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“I’m going down to the business center.”
I nod. “I’ll check for earlier flights.”
It’s a typical marital interaction, but there’s a bothersome underlying coldness to it. But should any of the Toros be watching, the interaction fits our roles.
Back in the room, a winter storm warning flashes on my phone. The only rescheduling options on the airline app are for later dates. I could get one of the Sullivan jets here before the storm hits, assuming we can get a route cleared, but getting out before the storm hits is iffy. Even private jets have to succumb to the weather gods.
Based on the forecast, we’ll be here for at least another twenty-four hours. It’s not the worst thing. Fisher and I will have one more night before we go our separate ways. And I should be able to spend the afternoon doing research. I’d like to follow up with Erik and see if he’s got any information on how Killington has been spending his time since being released.
The laptop sits securely behind the vent, but the inexplicable disappointment weighs me down and I quite simply don’t feel like digging into work. When I open the wall vent, instead of my laptop, I grab my personal phone and dial Lauren. Her voicemail picks up, and I end the call, saying nothing. She’ll see I called.
Then I shoot Zane a text letting him know I called her. As annoying as his reminders are, his efforts at keeping the three of us close are endearing. After the abduction, he was one of my few friends who kept coming around. He’s good like that. Persistent.
The battery on the phone is low, so I plug it in to charge by the bedside table.
When I was in the FBI, Lauren and Zane were pretty understanding when I’d get slammed and go MIA. But Lauren’s been more sensitive about it now that I theoretically work in finance. And with her recent engagement, there’s no doubt she’s been venting to Zane. Really, he should be her bridesmaid.
Given the unpredictable nature of my job, maybe I should back out, or offer up Zane as a back-up option. There’s a CIA time-off request form, but it’s my understanding the company needs could always override a vacation request. Lauren deserves a reliable maid of honor. When I’m back in DC, I’ll speak to Bauer about it. Get his take on how unreliable vacation time is in our department.
The CIA now has Gemma’s cell number, which means, thanks to no-click tracking infiltration technology, they have everything about her. But I can’t imagine they are going to learn anything. There are wives who are highly involved in their husband’s business, but Gemma isn’t one of them. If anything, Rafael actively works to keep her out of his business. The CIA analysts are probably reading through scores of promotional emails and intense conversations with personal shoppers. They might be digging through correspondence with family too. My sense is Gemma is close to her mother.
She and I are alike that way. Or at least, at one time, I was close to my mother. I counted her as my best friend.
Her sudden death changed everything for me. I found myself living with a father who up until that point I’d spent little time with. And none of it made sense.
A car slammed into her at an intersection. She died instantaneously, the driver shortly after. At twelve, I was too young to be suspicious. But I discovered a file on my dad’s computer. He’d been suspicious. Arrow still tracks the wife of the driver. For years, they’ve been monitoring her financial activity. She currently lives a quiet life in Guatemala.
An electronic click sounds, announcing Fisher’s return before the door opens. I listen to heavy footfalls and call, “Damian?”
He comes into view and sits to undo the laces of his leather boots, wincing as he does so.
“Shoulder hurt?”
“Sore.” He rubs it. “I’m probably going to schedule an appointment with the masseuse. We’re gonna be here through the snowstorm.”
“Did you not like the service I gave you yesterday?”
He pauses, bent over one knee. He looks me over like he’s remembering exactly what we did yesterday, last night, and this morning. My breath hitches, but I strive to appear aloof.
“I think you know I loved that.” His gaze travels slowly up and down my body, warming every inch in the path of his perusal. I swear it’s like he can see right through my clothes. “Best massage of my life.”
He drops his gaze to his shoes and finishes removing them. His shift in attitude has me thinking I misread the heat from seconds earlier. At the very least, his stoic expression communicates dry business.
“Spoke to the office.”
“Yeah?”
“Ivan isn’t going back with the rest.”
“How do they know?” Is there a video feed on the tarmac?
With both shoes off and set to the side, he sits back in the armchair. “He’s booked on a commercial flight into the United States. The reservation triggered the watch list.”
“Where’s he flying into?”
“Los Angeles.” His gaze meets mine. “Rafael said he has meetings in LA in two weeks. My bet is Ivan is doing some precursory work.”
“They think he’s staying behind to check us out?”
