Claimed by the Secret Agent (4 page)

“Got it.” And she had, precisely what she wanted. “Now I think I’ll take your advice and get some shut-eye unless you need me to drive.”

“Get real. Go to sleep, Marie.”

She lay down and closed her eyes, satisfied she’d handled him exactly right. Maybe she should have questioned him a bit more on the psychic thing, but that could wait. He obviously believed he’d gotten something using his psychic powers, and arguing wouldn’t change a thing.

At least driving to Amsterdam gave them something to do while they waited for a possible I.D. to come back from Interpol. But somehow it all seemed too convenient.

Maybe identifying the print or the sketch would send them in the right direction if this one was wrong. You ran with what you had, and right now all she had was Tyndal and his
woo-woo
touch.

She drifted off, thinking about those hands of his….

G
rant drove on, waking her only when they crossed the border to show their passports and visas. It turned into a big deal when he declared their weapons and presented credentials. Several phone calls later and they were again on their way, properly vetted. He was used to the hassle and glad to see the border guards were doing their job.

Marie promptly went back to sleep. He phoned Mercier and reported, then called ahead and made a reservation. When they reached Amsterdam, it was late evening.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re here.” The city was beautiful at night, with lights reflecting off the canals from centuries-old buildings. There was a warmth and timelessness about it. “This is one of my favorite places.”

“New one for me. I always wanted to come here but never had the opportunity.” She had popped up from the backseat and leaned forward. “Impressive. Where are we staying?”

“I called ahead and made reservations while you were asleep. We’ll be sharing a room.”

She was totally silent for way too long. Then she answered. “Absolutely not.”

“Look, if you’re worried that I’m desperately seeking sex, forget it. We’re partners, however temporary that might be, so it’s out of the question. I figured it might make you nervous to be alone tonight.”

He wondered if she’d realize he had another reason.

“And if we share a room, you won’t have to worry about me climbing out a window and disappearing,” she guessed.

“There is that,” he admitted. “C’mon, I swear not to leave the toilet seat up or accost you in your sleep. Scout’s honor.”

She rested her chin on her folded arms, and he couldn’t quite see her face as she answered. “You’ve seen me at my absolute worst, so I can’t think you’d even be interested after that. Still, it’s not a good idea to share a room.”

Yeah, well, that was probably true, since he was
definitely interested.
But rather than worry her with that admission, he changed the subject.

“Look, there’s something I haven’t mentioned. I’m pretty sure I know where he’s staying.”

“The kidnapper? How could you possibly know that?”

“A feeling. A word that popped into my head when
I was zoned in on the list.” Grant knew she didn’t believe, and he knew he could be wrong. But that word had struck a resounding note that wouldn’t fade. “It’s more than a hunch. I think he’s at the Zuider.”

“Is that a hotel?”

“Yeah. It’s a small place near the red-light district. You and I won’t stay there, of course. He might see and recognize you, but I would like to be within walking distance of it. I decided on the Pulitzer, but they only had one room available.”

“My goodness, how convenient was that! Pardon my simplicity, but here’s an idea—why don’t you simply go to his hotel, find out which room he’s in and arrest him?”

“Because we don’t know his real name or the one he’s using.”

“We have his picture,” she argued.

“I know, but we have no jurisdiction at the moment. Hopefully we’ll get some results on the sketch and print tomorrow. Soon as we have that, we’ll bring the locals in on it, get vetted and proceed from there. Maybe if we just keep tabs on him, he’ll lead us to the one who hired him.”

“So meanwhile, we go to your Pulitzer prize hotel and shack up. That’s your plan?”

He smiled. “No. We go the Pulitzer and cohabit like partnering agents. Strictly platonic, so relax. In addition to its location, it has all the modern amenities along with charm and quaintness. You’ll love it, trust me.”

They entered the seventeenth-century group of houses that had been converted into a hotel. Grant held
the door for her and was surprised that she let him, because she was so independent.

He shook his head as she swept past him. Why couldn’t women these days realize that deference to them was hardwired in some men, inborn, automatic and almost impossible to reverse? His dad had drummed it in right along with all the other values he felt necessary.

What was the matter with her anyway? Maybe she thought he didn’t notice those quick little glances of suspicion every time he gestured for her to go first, gave her a compliment or did anything to help her. She must suspect him of some ulterior motive, such as maybe he was trying to seduce her by playing the gentleman.

Well, he guessed he couldn’t blame her. She’d probably been hit on a lot, pretty as she was. That must cause her to look at any nice gesture as one she’d be expected to repay.

They needed to talk about it so he could set her straight, but he figured she didn’t need another confrontation right now. Surely she trusted him a little, since she had agreed finally to stay in the same room. He wanted her to feel safe and comfortable with that.

Had trying to please her become almost as important as the mission? Grant knew only that he’d definitely had her in mind when he decided where to stay and had chosen a place he thought she would enjoy.

“Not too shabby,” she commented when they entered their room. She tossed her purse and small shoulder tote onto one of the double beds and went over to the window. “Great view of the canal. Look! It’s so pretty
as far as you can see. I’ll bet it’s been just like this for centuries.”

“Thought you’d like it. Want to go out and walk for a bit?”

She did. They freshened up and went back down to find a place serving a late dinner and do a walk-by of the Zuider. If she was still ill at ease about sharing accommodations, she didn’t show it.

“More comfort food?” he asked as they strolled along the canal. He had an almost overwhelming urge to take her hand but didn’t do so.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford to indulge twice in one day. Something light would be better.”

Grant pointed to a small café, and they walked toward it. On the way he caught sight of their side-by-side reflections in the plate-glass window and a pang of longing struck him at the sight. A couple, yet not a couple.

They looked well matched and had a great deal in common. He felt something for Marie that he couldn’t quite define, a sort of connection probably borne of grudging respect and physical attraction combined with the urge to protect.

She had shot down all the qualms he had about becoming friends. Just like that, she had sneaked under his guard and he’d dropped his hard-and-fast rule of no emotional attachment. He really wanted to be friends. And more.

He wouldn’t act on that last urge, however. He didn’t need the professional problems that would surely result, and besides, he had promised her.

She looked up at him as he reached to open the door for her, and she smiled as if she’d read his thoughts and was thanking him. No suspicion in that look, only trust.

As thunderbolts went, the one that hit him then shook him to the core.

His father had experienced the same thing and Grant had heard the story time and again, told proudly, too. Love at first sight. Oh, man.

He remembered thinking how ridiculous it was, how unlike his dad who never made snap decisions, who considered every angle, every possible consequence. Now Grant got it. In spades.

In that one dizzying instant, he realized she was the one. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Talk about a rock and a hard place….

Marie hadn’t seriously objected to sharing the room with Tyndal. She wouldn’t sleep anyway. In the first place, she’d slept earlier in the day. Wide-awake and with access to the top-of-the-line laptop he’d brought with him, she’d keep herself busy.

Even if they had stayed in the same hotel the kidnapper was supposed to be in, she wasn’t worried about him seeing her. The man was probably hundreds of miles away from Amsterdam anyway. Grant’s delusions were just that, but she’d humor him and keep him happy.

Once they had a name to go with the face she had seen, things would heat up and they’d probably take off for another country altogether.

The kidnapper could have gone anywhere. If he hap
pened to be a known terrorist suspect, they’d probably get info on the latest sightings. It was hard to hide for long when the powers that be decided to keep a close eye on you.

She’d had her shower, had pulled on the knit shorts and T-shirt she’d brought from her apartment to sleep in, and was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, surfing on the laptop.

Grant exited the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his head. He wore shorts, gray ones, brief ones. His chest was bare, well muscled and dusted with dark hair. His legs were phenomenal, she noted. Then she tried to dismiss the overall impression from her mind. Okay, so he had a fantastic body. It wasn’t the first one she’d seen, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked.

“Maps.”

“Memorizing them?” he asked, plopping down on the bed next to hers.

“Will this keep you awake?”

“Not at all. See what you can find on the Zuider.”

He seemed so convinced the guy was there that he wouldn’t listen to her if she objected. “Anything else you can think of for me to look up?”

“Nope. Well, have at it. I’m bushed.” With that, he tossed the towel aside, stood, yanked back the coverlet and crawled into his bed.

She tried not to watch. It seemed too intimate a thing. It had been years since she’d seen a man simply go to bed. And even then, it hadn’t been like this. Comfy, yet uncomfortable. Sexless, yet arousing.

He wrestled his pillow into shape and, with one arm beneath it, settled on his side with his back to her and sighed. Marie held her breath. Was that it?

“Good night,” he mumbled. Within sixty seconds, his breathing had slowed and evened out.

She almost laughed. Nobody went to sleep that easily. She continued to watch, but he never moved. If he was faking, it must take quite an effort.

Show-off—that’s what he was.
Look at me. I’m trained to grab sleep wherever and whenever.

Marie shook her head and focused again on the laptop, determined to ignore him and his bare, lightly tanned back and shoulders.

After a while she was able to stop stealing glances. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her own back protested her position. Too bad, she thought, but there wasn’t a man alive she trusted enough to actually sleep with in the same room.

He thought she was afraid of him as a man, and she was. Sex on its own didn’t scare her; that wasn’t it. It was what came after.

“You must
find
her!” Mamud Bahktar growled. “How is it that one simpleminded female outwits you? Have you hired imbeciles to do this, old man? You know where she lives, where her family lives. You have photographs of her. Find and kill her immediately!”

“It is not possible. She is gone, and they say there is no trace of her anywhere. No one reported her missing. Not one word about her turning up anywhere. We will take another immediately.”

Mamud cursed in English, not blasphemy in his estimation. The American woman would have to die, to salve his pride if for no other reason. Even if she had grasped any information about the man who had taken her, it could never lead back to him or his cause.

However, the woman’s escape threatened his double-edged plan to strike terror in the hearts of Americans serving overseas while also funding his special business venture in his own country. Those with whom he was to do that business would hear of it, and their trust in him would diminish if not evaporate.

“Find and kill her or you know what will happen next. This is not a request.”

The rheumy voice cracked as it answered, “I tell you, she has not surfaced today and the hour is late. Surely something else happened to her after she got away or she would have sought help. She must be dead already or there would be an outcry of tremendous proportions considering the other abductions. Do not retaliate against me for this, Bahktar, or I will be of no further use to you.” There was a slight hesitation before the threat. “And I will expose you. By name.”

Mamud thought about that. He had no time to make other arrangements, and more ransoms were needed. The setup was too perfect to destroy it now, and that would serve nothing at this point.

“Fail me again and Fatima will die. Succeed with two more profitable targets and she may join you.”

A heavy, rattling sigh. “Two more. Agreed.”

“You will e-mail to me the scouting photographs and whatever financial information you can discover, just as
you have done previously. We do not want any others with families too poor to afford the ransom.”

“If possible,” Shapur muttered.

“Do it. And hold on to the woman next time.”

G
rant woke with a start. His eyes flew open, and he was instantly aware of everything around him. He hadn’t lazed in a half-awake state since before he first joined the navy, and he sort of missed doing that sometimes. For example, this morning.

Nice hotel, sun beaming in the window, hot lady in the next bed. Yeah, it could be nice if the circumstances were a little different. The lady was over there and he was over here, for good reason.

He rolled over and the sight of her almost wrecked his resolve. Man, she looked inviting, even if it was inadvertent on her part.

She lay on her back, legs splayed a little, one arm curled beneath her head and the other flung out from the bed’s
edge. Somehow he’d expected her to sleep wound up in a tight little ball. She was such a bundle of energy that he’d hardly ever seen her relaxed. Grant took a moment to enjoy the view, then sighed and rolled out of bed.

“Up and at ’em, Beauclair!” he said in a loud voice. He didn’t trust himself to get close enough to shake her awake. “Things to do, places to go, people to see!”

She groaned and rolled onto her side, opening one eye. Then she shot straight up in bed, both eyes wide and almost panicked.

He grabbed his shaving kit and headed for the bathroom, ignoring her shocked expression. Apparently, she’d forgotten where she was and had surprised herself by sleeping soundly.

Grant showered and shaved with the speed of light and was out in a few minutes. She ducked past him, her clothes in her hand and quickly shut the bathroom door.

Did she think he’d renege on his promise and jump her now? If he hadn’t when she was lying sprawled out like a welcome mat, she was pretty damn safe. Maybe he should tell her that. Right, and get soundly slapped, he thought with a smile.

He dressed and checked his cell phone to see if it was juiced. They couldn’t afford to miss a call from Mercier or Interpol. Grant focused on plans to bring in local law enforcement and was making notes on that when Marie came out of the bathroom.

Her gaze fell on the phone. “Did you get a call?”

“Not yet. With the time difference, I expect it will be a couple of hours.” But even as the last word left his mouth, there was a knock on the door.

“Did you order room service?” Marie asked as she went to answer the knock. “Who is it?” she asked through the door.

“Karl Zahn with Interpol.”

She opened the door and stood aside for him to enter, turning as she did to raise an eyebrow at Grant.

Zahn was thirtyish, balding and terminally pale. But he was polished to a fault in his three-piece suit, tasteful tie and spit-shined shoes. He carried an expensive, thin leather briefcase.

“Quick response,” Grant said. “We were expecting a phone call.” He greeted the man with a handshake. “Grant Tyndal with COMPASS. This is Marie Beauclair.” He purposely didn’t identify her affiliation with the CIA. As far as he knew, her cover was solidly intact and to be revealed only on a need-to-know basis.

Zahn nodded at Marie. “From the consulate in Munich, of course. Luck certainly was with you, Ms. Beauclair. I do hope you are recovering from your ordeal.” His attitude was dismissive as he turned his attention immediately back to Grant.

Grant had to smile at Marie’s dour expression. “I’m perfectly fine, and luck had very little to do with it,” she declared.

Zahn paid no attention to that. Instead, he walked over to the small table by the window and opened his briefcase. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Just tell us who we’re dealing with,” Grant said. “We can handle it from there.”

Zahn spared another glance at Marie, then addressed Grant. “Perhaps we shouldn’t involve the victim in this,
Agent Tyndal.” He lowered his voice as if Marie were hard of hearing or too stupid to listen. “Women tend to get—”

“Trained occasionally and considered competent,” Marie interrupted. “Don’t let my size and blond hair fool you, and I promise not to let your lisp and condescending attitude affect my judgment of you.”

“She did escape,” Grant said with a wry grin. “All by herself.”

Zahn dropped his gaze back to the briefcase, took a deep breath and released it with a nervous laugh. “Well, then, my mistake.” He started to hand a folder to Grant, then swiveled a little and gave it to Marie with a bow of apology. “We identified the fellow almost immediately from the sketch, and the print confirmed it. He’s been on our radar for some time. We suspect he was somehow involved with the murder of a filmmaker in The Hague, but there was no hard evidence. I’m sure you are both aware of the Islamic militant network operating in this country.”

“The Hofstad Group,” Grant affirmed.

Marie was reading the copy. “Says here they were plotting an attack on the intelligence service headquarters and members of Parliament.” She looked up. “So now you believe they’ve extended their reach to the American embassies and consulates?”

“We can’t know for certain if that’s so,” Zahn admitted, “only that this man might have worked for them at one time. We have very little background on him, as you see there.” He pointed to the folder. “Perhaps he has family ties to the Middle East. We simply do not know his ethnicity, though his appearance is certainly suspect.
There are several names he uses, none verifiable as his true identity. He most frequently goes by Claude Onders.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Grant asked.

“He was in Frankfurt fourteen days ago where he slipped surveillance. We kept an eye on his addresses there and here. He returned to Amsterdam late yesterday.”

Marie was frowning down at the folder when she slowly raised her gaze to meet Grant’s and said in a near whisper, “The Zuider Hotel! Grant, you—”

Grant held up a hand, hoping to silence her before she said more, but she had already stopped herself.

Zahn continued, missing the byplay completely. “I have already coordinated with the burgomaster and the chief prosecutor, who, of course, oversee police force activity. Your Special Agent Mercier has spoken with the chief commissioner, as well as our various agencies and the Bijzondere Bijstands Eenheid.”

“Your Dutch antiterrorist force,” Grant said.

Zahn nodded. “In the event they are needed. All the numbers for contact are on the folder. The Dutch police will assist you in any way you require. Two undercover officers are at the Zuider now, keeping watch, as Agent Mercier requested. They have your cell number and will establish contact when there’s any activity on his part.”

“Excellent,” Grant said. All the agencies were on the same page and working together. COMPASS had been established to further that aim, and this cooperation underlined its success. Jurisdiction wouldn’t be a problem, thank goodness.

The punctilious Zahn added, “I, of course, am merely
a messenger in this case, but if you need anything else from Interpol, please call me directly and I will coordinate.”

He placed several more papers on the desk, including copies of the sketch Marie had done, snapped his case shut and turned to go. “Ms. Beauclair, my abject apologies if I offended you.” He gave her another perfunctory bow, then offered his hand to Grant. “Agent Tyndal. Best of luck with your investigation. We are depending on you to curtail these abductions and resolve things quickly to everyone’s relief and satisfaction.”

“Thank you for your prompt assistance,” Grant said, aping the man’s formality.

He saw himself out. No sooner had the door closed than Marie rolled her eyes and flopped down on the nearest bed. “Insufferable prick! See what I put up with? Pat the little girl on the head and treat her like the wallpaper!”

Grant laughed. “He’s a pencil pusher. And to be fair, he doesn’t know you’re an agent. No one knows but the Company, Mercier and me. You played your part well at the consulate.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “And admit it, your appearance
is
deliberate. I’ll bet you’re not even a real blonde.”

She gave him a go-to-hell look. “Like you’ll ever find out.”

Grant held up both hands in surrender, unable to squelch his grin.

On her feet again, she paced to the table and rifled through the papers Zahn had left. “So, we do what now? Wait and see who Onders contacts?”

“That’s the plan.”

He could see the exact instant she suddenly recalled
the man’s location. “You knew,” she said, her tone accusatory. “How did you know. And don’t give me that bit about feeling it on that paper he touched.”

How could he explain other than that? Grant shrugged and tried to distract her. “Lucky guess. You ready to go find something to eat? I’m starving and they have the best breakfasts in the world here.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting off that easy, Tyndal. I want to know how you knew he went to the Zuider.”

“What can I tell you? Nothing that you’ll believe. I just knew, that’s all. How do
you
memorize entire pages of type? Maps? Faces? I can’t do that, and I don’t know anyone else who can, either. How do cows know when a storm’s coming?”

“Barometric pressure! Ozone in the air? How the heck should I know?” She huffed and crossed her arms. “Now you’re comparing me to
cows?
God, you’re worse than Zahn! I think I’d rather be ignored!”

“I was comparing
myself
to the cows. Oh, just forget it!” Exasperated, he shook his head and grabbed his jacket off the chair. “You definitely need coffee. C’mon, let’s go.”

“What if we run into this Onders or whatever his name is? We aren’t that far from the Zuider,” she warned. “He would recognize me.”

Grant stopped and looked into her eyes, searching for the fear she must feel. She hid it pretty well, actually. He brushed a blond tendril off her brow and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll be there. He won’t hurt you.”

She stepped back out of reach and shot him a look
of disbelief. “You think I’m
scared
of him? No, you idiot! If he sees me, he’ll know we’re onto him and run! We’ll never get him or who he’s working for.”

With a heavy sigh, she retrieved the bag she had brought from her apartment and pulled out the cap she had worn yesterday. “I better wear this.” She twisted her hair, piled it on top of her head and put the cap on over it. Then she gave him another glare. “Maybe that will help you forego any blond jokes that come to mind.”

A double espresso, maybe two, Grant was thinking. She definitely wasn’t a morning person. But he’d bet blond
was
her real hair color. She was too sensitive about it for it not to be.

As if he’d ever find out.

Grant felt marginally human after they had eaten, and he had forgiven Marie for snapping at him earlier. They now knew where Onders had gone, and Grant knew his reading of the paper clue had been right.

He was talking on his phone, coordinating with the police as they walked. She was quiet, probably formulating questions for him as soon as he finished.

“Watch out!” He grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the way as a bike rider missed her by inches. “You have to be careful if you get on the red paths,” he warned. “Those are for bikes, and they’ll run right over you.” He’d pulled her right up against him.

She pushed out of his grasp and rubbed her biceps.

“Why do you keep acting so concerned, Tyndal? It’s not necessary. You think that’s part of the rescue job, the protector bit?”

He nodded. “Well, yeah. But even if it wasn’t, what’s wrong with a little human concern?”

“A little. That’s the key.” She turned, gesturing with one hand for emphasis. “Say I’d been killed by Onders before you got there. There would have been an initial outcry. People would go, ‘Ah, that’s awful! Poor girl.’ Then they’d go on to the next news story, and you’d go on to your next job without another thought. See, I get that and I understand it, so you don’t have to pretend.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She wrinkled her nose. “We all like to think we’re so important, but the truth is I wouldn’t be missed much, if at all, and I know it. I’m just saying you don’t have to act all worried and hover like you care.”

“That’s ridiculous. I do care. And your family would grieve if anything bad happened to you. They’d feel guilty for the rest of their lives because they hadn’t been able to afford the ransom.”

She sighed. “Ah, Tyndal, you’re assuming, and we both know what that says about you. I haven’t seen my family in years. The only person left who’s actually related by blood is my mom, and I don’t even know where she lives.”

“What about friends? I know you have friends.”

“Sure. My coworkers. And they,” she said with an emphatic pause, “didn’t bother to send anyone to extract me, did they? No, a stranger came, one who didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. On orders from someone who’s only interest is my weird ability to memorize things.”

What could he say? She was right about that. He’d
be pissed, too. And bitter. She didn’t seem all that bitter, though. It was more like something she had reluctantly accepted long ago and gotten used to. “Well, I came after you and now I know you. You need a friend, you’ve got one.”

Her smile was sweet, dimpled and patently false. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’d just as soon keep this on a professional basis. I’ll have your back if you need help. That’s the way the game’s played, and I know my part.”

“Damn!” He blew out a breath of frustration. “Somebody sure gave you a callous way of looking at life. Don’t you trust anyone at all?”

Her brow furrowed as she thought about the question. Then she shook her head. “Just myself.”

“You can trust me.”

“Maybe I do a little, subconsciously anyway. I did sleep last night.”

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” he muttered, taking her arm again and linking it with his when she edged too close to the bike path. “Humor me, would you? I don’t care if you have to act.”

She laughed and gave his arm a rough little squeeze. “I can’t help but like you, Tyndal. You are so naive it’s downright funny.”

He put his free hand over hers. “Stop gloating. Just because you sneaked out on me and made me look stupid, don’t think you’ll get away with that again.”