Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) (14 page)

M
al arrived back in DC two days later. He was snatched up at the airport by Baston’s driver and swept off to his boss’s country pile. Baston had a huge estate in Reston, Virginia. The driver didn’t give him an option of going home.

He was so fired.

“Where is my daughter?” Baston asked as soon as he got through the two sets of security checkpoints and up to the front door.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated,” his opening salvo had been. It hadn’t got any better. He couldn’t tell his boss why he’d left her side. Couldn’t tell him that she was CIA, couldn’t tell him fucking anything. A British envoy from the Belarus embassy had visited him at his hospital bedside and reminded him that these kinds of activities were held under the official secrets act, which he’d signed some fifteen years previously, and had never expired.

“Uncomplicate it, son.” He’d never in the three years he’d worked for Baston been able to disrespect him, and now it seemed to his boss, at least, as if that was all he was doing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Then tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Let me get this straight. You were sent there to shadow her, to keep my only daughter from harm, and you come back injured with no earthly idea where she is?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me? And what I mean by that is, do you know more than you want to tell me?”

“Yes. I’m sorr—”

“You are on house arrest here until you tell me where. My. Daughter. Is.” He was shouting as he punctuated his last words with a stabbing pointer finger, and Mal didn’t blame him.

“I’m sure she’s safe,” he offered.

“You’re sure. One hundred percent sure? Or you think?”

“I think.”

“Then you won’t be leaving until I get to the bottom of this. Go.” He nodded toward a security protection officer who had silently entered the office.

“Mr. Garrett. Please follow me.”

And so he’d stayed there. Two days and counting. People had come in to ask him what he knew. But he couldn’t tell them anything. Doctors came and went. Drugs were administered for pain and inflammation and for his broken ribs and arm. And he slept in discomfort, his dreams peppered with images of Abby.

He could have left at any time; he could escape with relative ease. But he wanted to know the second Baston had been in contact with Abby. And this was by far the best place to be to stay in the loop. He prepared himself to never see her again. The nature of her business meant that she would always move on and start a new life. He had hoped, in his most miserably painful moments in the hospital, that she might—what? Quit her job? On the basis of a weeklong combative relationship? He was crazy. It might even have been the drugs. There was no future for them, and for the first time in his life—the first time ever—he was inexplicably heartbroken.

Even David Church, the guy he’d met in Greece, had stopped by to chat. He’d been supposed to interrogate Mal, but they’d just chatted about what he’d been up to since Greece. Baston had sent him on a few missions, but he’d always flown back to his girlfriend instead of his own home. It was sweet, really. The most effed-up man he’d met on the job had found a perfect girl,
and
in the course of a mission.

Where
was
Abby?

Abby had spent three whole days looking at geopolitical intel about Turkey. She’d looked at it for hours, but actually hadn’t read any of it. As soon as she tried to concentrate on the words on the document, her thoughts flittered away to Malone.

Where
was
he?

By the afternoon of the third day, she’d come to a decision. She needed answers. Needed to see him, or she’d never be able to concentrate on her next assignment. And then she looked at the table full of information, and for the first time felt no enthusiasm, no spark or excitement. Mal had taken away any positive feeling when he’d decided to leave her and be the hero.

She needed him. Needed to know he was okay. Alive. She just needed to know. And there was only one person who could help. She agonized over it for all of thirty seconds and then she grabbed her purse and the keys to her rental car and ran from the hotel.

It took her twenty minutes to get to Reston and another ten to make it through the security checkpoints. Each minute that ticked by increased the pressure on her heart. Why hadn’t she done this on her first day back? Her first hour?

She parked the car dead in front of the entrance, knowing her father would be pissed and not caring.

She rang the bell. Seriously? Even though security had to have advised him that she was coming, he still made her wait.

At least he answered the door himself and hadn’t sent one of his men to do it.

“Abigail. Where have you been?” If she didn’t know what a hard-ass he was, she would have sworn that he was choked up.

“I’ve been in the Ukraine. You know that. You sent someone to spy on me.”

He hustled her into his first-floor office—more of a library with bookshelves lining the walls, only she knew that they weren’t really all books. Some were containers; some hid false doors. It was a kid’s paradise. Her mouth twitched as she remembered exploring it when they’d first moved there.

“How do you know I sent someone?” he asked, chopping the end of his cigar in a pocket guillotine.

“Where is he? Have you heard from him? Did he make it out? Pops. Tell me.” She would have grabbed him if he hadn’t put the desk between them.

He frowned at her. “You mean him?” He pointed at the door they’d just come in. She turned.

Malone was standing just inside the door, one arm in a sling and bruises over one side of his face. Relief took the air from her lungs, and she bent over just trying to breathe. “Thank God.” An embarrassing moan of disappearing tension came out, too, but she just didn’t care. “Malone.”

In a second he was at her side, crushing her in a one-armed hug.

“Well, this is very interesting,” her father said.

Neither of them paid attention to him.

Her father cleared his throat, and they pulled apart. She grabbed his hand, though, not wanting to let go of him. “How the hell did you survive that explosion?” she asked, willing the welling tears back into her eyes. “It was like Armageddon down there. I couldn’t imagine how you’d get out. And then no one told me where you were, or even if you were alive.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. Then she opened them and punched his good arm.

“Ow. That’s not very nice.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded.

“How was I supposed to do that? The white pages? I don’t even think that exists anymore. You didn’t give me any way to get in contact with you. Your father has been interrogating me every hour to find out where you were.” He sounded pissed, but he was grinning and stroking her hand with his thumb.

Her father butted in. “Question is, why didn’t you call me to tell me you were okay? That’s a better question.”

“Pops, if you’re trying to spy on me—or rather by having someone else spy on me, which is worse—you can’t complain when your own operative loses track of me.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, love. Thanks very much,” Mal said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Knowing you, you’d survive being run over by a bus, so I’m not worried.”

Baston raised his voice. “Enough. Someone tell me what’s going on here. So help me, if you and my daughter—”

“Pops, sit down,” Abby said, sitting on one of the leather chairs by his desk. “I’m CIA. I’m a CIA operative. I was working in Ukraine, watching for the Russians. They came, and Mal helped me get word back to Langley…and here we are.”

Her father sat down abruptly and chewed on his cigar, which he still hadn’t lit. Now that she’d told him, she guessed she’d have to quit the Agency. A weight lifted from her. Maybe she should have done this years ago.

“Ex-CIA, I guess,” she said. “As soon as I hand in my resignation.”

“Really?” Mal said. “So you’ll be sticking around here?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t really thought it through. I literally made up my mind to quit thirty seconds ago.”

“Come and work for me,” her father said, not missing a beat.

She looked at him, flabbergasted. “Really? That’s the first thing you think when I tell you I’ve been working for the CIA? Not, ‘how could you have lied to me?’ not ‘my dearest baby girl, have you been in danger?’ but ‘come work with me’?” She shook her head.

“I’m a businessman, sweetheart. If there’s someone sitting in front of me with Agency training, who’s suddenly out of a job, it’s my patriotic responsibility to offer her a job. To insist on it. Besides, having a female operative would widen my business hugely.” He finally lit the cigar and bellows of blue smoke wafted between them. “Not to mention a pair of operatives who can pose as a married couple.”

She looked at Malone, who was grinning widely and not saying a word. She grinned back.

“Well, you bicker like an old married couple, anyway. So you have that going for you.”

“Permission to steal her away for a minute, sir?” Malone jumped to his feet and held his hand out for hers.

She grabbed it and stood.

Her father groaned. “Don’t make me…I don’t want to know.” He raised his voice as they left the room. “Not under my roof.”

She giggled as Malone took the stairs two at a time, dragging her behind him. “What’s the rush?” she gasped.

“We have a lot of practicing to do before we can go undercover as a married couple. A whole lot.”

T
hey’d just wrapped up their fifteenth mission as a married couple. After the seventh mission, they actually made it official by getting married on a Caribbean island, as part of their cover. They thought getting married while on a mission was perfect. Perfect for them anyway.

Any talk of war had been delayed. Officially the Russians had entered into negotiations with the EU. Unofficially, word had got back that NATO knew their game plan and they’d beat a fairly hasty retreat to lick their wounds. So all was quiet until it happened again, which these things usually did.

And now Mal and Abby were on their way to their sixteenth mission—the most important one of their lives. Baston had sent them in his private jet. Abby was nervous. Mal could tell by how utterly still she was. She was literally the opposite of anyone he’d known. She went still and calm when she was nervous, and she was alive and buzzing when she was at ease. It had been the pleasure of his life to discover these little parts of his wife that few other people could see.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, wrapping his arm around her.

“You’re not nervous?” she asked, examining his face for weakness.

“Of course I am. It’s only natural. But everything will work out brilliantly. You’ll see.”

“Care to take my mind off it?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” he said. “As long as your father doesn’t have a camera on board.”

“I had them taken out before we boarded,” she answered with a sly smile.

“That’s why I love you. You’re always prepared.” He grinned and stood.

“Yes, I am.” She unzipped her sweatshirt and showed him what was underneath.

He took in her navy blue lingerie and sighed. “You’re
so
much better than a Boy Scout.”

“Yes, I am,” she repeated, unzipping her denim skirt and letting it fall to the floor.

She stepped out of it and put one knee on the sofa that stretched the length of the aircraft. “Where do you want me? Here?” She stroked her hand along the arm of the sofa. “In the galley?”

In an instant he visualized her sitting on the stainless steel galley, legs around his head as he licked her until she came. His dick was already hard at the thought of her softness. He picked her up, making her squeal, and strode into the galley, depositing her on the metal countertop.

“Cold,” she whispered.

“Very, very hot,” he countered, slowly pushing her knees open until her panties strained against her. He dipped his head and licked the length of her over the blue silky material. She leaned back and pushed into him, wriggling against his tongue. He eased his finger under her panties and ran it over her clitoris, using her own wetness to make her squirm. His tongue still laved the material in broad strokes. He was desperate to taste her properly but loved to tease her into submission.

“Who’s your boss?” he asked in between strokes.

“You are, you bastard,” she moaned.

“You know it, love.” He used his finger to slip the material to one side so that his tongue stroked against her clit.

She moaned, making his dick strain against his trousers. He took a second to undo his belt and let them fall to the ground. Abby undid his shirt and raked her nails over his chest, making his nipples throb in tandem with his dick.

He drew his tongue around her clit and slipped two fingers into her, curling them slightly. He stroked inside her, feeling her tighten around him. She was close. He sneaked a look at her, flushed, mouth slightly open, eyes closed, totally lost in his touch. He adored seeing her like that.

She flicked open her bra in the front and with one hand still bracing herself on the counter, began to play with her own nipple. He was about ready to explode himself. He stood up, put his mouth around her other nipple, and bit gently, then licked it and blew cold air across it, making it hard. He moved his thumb to her clit and thrust his fingers in and out. She clenched, and just as she was about to come, he bit her nipple again. Her orgasm seemed to settle over her whole body, shaking as it subsided.

She wrapped her hands around his neck and he lifted her down.

“It’s your turn now, baby,” she purred.

“I already know exactly how I want you.” He turned her around and bent her over. He could see her face and breasts reflected in the mirrored backsplash. Still in her high-heeled shoes, she wiggled a little as she spread her legs for him. He entered her with one thrust. She gasped and pushed back at him. He reached around her and watched himself play with her nipples as he pushed inside her. Heat pulsed out from his lower back, and with a few thrusts his balls tightened and he paused for a second, loving the feeling of being inside her, being part of her, and with his eyes on his wife’s face, he came, shuddering inside her.

“I love you, Mrs. Garrett,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.

“You better,” she gasped back.

With incredible timing, the pilot came over the intercom. “Ten minutes to landing.”

They stood up and she turned to face him. “A fine impression we’ll make like this.”

“Half of me wants to fly naked with you. Like always. So I can touch you for the whole flight.”

“Wrap it up, pal. We usually fly commercial.” She fastened her bra and grabbed her sweatshirt and skirt.

“Well don’t you just spoil all my fun.” He grinned as he pulled up his pants.

“Do I?” She arched an eyebrow at the galley.

“Valid point. Naked flying a topic for another conversation.”

She brushed past him and whispered in his ear, “Or another role play.”

He held his fist out and she bumped it. God, he loved this woman. She was the perfect dichotomy of pure balls and all woman. She constantly surprised him, and today she was making him the happiest man in the world.

Someone new was joining their team.

After they disembarked at the general aviation part of the airport, where the private planes were received, she searched for a familiar face.

This was the icing on the cake for her, the perfect result of their mission in Ukraine, her meeting what turned out to be the love of her life, and for them both to return here, to find the love of both their lives.

Tanoff waved as they came through security. He kissed her on both cheeks and shook Mal’s hand with vigor. Next to him, Brigda held a sleeping eight-month-old baby in her arms. Tears welled in Abby’s eyes, and this time she let them fall. Brigda smiled and carefully put the baby in her arms. There was a flash as Mal took a photo. “It’s one of you crying, not of our daughter or anything.” It was one of his usual smart-ass remarks, tempered by the very soft voice he said it in as he peered down into the bundle of blankets and stroked his new daughter’s face with his finger.

She had made contact with Tanoff when she and Mal had been married a year. They’d discussed a family and had decided that since they had firsthand knowledge of the orphanage, they would adopt a child from them. Since the toddlers she’d worked with had already been adopted, they’d waited for a child who had no one.

Seven months ago they’d got the call, and after all the paperwork had been done and stamped in what seemed like fifteen different offices in the US and Ukraine, they’d set off on their final—for now—husband-and-wife mission.

“Perfection,” Mal murmured.

“She is,” Abby replied.

Her husband looked into her eyes. “I meant my world.”