Cold Light of Day (4 page)

Now Matt was on his way home. One more day until Christmas, and although the wackos never stopped doing their whacked-out shit, even the FBI’s behavioral analysts got to chill out in a turkey coma for a few hours. Matt was looking forward to some solid sleep and serious time spent with his mother—not that she’d appreciate it, but it wouldn’t stop him being there for her.

His cell rang and he dug it out of his pocket. He frowned when he looked at the screen.

What the hell was ASAC Jon Regan, unit chief of TacOps I, doing calling this late?

“Lazlo,” Matt answered.

“You alone?”

Matt glanced at the limo driver but the privacy screen was up. “In a government issue limo.”

“You were at the Russian Ambassador’s residence?”

Matt swung his legs off the seat and sat up, suddenly wide awake. “You following me?”

“No.” Regan laughed but it sounded strained. “Can you tell me why you were there?”

Matt buzzed his fingers through his short hair. TacOps I specialized in covert entry in order to place sophisticated listening and surveillance devices at targeted locations. Basically they were government sanctioned burglars with an array of spy tools that would make James Bond drool.

“ASAC Frazer asked me to take his place at some Christmas party. Pain in the ass.” He thought about Sarah LeMay and pressed his lips together. He didn’t do regrets—something he’d inherited from his father—but right now he had a few when it came to that woman and her big, brown eyes and lack of phone number. “Why?”

“I’m going to send you a photograph. I want to know if you know this girl.”

Matt waited for the image to come through. The picture showed a cute backside encased in a heart-stopping dress with all those crazy petticoats as she leaned over a desk. As distracting as the view was, he concentrated on what she was doing—she looked like she was…dismantling a lamp.
Fuck
.

“Well?” asked Regan.

“Her name is Sarah LeMay—”

“Congressman LeMay’s daughter?”

“Yep. She was there with her sister, Angel. Knocked champagne down my front and I walked her to the restroom so I could get cleaned up.”

“You think it was an accident?”

Matt thought back to the whole thing. “I did. What’s going on?”

“That photo is a still shot of her taking the baseplate off a lamp in Ambassador Dorokhov’s office.”

Matt’s mouth went as dry as a blowtorch. She was an operator? In which case she was beyond a pro. She’d reeled him in with her display of innocent vulnerability. Was
he
a target? Son of a bitch.

Regan cleared his throat. “She was trying to plant a bug in the Ambassador’s office only to discover someone beat her to it.”

“Someone?” Matt asked dryly.

“That’s right.” Humor ran through Regan’s voice.

“Why the hell would she bug the Russian Ambassador’s office?”

“Damned if I know, that’s why I called you. You left the same time as she did.”

Matt nodded, not surprised that there was surveillance on the street. Watching the comings and goings from foreign embassies must be routine for counterintelligence services. “I gave them both a ride home.”

“Give ’em anything else?” The voice was more cautious now.

What’s going on?

“If I said ‘I wish’ do I have to go to sensitivity training?”

“No straight single man on earth would need sensitivity training for telling the God’s honest truth. Those women were hot. You should have seen where she hid the screwdriver.”

Remembering the lines of her dress, Matt had a good idea.
Shit.
He rubbed his forehead. The idea that he’d been duped did not sit well. “I dropped them at the congressman’s house and the driver took me to the White House—”

“You went to the White House?” Regan sounded as if he was choking on his tongue.

“Not inside. Just the rear entrance to meet up with a buddy of mine for a few minutes. It wasn’t planned, and I didn’t tell her I was going there.”

There was a long, tense silence. “Can you meet me at The Center?”

“Now?” Matt virtually passed it on the way to his home. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“Tis the season to give joy.”

“Trust me, if anyone is going to give me joy I don’t want it to be you.” His mind cut back to the elfin face of Sarah LeMay. An operator who’d nailed him with a pair of big, brown eyes. He’d obviously lost his touch. “I’ll be there in ten. Make sure there’s plenty of coffee.”

*     *     *

Andrei Dorokhov opened
the door to his office and strode inside. His wife and Sergio followed, arm in arm. Natalie was drunk, but he didn’t mind. She flirted with everyone she met, male or female, but she’d never betray him. She wouldn’t dare.

Sergio might.

His “assistant” was ruthless and ambitious, but he wasn’t stupid. Sergio Raminski wouldn’t mess with him unless there was something to gain from it. Andrei understood Sergio better than anyone. He’d once been exactly like him.

Andrei walked to the fireplace and opened a box of Cuban cigars, offered Sergio one and then clipped the end of another before lighting it. The soothing aroma of sweet tobacco eased into his lungs. Natalie poured them each another glass of vodka.

“Here’s to a successful evening.” She passed him the drink and smiled at him in that way she had, as if he were the only man in the room.

He was lucky to have her. He raised his glass. “
Vashe Zdoroviye
,
lyubov moya
.”

He took a drink. He wasn’t tired. He’d spent most nights of his working life walking the streets of various cities of the world, hiding in dark alleys, passing cash and instructions via dead drops. Running agents. Retrieving information. Passing it on. It was a world where he was comfortable and sure of himself. It was here in this embassy that he worried he wouldn’t be what his superiors wanted. He’d pushed for this job. He’d wanted a way to return to the US but to remain untouchable.

A sense of nostalgia uncoiled inside him—it must be the Christmas spirit or one too many toasts to the ladies. For nearly two decades he’d run spy rings around the globe. He missed the thrill of the old days, but he was in DC to make sure the past stayed buried, and certain lies died with the truth. The network of Russian agents had always been more formidable than its American counterpart. Andrei had worked hard and sacrificed much to make sure it stayed that way. Only one man had ever really suspected him, but Andrei had taken care of him the way he took care of everything—with ruthless efficiency.

Sergio wandered over toward the curtains. The younger man was handsome and charming, obviously eager to be off screwing some woman rather than seeing to his master’s needs. Sergio had the looks and skills to go a long way in the diplomatic corp—more importantly, he had powerful connections who were all getting richer as Russia expanded its energy empire.

The first hint of a hangover sliced across the backs of his eyes. A sure sign of age and a weakness he wouldn’t reveal to anyone. “What do we have planned for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Lunch with the Canadian Ambassador, then an afternoon reception at the embassy for all the diplomats and embassy staff. After that you are free until the twenty-seventh when there is a cocktail party at the Smithsonian.”

Russians didn’t celebrate Christmas until January 7 and then it was a shadow of the celebrations the Americans indulged in. The only religion that had thrived in Russia for the last century had been Communism. Andrei enjoyed the season, although he saw little relationship between the birth of Christ and shopping. Even so, his wife would have his hide if he didn’t get her a generous gift. He planned to take them away for a few days skiing in the mountains, somewhere with a hot tub to soak his aching bones at the end of a day on the slopes.

Sergio continued pacing, then paused, stepped back, bent over and picked something small off the floor that glittered in the light.

Andrei frowned, then strode forward and took it from his assistant’s palm. An earring. He raised his brow at his wife. “Do you recognize this?”

Her eyes widened at his tone and she shook her head. “No.”

Sergio peered closer into Andrei’s palm and pressed his lips together. “It may have been the earring of one of tonight’s guests.”

“Did you bring her in here?” Andrei asked softly.

Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “No, Your Eminence.”

“Sweep the room.”

“It was swept earlier today, Your Excellency.” There was impatience in the man’s black eyes.

Andrei gripped Sergio’s throat and squeezed. “Sweep. It. Again. Properly this time. Take apart every light-fitting. Every telephone. Examine every cable. No one sleeps until I know the entire building is secure!” Fury ripped through him. He shoved the younger man away and hurled his crystal tumbler at the fireplace where it shattered into a thousand pieces. Clear liquid dripped down the white marble.

He headed for the door.

“Andrei,” Natalie called after him. “It’s just an earring.”

“It’s proof someone was in here when they shouldn’t have been.” He clicked his fingers and though her eyes narrowed, she closed her mouth and followed him out of the room without saying another word. Good. He was not in the mood to control his wife. He was not in the mood to be nice or polite or diplomatic. These people didn’t understand the stakes. They might think they did, but they didn’t. He would not let the Americans get the better of him. They strode down the stairs, Sergio following closely, past the rooms used for various social functions and administrative purposes, through the kitchens before taking an elevator down to the basement.

Mishka, his head of security, came out the door to meet him. “Do you need something, Your Excellency?”

Andrei held up the earring, which sparkled, in the dim light. “This was on the floor of my office. How did it get there?” He pushed past the man into the security section, straight to the monitors that showed all the cameras within the residence. There were none in his private rooms—above all, he understood the value of privacy. But all the public areas, all the corridors, were monitored.

The uniformed guard scanning the monitors looked at his boss nervously.

“Show me the footage from the corridor outside my office tonight. Start at 7:20 PM.” He’d been in his office until just after that.

The security guard scrolled back on the time log and then started playing forward at double speed.

“Stop. Her.” Sergio pointed at a woman dressed in a smoky-colored dress, talking to a man wearing a Navy uniform. The guard slowed it down to normal speed.

Andrei watched her closely, noticed she was wearing earrings very like the one he held in his hand.

She and the military man stood close together, as if entranced by one another.
How sweet.
Then she stepped back and walked away. The man went into the men’s room and she entered the ladies’ room. Another woman came out, and then he saw himself striding out of his office, adjusting his sleeves, eager to get to the party.

He moved out of sight and a few moments later the woman in the pretty, silver dress dashed out of the restroom and across the hall, into his office before the door fully closed.

“Fast forward,” Andrei ordered.

Sweat gleamed on the security guard’s brow. It didn’t take long before the woman exited his office and ran back to the restroom. She looked scared and upset. One of her earrings was missing.

“I don’t know how I missed this,” the guard said, voice trembling. “I swear I never moved from my post.”

The head of security cuffed the man across the back of the head. “
Mudak
.”

“Who is she?” Andrei demanded.

“Sarah LeMay,” Sergio answered quickly. “She was here with her sister, Angel.”

Everything inside Andrei went cold. “LeMay?”

Sergio nodded.

“The congressman’s daughter?”

“They were invited as you requested.” Sergio’s brows crinkled.

Andrei had sent the invitation in jest—as a warning. He’d never imagined any of them would come. “The man in uniform, who is he?” he demanded. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Natalie answered. “A young man called Matthew Lazlo.”

“He represented FBI Agent Lincoln Frazer,” Sergio put in. “A last minute switch.”

Andrei had wanted to meet the other federal employee. “So Matthew Lazlo is also FBI?”

Natalie shrugged. Sergio nodded.

Fury moved inside Andrei’s veins; cold, precise like razor-sharp ice. He reached inside Sergio’s jacket, watching the younger man’s pupils flare as he took his gun. Andrei whirled and slammed the guard on the side of the head with the butt of the pistol. The man fell unconscious over the console.

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.” He spat on the man. “Send him home. We do not tolerate amateurs.” He handed the gun back to Sergio, who took it carefully.

“Do you want to issue an official complaint to the Americans?” Sergio asked in a level voice.

“
Nyet
.” Was the FBI running surveillance on him inside the embassy? Impossible. The stakes were too high, his retribution too potentially damaging. He needed to know what was going on. “Find me the girl,
quietly
,” said Andrei. “I want to talk to her.” The conversation wouldn’t be pretty. “And find out everything you can about the man.” He turned to his Security Chief. “No more mistakes, Mishka. Next time I won’t be so understanding.”