Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“How do you know Shawn Dunn?” I asked.
“I was part of the team that rescued his fiancée.”
Holy shit. “Was Ethan on the team, too? Is that how you two met?”
“He was the one who got her out of the house, but no, that’s not how we met.” Fletcher’s head tilted with an evaluating look. “Tell me, what happened between the two of you in South Africa?”
I pressed my lips together, not sure if I should answer.
“How about an exchange of information?” he suggested. “I have the sense we’re both rather curious about the other.”
Red flags went up. I wasn’t nearly as interested in the Englishman as I was in Ethan. My expression must have hinted at my reluctance because he leaned forward.
“We each answer only what we feel comfortable revealing.”
“All right,” I replied. “Who do you work for?”
He gave me a smug look, his eyes shining. I’d reached too far and he wasn’t going to answer.
“Do you work for criminals like he does?” I continued.
“No.” He leaned back in his chair and glanced out the portside window. “How did you get him to tell you his real name?”
I wasn’t one to get shy or embarrassed about sex. After the mountain, I tried to live with no regrets. But Ethan was guarded, and I felt compelled to leave it on the down-low. “It wasn’t easy. I had to torture it out of him.”
It was a humorless joke, but his face turned to stone. “Who do you work for?”
“No one now.” It came out fast and honest, because his harsh expression made me nervous. “Before the Abramos, I flew a regional route in Spain.”
He blinked and softened. “You were having a laugh.”
“About torturing him? Well, yeah.”
This reaction told me both men encountered torture in their line of work, the same work that had him undercover. The man sitting across from me . . . was he a spy?
“Who do you work for?” I asked again. “MI-6?”
The mischievous look in his eyes was replaced with one I couldn’t put a label on. “Who told you I’m British?” His accent vanished, and the voice of a Midwesterner emerged. “Maybe I’m only talking like that to mess with a woman who’s gotten too close to my friend.”
My breath became trapped in my throat. “What are you? CIA?”
A small, tight laugh escaped him. “No, love. Definitely not.” It was like he had a switch for the accent, and he’d just reactivated it. “Where, pray tell, did such a big man stay in that tiny room with you this morning? Did he sleep in the bathtub?”
“If you’re asking if we slept together, the answer is yes.” But before Fletcher’s eyes could grow too big, I continued, “With our clothes on, facing away from each other.”
His grin was frustrating because it said he didn’t believe my lie. “Well, unfinished business, indeed.”
I hated flying as a passenger. I needed to have the yoke in my hands and the control that went with it. The flight to Munich wouldn’t be more than ninety minutes, but I worried I was going to spend every moment of it on edge, all because of the man across from me.
“This exchange of information is getting me nowhere,” I grumbled. “I only have more questions.”
“Pity for you, as you’ve answered most of mine.” After a long moment, his amusement drained and he turned serious. “Don’t know much about him, really, love, and even less I’m allowed to tell you.”
“But you can tell me about yourself. Are you some sort of spook? Do you work for a government or—?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t, and before you ask, I don’t work for Osterhägen, either. You’ll have to trust me when I tell you that I work for the good guys.”
“And Ethan? Does he work for the good guys, too?”
His eyes sharpened, and it hinted that the trust between the two men only extended so far. “I have to believe so, yes.”
19
ETHAN
After hanging up with Olivia, I stood in the crappy apartment the CIA had leased for my cover, and the odd tension lingered in me. I trusted Fletcher, but I didn’t like her out of my sight. Crawling out of that bed with her had been difficult.
“Is it finished?” Gio snapped at me when I finally called.
“They’re secure, but I’ll need more time to get it done completely.” Making bodies disappear wasn’t normally an easy task, and I hoped he wouldn’t press for details.
“How much time?”
“A day.”
“Fine.” He sounded irritated. “But my father wants to speak with you first. Where are you?”
Twenty minutes later, I ducked into the large back seat of Vitale’s limo, and the car was in motion as soon as I had the door shut.
Vitale Abramo was an elegant man with sharp eyes and a cruel mouth. He was in his late fifties, but didn’t look it. He seemed like he took care of himself. A calculating and exacting man.