Afterglow (19 page)

They used to take “naps” on rainy days in Seattle, curled together after making love in front of the fire in her Queen Anne Hill condo.

It didn’t surprise her that he’d contacted his friend without telling her. She was too tired to be angry, too emotionally spent to fight. It took all she had not to burst into exhausted tears. She’d do well to remember the hardest lesson she’d ever learned: trust no one.

Especially not Rand.

RAND LOOKED FOR EXITS
. One door, window onto fire escape.

“Never mind,” he said abruptly. “You grab a shower first.” He took his phone out of his pocket to let Ham know their location. He knew her; Dakota wouldn’t get into bed without a shower first. He didn’t want to hold up her—

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as she yanked off the brown wig. His throat dried as she ran her fingers through her flattened hair. It sprang up in a wild mane as if happy to be liberated.

Over the year they’d been together, he’d spent many sleepless nights with her tucked against his chest, his nose buried in the fragrant fiery strands. Seeing her hair now, even in the dim lighting, was like a mule kick straight to his heart. “Check the guy’s location again before you go in.” He sounded annoyed, even to himself.

He couldn’t help it. His entire body remembered every detail; even though intellectually he knew she was poison, he was sucked in like a moth to her flame.

“He’s staying put,” she told him decisively, picking up her bag and placing the case in her hand on the small bedside table on what they’d long ago considered her side of the bed. He wasn’t the only one with muscle memory, it seemed. “I’ll be quick.” She walked to the bathroom and shut herself inside. The door didn’t close fully, leaving a sliver of brighter light to spear into the bedroom, as well as a tantalizing view of Dakota.

Undressing.

The water turned on. Rand sat on the foot of the bed and called Ham. The phone kept ringing. He frowned. Ham had several hours’ head start. He should be somewhere in Paris right now, waiting for his call.

Since his assistant was coordinating the various teams, Rand called Cole for updates. Mildly annoyed, he listened to the phone ring. None of his people had called in several hours. He wasn’t too concerned, that would just indicate that they hadn’t anything new to report.

What was of concern was Cole not answering his phone on the first ring as he usually did. Rand frowned as he got up and went to the window, held aside the drape, and looked out. Cole’s phone clicked, but it didn’t roll to voicemail. Just abruptly disconnected.

What the hell?

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. There were logical reasons for his assistant not to answer his phone. Before he went to DEFCON 5, Rand needed to eliminate the obvious. Bad connection. Damaged equipment. Out of range.

And Cole knew how to contact him despite those limitations.

Unless he was dead?

Shitdamnfuck.

Rand’s gut had been signaling a warning for hours, but he’d put it down to the obvious. Now he wasn’t sure. He punched in the numbers for each of his team leaders in turn. Each phone rang, then rolled over to dead air.

Would Ham show up? Or was he too out of the picture?

As far as Rand knew, he was on his own.

Double fuck.

He heard splashing from the bathroom. No, he wasn’t alone. She was an added concern he had to decide quickly how to deal with.

The head- and taillights of traffic on the road below showed through the deep blue of early morning, in which colors were soft and muted, and the day was filled with possibilities. None of them good right now.

He’d known the moment they walked into the lobby that Dakota remembered their mutual past acutely. The pain and loss in her peridot eyes were impossible to miss, and the sadness radiating from her had been palpable. Or maybe, Rand thought derisively, he was projecting his own feelings onto her.

He rubbed his bristly jaw.

There was something he was missing, but damned if he could put his finger on it. Half his men were missing, and he couldn’t figure out Dakota’s real motivations for clinging to this like white on rice.

His men would show up. Or they wouldn’t. Out of his control right now. If he took things at face value, he was starting to doubt things that he would’ve sworn to be gospel a week ago. Now he wasn’t so sure that everything he’d been led to believe about Dakota was true.

He’d never given her the opportunity to defend herself, never given her a chance to tell her side of the story. Now wasn’t the time. But later … ? He’d reserve judgment.

Now he wanted to know why she cared if someone else was selling the drug she’d helped create. Personal pride?
Professional
pride?

A cut in a billion-dollar drug deal?

For now, he had to be satisfied that she wanted what he wanted, to find the person or people responsible. Different agendas, same goal. The reality, as much as he hated to admit it, was that he needed Dakota’s special skills. Without them, he had fuck-all.

The Spanish police were looking for him—possibly for
them
. Interpol was likely also involved, if they knew he’d left Spain. Did they know he was in France? How soon would they track him down? Hours?

It seemed to Rand that every time they figured one thing out, they were faced with more questions. One thing he wasn’t ambivalent about was Dakota not going any farther. He’d use his power of persuasion to convince her they’d both be safer with her giving directions from the hotel. Since calling hadn’t worked worth a damn, he decided to text everyone. He sent a 911 to call in reinforcements. Now to see who responded.

There was a
thump
as something hit the bathroom door; then it creaked open. Rand smelled soap and shampoo, and steam-warmed, damp woman, as she came out. He shoved the phone in the pocket of the jacket Dakota had bought him on her little shopping trip.

“It’s all yours,” she said, rubbing her shoulder as if it hurt. “I left a new toothbrush on the counter for you.”

He glanced over his shoulder because he felt paralyzed by the familiar smell of her fresh from the shower. She wore the short white hotel robe, and her long legs still gleamed with moisture. She started toweling her hair, every move familiar, bringing back memories he’d managed to suppress for years.

Only that was shit. He hadn’t suppressed anything. Not really.

“Ham isn’t answering,” he said, striving for businesslike. Her face was scrubbed clean and rosy, her ice-green eyes level. God. She had weapons she hadn’t even used, and he was flailing for balance. “I didn’t order room service yet,” he told her, knowing he sounded irritable but not giving a damn. “I figured you’d be in there an hour.”

“I don’t take long showers when I’m alone.” A verbal slap. She didn’t used to take short showers with him. “Let’s order, I’m starving.” She stopped blotting her long hair, then frowned. “Where’s your guy?”

He shrugged. “Detained, I guess. He’ll call back.”

“How long are we hanging out here before we go and find the bad guy?”

“You say he’s in the tunnels. I’m not taking you down there. There’s no need. This is the endgame. You’ll stay here, maintain contact on the phone.”

He could see the argument already building. “What if there’s no phone service—”

“I’m grabbing a shower,” he said over her. “Order room service, then take a nap. I’ll wake you when I leave.” He walked around her and went into the steamy, floral-scented bathroom, then forced the door shut.

Before he put his hands on her.
Again
.

EIGHT

A
s soon as the shower turned on, Dakota tossed the small suitcase on the bed, rifled through it, and took out fresh clothes for both of them. Boxers for Rand. A fresh black T-shirt and dark-washed jeans. Black socks. An almost identical change for herself.

Easy and uncomplicated.

Dressing quickly, she wrapped the thin towel around her hair. Like her, Rand never lingered in the shower.

Not when he was alone.

If she were in there with him, it would be another matter entirely. They’d been known to deplete a large hot-water tank on more than one occasion. Cold water hadn’t shortened the time they spent in the shower either. Many was the time they’d emerged from the bathroom, teeth chattering and goose bumps on their skin, only to fall into bed and make each other warm all over again.

She picked up the case that had contained the vials and curled her fingers around the hard surface. Their quarry was still where he’d been for the last hour. That was good.

The other guy was still headed in the direction she’d last given to Ligg; no need to call and update him yet.

Once he had the man, would Rand return to get her? Would he let her follow through with her plan? Or would he find it easier to leave her behind entirely?

Dakota stood at the foot of the bed, debating just how to handle the situation.

Despite her half-assed insistence, they both knew she didn’t want to go into the catacombs. She was claustrophobic, for one thing, and for another, it was doubtful the bad guy would be alone. He certainly wouldn’t be happy that someone followed him. A rat cornered was dangerous. Rand and Ham were professionals. They were armed. They were equipped to handle violence. She wasn’t. The only thing Dakota had going for her was determination.

All very logical.

The jobs she’d been on involved finding people or things. The search usually lasted a day, maybe a week; then she was on to finding the next wandering Alzheimer’s patient or the next missing artifact. She had to tell her boss his agents needed espionage training when they went into the field from now on. Tactical training? She smiled for a moment, picturing some of the other Lodestone “agents” throwing karate kicks and shimmying down black ropes in the dead of night. Nope. Not gonna happen.

Although, there was that one Lodestone guy—too bad he and
his
skill weren’t here right now.

Discovering that she lacked the abilities necessary for survival or, say, optimal health at this stage of the game was scary as hell. Her brain was only going to get her so far. After that, she might need brute strength.

Hell’s bells. After the running, chasing, wild monkey sex on a hotel-room floor,
and
more hours clocked in a car than she ever wanted to spend again, she’d hardly been capable of opening a stuck bathroom door.

As if just thinking it summoned him, the door opened, and Rand came back into the room wearing just his jeans, his chest bare.

He was created to go shirtless. His broad shoulders gleamed bronze in the lamplight. Water droplets sparkled in the mat of crisp dark hair on his chest, which tapered down to an arrow that disappeared into his open waistband. She knew every curve and ridge of those rock-hard abs. Everywhere his nerves and tendons ran beneath his hot, satin-smooth skin …

She dragged her eyes up to his face, and just like that, she changed her mind. “I’m coming with you.”

One eyebrow rose as he saw the clothes she’d put out for him, but all he said was, “Fine.”

His capitulation shocked the hell out of her. Rand was a man who took his job as a protector seriously. True, he didn’t love her anymore. He had no obligation to watch her back, but that was just the kind of man he was. “Seriously?”

“You’re a big girl, Dakota. I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do. If you want to go down there with us, I certainly can’t stop you.” He sat on the side of the bed and reached for the socks. She knew he was commando because she could see his underwear on the bathroom floor.

“There are at least sixty or seventy miles of subterranean tunnels, seven stories under Paris’s streets. A maze of tunnels and unused mine shafts that rarely, if
ever
, see a visitor.” He put on one shoe and paused, she felt, for maximum effect. “If you think you can handle the possibility of getting trapped down there, if you think that your claustrophobia won’t kick in, be my guest.”