Defender (15 page)

Her hands slid up to squeeze his arms. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry.”

“I shouldn’t let it mess with my head around you.”

“I can see how you would look at me and think of your sister given how we’ve both faced such major health problems.”

He lifted his head and locked eyes with her. “You’ve only got a part of that right. Jenny’s death may have left me with baggage about protecting women, but when I look at you, my thoughts are anything but brotherly.”

He let all the heat he was feeling shine through—no barriers there and no chance of acting on it out here. Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise, then answering heat. Strong. Tempting.

Dangerous to his concentration.

He broke away. “I really have to go.”

A tentative smile tugged at her mouth in time with the confusion now flickering across her face. “Go save the world.”

“Catch ya later, maestra.” Jimmy dodged around her before he could be tempted to stick around, because, well, now that he looked, two of his CIA “companions” were already waiting for him.

“Jimmy?”

He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t turn to face her. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you’re doing, be careful.”

This woman definitely jabbed a weakness in him. She drew him in a way he couldn’t recall any other woman managing so quickly. He had to keep things light until he figured out where—if anywhere—they could take this.

Jimmy reached in his pocket for his keys and winked. “I’ll bring you back some baby wipes.”

FIFTEEN

No one could totally wipe away his or her own existence. He should know. He was an expert at erasing his identity as much as humanly possible.

Sometimes Mike Nunez just needed a hint of where to look for the connection. Luckily for him, Anya Surac had provided more than a hint. By listing a few of Aunt Marta’s bars, Anya might as well have given him Map-Quest directions to others.

A few clicks through top secret land on his laptop had filled in the blanks. Parked in his cover-story hotel room in downtown Adana, he typed through the log-out menu to exit the NSA site and layer a Carvalho menu in place in case anyone tried to break into his computer.

Only one tiny piece of himself remained: a screen saver depicting a garden meditation labyrinth. He’d chosen an image of one in Spain to tie into his current cover, if anyone turned on his computer. He resisted the urge to lose himself in the twists and turns of the unicursal path. The time for release would come when this mission ended, and he left this upscale luxury behind in favor of his own spartan apartment in D.C.

Nunez stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and strapped his Glock to his calf. Marta Surac was, in fact, Anya’s aunt. The woman owned eleven bars under different names. Two of them she shared ownership with none other than a corporate conglomerate that traced back to Spiros Kutros.

Interesting that the man had never mentioned Anya was his partner’s niece or about his other holdings. His and Marta’s joint and individually owned clubs were scattered through Turkey, Greece, and a handful of small countries in Eastern Europe, all situated near a military base or consulate.

Follow the money. It always painted a green path straight to the bad guys—or gals.

Almost certainly Chuck Tanaka had been stashed in Pasha’s Palace in Istanbul, but for some reason the woman was moving him frequently. First south, on the outskirts of Adana, and now the tracking device indicated a north-east locale, deeper into the countryside.

All of which his people would investigate with the help of Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon’s flight.

Nunez needed to get his head on straight for another night at the Oasis, laying the groundwork for Jimmy as a target—with Anya there in the possible line of fire. She appeared to be innocent in her aunt’s business dealings, but he couldn’t ignore her association with one of Marta Surac’s bars.

He flicked his wrist to check the time. If he didn’t get his ass in gear, he would be late meeting Anya for their supper together. Nunez locked his room and rode the luxury lift down to the lobby. The velvet-lined doors parted to reveal Spiros Kutros standing by a towering grandfather clock, his bodyguard nearby.

Nunez shoved his hands in his pockets to restrain himself from grabbing the gun strapped to his calf, pressing it to Kutros’s temple, and demanding that the bastard talk. Adrenaline gushed through his veins as the op’s momentum gained speed like a snowball rolling downhill, growing as everything came together. He could all but hear the thunder in his ears.

“Carvhalo,” Kutros called, crossing to pass him a piece of paper, a printout with the hotel logo along the top. “I have covered the bill for your stay here thus far, plus an additional week.”

“
Gracias
, but you did not need to do that.” Even though that was exactly the bait Nunez had hoped the man would take.

“I know.” Kutros clapped him between the shoulder blades. “I sense in you a kindred spirit, and I understand how inconvenient pride can become.”

Nunez let Kutros play out the game. Sources indicated that the man had been very busy over the past three days checking into Miguel Carvalho’s finances, which included a carefully constructed collapsing portfolio and a penchant for skirting the law.

Kutros had every reason to believe Miguel Carvalho was a flat-broke crook. The CIA and NSA had spread information building his playboy cover story well. All of which should bring him to the final stage in reeling the man in and saying good-bye to this region of the world. And Anya?

His adrenaline rush evaporated faster than if his snowball hit hell.

Nunez folded the invoice in half, then quarters. “I will pay you back.”

“Of course you will.” Kutros gestured toward two claw-footed chairs tucked beside a gold fountain conveniently sloshing loud enough to dull conversation. “I have some business ventures that have proved profitable in the past. If you’re interested.”

“I’m interested in listening.” He took a seat, back to the wall for a better view of the bustling lobby full of tourists and bellhops pushing loaded luggage carts. The revolving door gusted the cigar smoke from the hookah bar across the street.

Kutros stretched his legs in front of him. “My work isn’t for the squeamish.”

“I am only nauseated by the thought of bunking in three-star accommodations.”

Kutros threw his head back with a bellow laugh that echoed up to the gilded dome ceiling. “Definitely a kindred spirit.”

Nunez waited. The less a person said, the more others spoke. And revealed.

“Do you have plans for this evening?”

Shit. Anya. Their supper date. He should be halfway to her place by now, but he couldn’t afford to let this opportunity pass. “What do you have in mind?”

Kutros pushed to his feet. “Let’s go to a place where we can talk freely. I will have supper catered. If you are on board, you will be a richer man before the night is over.”

That fast? Of course they would move that fast, because once Miguel entered that world, there was no leaving. If he turned down the offer, he might as well sign his death warrant. Those who knew even the smallest details of these kinds of plans could only comply.

Nunez stood and gestured toward the revolving door spilling out of the hotel and closer to this mission’s end. “Lead the way. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Kutros smoothed the fine fabric of his suit jacket over muscles surprisingly pumped for a man of leisure, especially for one who kept a bodyguard lurking nearby at all times. “You’ve chosen well. I’m going to make you very wealthy before you see forty.”

“I cannot think of anything that would make me happier.”

Starting now, Miguel Carvalho could only surrender to the inevitability of becoming the evil he worked to bring down. What a difference a few days and indiscriminate spending could make.

And Anya? He wouldn’t have time to meet her and didn’t have a number to call. On the positive side, if she was innocent, he intended to do his damnedest to keep her clear of the action. However, if she was in collusion with her aunt? Then he would almost certainly see the beautiful Anya at the shakedown.

Because if his instincts were right, tonight he would kidnap Jimmy Gage.

Captivity sucked.

Chloe huffed a lank curl off her forehead as she rolled off her bed and to her feet. Her iPod thunked onto the carpet. Not even Debussy’s entire body of work could bring a woman peace when she was this cranky.

How much longer until security concerns eased, and they could carry on with the performances? Maybe she should just go home after all and sign on for another USO trip later.

Except Jimmy wouldn’t be around for the next tour.

Cranking open the window, she inhaled the fresh air to ease the encroaching claustrophobia. Surely if she blasted the AC and opened a window, she could achieve the best of both worlds in a cooler but aired-out bedroom.

As it stood now, her small space with a double bed and desk grew more oppressive by the second. From the heat and kitchen smells weighting down the air, of course. Not because she’d spent the past four hours chewing her nails to the quick worrying about Jimmy, a situation she could do nothing about. So she focused on what she could fix: her smelly room.

A gentle breeze drifted inward and over her, carrying the soothing scent of spring blossoms. Oh yeah, pump that window wider. Chloe stuck her whole upper body through and into the small courtyard. Security lights played off the pink and deep purple flowers. She thought about plucking blooms to scent her room, but the rustle of night creatures in the bushes kept her hands firmly planted on the windowsill.

A movement outside, larger than from any rodent or animal, startled her back into her room. Then curiosity drew her forward again. The sill bit into her palms as she squinted to peer into the dark, and yes, someone was darting around trees. Her stomach knotted. She cranked the window closed again, her body already stretching toward the door so she could alert security.

The intruder sprinted across a bare patch of lawn, under a lamppost. Chloe relaxed.

Livia.

Everybody seemed to have somewhere to be tonight. Chloe tugged a peasant shirt on over her tank top and khakis, and shoved her feet into sandals, hopping on one foot, then the other on her way to the door. She cleared the exit without finding a guard in the hallway. She shivered at the possibility that they might all be on call for whatever dangerous mission Jimmy was off to tonight.

Hopefully they were just outside, checking on Livia. Chloe searched the courtyard. Livia sprinted toward the other side. Holy cow, she sure made speedy time in heels and a dress. Oversized Gucci shades nearly swallowed her face.

Shades? At night?

“Hey, Livia,” Chloe called into the dark. “What are you doing?”

The diva pirouetted on her spiked pumps and promptly grabbed a tree for balance. She reached down to pry her high heel out of the sandy lawn. “Getting out of this place.”

“You’re going home?” Chloe strode closer, drawn to the kind of person who could spring herself from captivity, elude the guards, and wander through the base alone at night.

“Just out.” She smoothed a hand over sleek black hair pulled back in a bun, the going style for all the females in need of a serious shampoo. “I finally have a moment free of my colonel guard.”

“He stays near you for a reason, as do the rest of the security personnel.” She scanned the area for their guards, who were apparently all taking a break. In fact, the whole courtyard and small lot were deserted, other than a lone car rumbling a few feet away.

Livia fluttered her ringed fingers through the air. “Those people, I can lose easily enough. I have been doing it for years. Go back to your room and stop worrying about me.”

The pop star charged past a row of palm trees to a parking lot behind their quarters. She made a beeline toward the black Mercedes chugging exhaust into the night, a driver silhouetted behind the wheel, the backseat empty. Chloe hotfooted after her, only just managing to catch up.

“Stop.” She grabbed Livia’s model-thin arm as she opened the back door. “What about the café bombing? Don’t you care about your safety, or the people who could be hurt trying to protect you?”

Chloe lowered her voice and nodded toward the bearded man behind the wheel, puffing away on a thick cigar. He sure as hell wasn’t wearing a military uniform. “Do you even know that you can trust this driver?”

“I believe this is like that saying about lightning never striking the same place twice. I have already survived a terrorist attack. I am now safe from that coming my way again.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t we just send you into Al-Qaeda camps and let you negotiate a peace treaty, since you’re so immune?”

Livia shrugged free of Chloe’s grasp. “I may not speak perfect English, but I can detect sarcasm. No one asked for your help. Now be a nice little rule player and go back to your room.”

“Apparently I don’t have a lock on the sarcasm market. Please, listen. It’s not about the rules. I’m being a good friend like you’ve been to me.”

“I appreciate your concern.” Livia’s face softened. “I only want a real shower. I’m tired of shaving my legs in a sink with bottled water. I will be back and tucked into my bed before the colonel even notices I am gone.”

Chloe plumbed her brain for some kind of rebuttal. Livia might be a diva, but she’d never been a dunce. Until tonight.

Headlights striped in the distance. Some help. Thank God.

“
Merda!
” Livia’s curse split the air as a cop cruiser crested a hill. She gripped Chloe’s wrist and jerked. Chloe tumbled into the car. Livia slammed the door closed behind her.

“Why did you—”

“Drive,” Livia ordered the man in front before turning to Chloe. “The police were coming. You left me no choice but to bring you along.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Nobody laughed.

Chloe tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Sir? Please, sir? I would like to get out of the car.”

The chauffeur glanced up to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. “No English.”

Tires squealed as they peeled rubber out of the parking lot, only to slow to the posted base speed limit. If only he would do something reckless so the security cops would pull them over, but no luck.

“Stop.
Durmak
?”

The driver didn’t respond to the Turkish request, even though no how, no way could he have missed her intent. Fine then, she would just get out next time he . . . slowed . . . for a corner. She reached for her door handle and yanked.

No luck again.

Her stomach clogged her throat. She pumped the latch repeatedly. Nothing happened.

Chloe sagged back in her seat, icy hot prickles of fear tingling over her. “You can’t expect to kidnap me.”

“Kidnap is too harsh a word.” Livia clicked her seat belt. “I am simply being a good friend to someone else. Steven, my backup dancer, is stranded drunk at a bar downtown. He’s certain Melanie is cheating on him, and he left the base to track her.”

“But he’s cheating on her.”

“That’s just a rumor he started in hopes of making her jealous. If anyone finds out he’s gone, he could be fired. He has a sick mother to support.”

The driver followed posted limits all the way through the front gate while Livia detailed at length the reasons she had to help Steven Fisher. Chloe pounded on the tinted window as they passed the gate guard, but base security were only stopping people coming into base, not those leaving.