of the small car. The taxi driver looked concerned when he said he wanted the hospital and started playing with his prayer beads as he drove. Simon appreciated the thought.

The driver went slow enough that he didn't feel like he needed to urge him on and fast enough that he wasn't also in fear of his own life. As they pulled up, he shoved a fifty-euro note to the man—for the prayers—and leapt from the car. He was about to run in through the sliding doors to the ER when he saw her, leaning against a pillar, smoking.

Relief flooded through him. Proper, real relief, making his legs weak and his blood pound back the adrenaline he was using as fuel. He took a few deep breaths and headed toward her.

As he got closer, he could see her hands shaking each time she brought the cigarette up to her mouth. She wasn't even inhaling—no surprise, really, because she didn't smoke.

“Sadie?” he asked in a manner that he hoped would imply that he wasn't expecting to see her. “Why are you smoking?”

She looked around, and when her eyes met his, her face held steady for a couple of seconds—long enough to say, “I bummed it from a nurse; even the nurses smoke”—and then it crumpled. He was beside her in a second, arms holding her tight. “What happened?” Now that she was safe in his arms, he was able to inhale the scent of her shampoo without detection, the very same scent that had given him an erection while he was searching her room.

“My friend died. My work colleague. It was my fault. I should have been there,” she sobbed into his shoulder. He held her tighter to try to squeeze her sobs back in.

He hailed the same taxi that hadn't moved from the spot where Simon had left it. He gave the man Sadie's address and put her in the car. She wasn't responsive—it was like she was going into shock or just couldn't compute what had happened. He'd seen her like this before, in Mumbai, where they'd met. He knew how her emotions would progress.

Sliding his arm around her, he held her as tightly as he could against him. He wanted to think that he was being of comfort to her, but the truth was he was a bastard. He just liked feeling her this close to his body. Liked feeling the heat of her, even in this unholy hellhole-hot climate.

He hated that she was sad, but if that made her compliant and noncombative, well, he was going to take advantage of that. He
was
a bastard. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't going to do any of that. Those days had passed.

The cab driver refused to take any money from him, which definitely had Sadie doing a double take, so he slipped them both out and up to her apartment. He took her key from her, opened the door, and she went in.

He hovered in the doorway. “Do you want me to come in?”

Her brain barely registered the question, but a flashback to Mumbai shook her. Familiar anger bubbled up, and she let it—it felt so much better than fear, and sadness, and aching regret, and guilt. Anger was positive.

But she wasn't supposed to be angry anymore. She knew that men used their skills to meet women. Sebastian had told her. Pain pierced her chest with the thought. Sebastian.

She held her hand to her chest and took a breath. And another, and she still couldn't get enough air in her lungs. She started heaving and her panicked eyes met Simon's.

In a second she was on the floor, breathing into a white paper bag. He held it to her mouth, and she struggled against it for a second, thinking he was trying to suffocate her. And then the pain in her lungs eased, and they seemed to inflate with enough oxygen to breathe.

“It's okay. You're just hyperventilating. Relax and exhale for as long as you can.”

She nodded and he pulled the bag away.

“Better?”

She nodded again, closed her eyes, and sat back against the bed. Moments later, she felt him sit next to her.

“Here,” he said.

She opened her eyes and found an icy bottle of Grey Goose in front of her face. “How did you…?”

He shook it. “I know you, Sadie. You always have a bottle in your freezer, even when you have no food in the house.” He half laughed.

She took the bottle and swigged a mouthful before handing it back. Simon did the same.

“We used to only need a bottle of vodka to have a great evening. That beats having a full fridge,” she said, prolonging the moments before she knew she'd have to think, and maybe talk, about Sebastian.

“That's true. The guys at work called it the ‘Sadie Diet': vodka, sex, and late nights.” He passed the bottle back again.

She knew he was joking, but it still sounded bad. “I was a bad girlfriend, I guess. I should have cooked for you more.” A healthy slug of vodka made her suck in cooling air between her teeth. Maybe she was just bad at everything. Her job, being a girlfriend—her mind skipped to Sebastian—being a human. She wanted to prove that she was good at one thing. She knew she should go check the warehouse camera feeds, but she just didn't have the energy or the inclination. The excitement she'd felt at her “operation” seemed so distant to her, like it had happened years before…and to someone else.

“You were a great girlfriend. If I'd wanted food, I'd have cooked for myself.” He took a hit from the bottle again. “That never even crossed my mind. In fact, I wondered…”

“Wondered what?”

“Wondered if it had been
my
fault. I should have been more of…I don't know. A stable person in your life. Looking back, it felt like when I was with you, it was just for a fleeting visit. I was always traveling, always having to apologize for not being around. Always leaving you.”

She suddenly realized in the haze of vodka and guilt and sorrow that they'd never, ever talked about their relationship. Not when they were in it, and not when they finished it. This wasn't the way to get closure, and it wasn't the way to mourn a friend.

“I think I need to go home, back to the States. Probably. Someone from headquarters shut the office after Sebastian was taken to the hospital. I'm not sure I even have a job. And they pay for this apartment.” She hiccupped. “And even if they didn't fire me, I'm not sure I could go back and sit opposite the empty desk where he used to sit.” She tried to hold back her tears. No sobbing. She didn't deserve the outlet, the catharsis.

With his thumbs Simon wiped tears she didn't know were there. “I don't think you should make any decisions tonight, sweetheart. Come on.” He stood and held his hand out for her. She took it and he pulled her up. “Let's just sleep on it. See how you feel in the morning.” He started unbuttoning his shirt and shucking off his shoes. “Don't look at me like that. I'm just staying to make sure you're all right.” Lines furrowed his brow.

She acquiesced for a second and then remembered why she had hated him all this past year. “No. No, you don't get to do that again. Be the honorable guy, sneak out in the morning, leaving your number on the bedside table. You are in, or you're out.”

“I don't—”

She started unbuttoning her blouse, and when that was done, she unzipped her skirt. “In or out?” She placed her hands on her hips and waited for his reply.

“In,” he said softly.

He paused for a second and then took one step so that she had to crane her neck to look at him. He smoothed the hair from her face and lowered his face to hers. The intensity blazing in his eyes took her breath away. His kiss kicked her rational mind to the sidelines. Her tongue kept pace with his, plundering his mouth, tasting his breath as he was doing hers.

There was nothing but him. His hands on her. His mouth on her. Yes. Screw the honorable Simon. She'd take this one every day of the week for the rest of her life. An alarm bell rang in her head as that thought passed through her mind, but it evaporated as fast as her panties and bra had under Simon's skillful hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked, hesitating in an uncharacteristic way.

She took a small step back and indicated her naked body. “What part of this says I'm not sure?”

He laughed and pulled her against him for another knee-melting kiss. Blood rushed through her at the speed of light, making everything on the outside of her seem like it was moving in slow motion.

He picked her up and threw her on the bed, making her gasp and bounce so hard that she nearly fell off the other side. His own shocked face was a picture. She laughed. And then giggled. “You totally thought I'd wiped out there, didn't you?”

He smiled. “I thought I'd lost you for good. The damned bed's more bouncy than I remember.”

She was about to say something, but as he undid his belt and jeans, her mind stuttered at the sight of Simon, naked and excited. She held her hand out to him.

In a second he lay alongside her, trailing the back of his fingers down her body from her neck to her thigh. Up again and down again. Her nipples hardened and goosebumps erupted as his fingers lazily swirled around her skin.

She stretched under his fingers, enjoying the feeling of taut skin under his fingertips.

“I've missed you,” he said in a low voice.

Her eyes met his, but she said nothing. She couldn't properly process the right thing to say, not when his hands were lighting her on fire.

“I've missed this.”

That she could concur with. “Me too.” She turned on her side and put a hand on his hard chest. “Tell me exactly what you've missed, Mr. Tennant,” she said.

He didn't hesitate. He held his hand over her breast and only allowed the very middle of his palm to lightly touch her nipple. “I've missed the expression on your face when your whole body is begging for more of a touch.” He licked his fingers and touched her nipple, blowing on it immediately after. A cool burn shot from her breasts to her stomach and down her legs.

She arched her back, wanting to feel more of him.

“I've missed the sound you make in your throat when I touch you here.” Without hesitation, or foreplay, or anything, his finger settled directly on her clitoris.

She jumped and moaned, eliciting a smile from Simon.

“Exactly. Open your legs,” he said.

She spread them instantly, giving him more access. She was so ready for him, so hot and wet; she could feel blood rushing and pulsing through her.

“I've missed how obedient you are too,” he said.

She pinched his arm but couldn't bring herself to move away from the delicious circles his fingers were drawing.

He pressed his whole hand against her, the heel of his hand against her clit and his fingers playing, feeling her, until one slid inside her.

She bucked against his hand, but he easily held her in place.

He dipped his head and touched the tip of his tongue to the nipple closest to him, then he was sucking and biting as his fingers drafted across her clitoris, taking her in seconds to the point of orgasm and then slipping inside her again and then back to drive her even closer.

“I want you inside me, Simon,” she said, suddenly needing his weight on hers, his body touching every part of hers. She'd missed that. The feeling of utter safety and protection. The feeling that his body pressing down on hers was somehow anchoring her to his world, his life.

She arched her hips against his and he slid on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows, his hands cradling her face. She turned her head to kiss one of his hands as he pushed slowly inside her. She gasped and bit her lip, in part to keep her jaw from hanging slack at the friction caused by his movements. With each thrust, her brain said
home, home, home
.

He stopped while he was deep inside her and rolled onto his side, taking her with him. It was like they were joined from their thighs to their mouths. They breathed in each other's mouths as they kissed, his fingers digging into the leg that was over his, pulling it farther over his hip. His hand slipped between them, and he found her clitoris with one finger and swirled around it in her wetness.

Simon pulled away from her mouth and set his jaw. Sadie knew he was trying not to come, but the thought of him holding back sent her skittering toward the edge of her own orgasm. She was hungry for it, hungry for him. She rocked her pelvis against his as the heat of the pulse of fire ebbed and flowed in her body until it spread like a slow-moving tsunami. She gasped with the force of her release, clenching her muscles around him, pulsing as the flood inside her dissipated.

He came almost immediately afterward, shuddering against her, breathing her name as he did.

She felt loved. Complete. But in the warmth of the afterglow, she had no idea if any of it was real.

For the first time, she hoped it was.