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“That’s all I got.”
Fraser made a sound, deep in his chest. Then nodded. “Stay alive. God will come up with something.” Then he got out of the car.
Ned left him in the road with his team.
Hang on, Shae. I’m on my way.
* * *
“No,absolutely not, over my very large, angry, dead body.” Yes, Hudson might be a little crabby, but no way, no how, was he going to follow Ziggy’s crazy, hair-brained plan and—“That’s a great way to get her killed.”
He stood over Ziggy and Iris, who both looked at him likehemight be the crazy one here.
But he was also the only one with a good eight hours of sleep under his belt. Although, honestly, it’d been a long time coming. And he’d had to work for it.
He couldn’t believe that Iris had thought she could just sneak out of their hotel room. Oops,herhotel room. But whatever, he’d heard her leave, with a click of the door, and in a second, knew something wasn’t right.
Mostly because he’d gotten used to the sound of her breathing. Weird, but he definitely remembered, or had maybe sensed, her presence in his hospital room while the nurses jabbed him and took his blood pressure, and he’d become keenly aware of her in the corner, on a recliner, just hanging out.
Watching him sleep. But he hadn’t hated it. Not sure why.
And when she’d left, he’d sort of just…yeah, sensed it.
Which was why he’d forced himself off the bed and to the door and—
“Ziggy, what are you doing here?” He’d stared at the two in the hallway, Ziggy dressed in her usual spy attire, Iris in her jeans and cute top, and they’d stared up at him, wide-eyed, as if caught in some drug hand-off.
Maybe worse, because, “I found out who put the hit on Iris.”
“Nice. Maybe you could announce it right here in the hallway.” He’d opened the door and practically pushed the ladies into the crowded room.
“First, we need to move you. And then I have a plan,” Ziggy said.
Iris had grabbed her roller bag, still mostly packed, and thrown her toiletries into it. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? Alfonzo. I’ll bet he’s angry that I didn’t text him back.”
Ziggy had just frowned at her, then looked at Hud, but he’d just shrugged. “No idea.”
“You were supposed to text Alfonzo? Or rather, Alan Martin?”
“Yeah. I still have the phone.” She’d walked over to her bag and pulled out the flip phone.
And that’s when things had gotten a little crazy. Ziggy got on her phone with someone named Logan, who then activated a hacker who then called Ziggy, and by the time Iris was packed and they were headed downstairs, Ziggy had dialed her hacker friend to take control of the phone.
He’d gotten his clothing back—in his suitcase—tipped the concierge, and ordered an Uber. And while Ziggy had made Iris tell her everything she knew about Alfonzo, he’d lined them up a new hotel room.
This time a suite, with two bedrooms and a nice big living room and room service.
They’d ended up in the Presidential Suite at the Athens Plaza, with a view of the Acropolis and enough king-sized beds for a crowd. Or three people.
He’d ordered room service—moussaka and stuffed eggplant—then sat on the sofa nursing a sparkling water while Ziggy gave them both a rundown of the scariest man he’d ever heard of.
“Alan Martin is a rogue CIA agent. He and the former VP-elect, Reba Jackson, along with some of their ilk who we’re still trying to uncover and the Petrov Bratva, tried to kill the president, twice. Most recently a few months ago by disabling Air Force One.”
“Like the movie with Harrison Ford?”
Ziggy frowned at him, and Iris gave him a side-eye.
“What? She mentioned him. And now I have Harrison Ford on the brain.”
