“Suspicious, I know, but she’s still useful. I’m sure you’ve already found out that everyone around here has hidden motives, Hawk.” Dilaver’s eyes narrowed. His lips curled into a sneer. “She’s been here for four or five years, building her little café restaurant into quite a gathering spot for the UN peacekeepers. I guess, like you, they all want real hamburgers.”
“What’s her name?” Hawk asked. How odd—to have thought of hamburgers and now his wish was granted.
“Amber Hutchens. The restaurant’s called The Last Resort.”
The woman on the other end of the line sounded professional and pleasant.“Hallo, dobar dan.”
“Dobar dan. Jeste li dobili moje pismo?”Hawk asked the question to signal the request to speak to Jed. He had been instructed to dial this number the moment the source established contact. To ask whether the person received his letter was a clue for Jed.
“Kada ste poslali pismo?”
“The letter was sent late,” Hawk replied in Serbian. Late. In the dark. Tied to his—
“Are you positive it’s the right communication?”
“Oh, quite,” he said, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. Thecommunicationwas very obvious.
“Please hold.”
He knew they were making sure his line was secure before putting Jed through. The man was an enigma—the last time he’d called this number, the woman had spoken Vietnamese. And the time before that, Jed had picked up on the first ring.
The woman came back on the line. “I’m sorry, but the letter isn’t here. You must have sent it to the wrong address.”
The line went dead.
“Shit.” Amber immediately turned off her laptop.
“Got caught, huh?” Her back against the wall, Llallana crossed her arms. “Can they trace back to us?”
Amber shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“How do you think they know about the chip you put in our American boy’s cell phone?”
“It was a gamble,” Amber admitted. “Jed McNeil has some of the most advanced tech toys on his side. But as tests go, we’re getting plenty of answers.”
Llallana cocked her head, her eyes thoughtful. “They sure were being very careful. Coded conversation. Tracer satellite signals.”
“Not to mention an intermediary. That woman who answered him wasn’t just some secretary. She was probably at a different location with her own satellite tracer just in case someone was trying to locate Jed’s current position.” Amber reactivated her laptop. “So even if he’s been compromised, no one would have found him.”
“But now he knows someone has bugged their man’s phone. Now what?”
“He’ll know it’s us,” Amber replied dryly. There was very little that escaped Jed.
“No, everything points to you, my dear,” Llallana retorted. Straightening from the wall, she sauntered to the door. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re the one who wanted to test the guy.”
Amber swung her chair around, watching her friend as she headed for the door. Lily was in a strange mood. She had been reluctant about this particular operation since Amber hatched the idea of testing the new man in town. “So you just want me to help him and then what? What do I get for my generosity?”
Llallana stopped and turned back, combing her hands through her short jet-black hair as she stared at the computer screen for a few seconds. Amber let the silence draw out. Something was definitely troubling her friend.
“It’s up to you,” she finally said. “Why do you want to help this man out?”
“It’s Jed’s man,” Amber explained. “Jed did me a favor and I owe him one. Besides, I’m curious…what’s the hot stuff this time that is so damn secured?”
“Hot stuff” was their code for a wanted item, be it goods or information. It was their way to finance their own personal operation. The non-CIA-sanctioned one, that is.
Amusement entered Lily’s dark eyes. “Are you sure it isn’t because you saw this man’s hot stuff?” Her voice was teasing. “You practically felt the entire package.”
Amber felt her cheeks heating up. She was never going to live that down. “I don’t need that kind of hot stuff.”
