Covert Evidence (19 page)

S
leep came fitfully for Cressida. It didn’t help that she shared a bed with a man she alternately feared and wanted. A man who was so big and muscular, he took up more than half of the double bed.

A man who might be a terrorist. A man who was holding her prisoner.

A man who’d saved her life. More than once.

A man who made her forget the insane situation with one touch of his deft fingers.

She twisted under the covers and studied him, wondering how deeply he slept. She wanted to check out the pendant. Could there be a microchip inside?

Hejan had been adamant that she never take it off. Even as he set her up for this awful journey, he’d been warning her. But of what?

Ian’s short dark hair stuck up on one side. His features were softened with sleep, his mouth less foreboding when not accompanied by a suspicious stare. Firm, square chin with a slight cleft below soft lips, the feel of which haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Sharp cheekbones, thick dark brows—they all combined to make a handsome face that would have caught her eye anytime, anywhere.

Even in the air-conditioned room, sweat gathered at his hairline in sleep. It glistened in the bright daylight that seeped through the blinds. She imagined running her tongue across his collarbone, tasting the salt on his skin. She licked her lips, then let out a silent sigh at her foolishness.

She scooted to the edge of the bed. She’d go to the bathroom and check out the pendant. Careful not to wake her sleeping guard, she placed one foot on the floor.

A hand latched on to her wrist with an iron grip. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice didn’t even sound sleepy.

“To pee. Is that allowed?”

“With the door open, sure.”

“I don’t think our relationship has progressed to the peeing-with-the-door-open stage.”

“Fine, then I’ll stand outside the door and listen.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that, right?”

He shrugged. “So are you.”

“Yeah. Aren’t we a pair?” She stood and crossed to the bathroom. True to his word, he followed.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about. The door doesn’t even close after you smashed the handle.”

“I’m not worried. Just cautious.”

Inside the bathroom, she studied the pendant.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Back off. You’re giving me shy bladder syndrome.”

He laughed.

In disgust, she dropped the pendant back under her top, took care of business, then returned to the bed. She’d learned nothing about the pendant, except that it looked solid at a quick glance—no obvious hidden chamber. Hard to imagine it could be something terrorists desperately wanted.

Wired, she couldn’t close her eyes, let alone relax enough to fall asleep. She shifted positions. Right side. Then left. Nothing was comfortable.

“You need an orgasm,” Ian said, his voice breaking the tense silence.

She snorted. “You must have been an awful teenager. Always telling girls ‘we could die tomorrow,’ in an attempt to get in their pants.”

He chuckled. “Come to think of it, we
could
die tomorrow, but I didn’t mean it that way. I meant you’re wound tight. An orgasm would relax you. You can take care of it yourself. Or, I could help.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you.”

“I’m a giving sort of guy. I can make you come with my mouth or fingers. No penetration. Nothing in it for me.”

How sick was she to be tempted by his indifferent offer? It didn’t help that the idea of making him hot, then leaving him empty held a certain spiteful appeal. She flipped over on her belly. “No, but thanks.” Silence descended. The air conditioner clicked on. The unit had a high-pitched whirr that scraped at her already taut nerves. Finally she said, “What happens next, Ian?”

“We head west.”

“We aren’t going to Batman?”

“No. Batman is where Zack will expect me to go, and any soldier—NATO or otherwise—who believes I’m a traitor will take a shot at me before stopping to ask questions. I’ve got an unwritten shoot-to-kill on my head. Possibly even a written one. NATO is out.”

“Why west?”

“Because the countries to the east will kill a CIA agent even faster than a NATO soldier will kill a traitor, and to the south is a heavily patrolled and closed border with a country embroiled in a vicious civil war. We’ll head to the Med. Maybe we’ll catch a container ship to Venice.”

“Why Venice?”

“Because it’s not in Turkey, where I am currently wanted for killing a Turkish soldier.”

“And from Venice? Where do we go from there?”

He shrugged. “First we have to get to Venice.”

“Do you speak Italian?”

He said something, soft, low, a gravelly texture in his voice she’d only heard when they were in the shower. Desire ripped through her with lightning speed. She had no clue what he’d said but had a feeling it was explicit and involved her.

“You aren’t going to ask me what I said?” She could hear laughter in his voice.

“I think I can guess.”

He said more in the same low voice. Soft, sexy words that knit a seductive spell.

“What gives, Boyd? You’re hitting on me more now than when you were playing the role of John Baker. Yet I have the distinct feeling you don’t like me.”

The bed shifted as he rolled to his side. They were face-to-face in the shadowy room. “I never said I don’t like you. Besides, it was Baker’s job to win your trust, but he didn’t trust you. He thought you were smart. Sexy. But he had a lot of questions. He had to maintain a degree of professional distance.
I
on the other hand—”

“What, no more third person?”

“John Baker is a role. I am Ian.” His fingertip traced her lips. “I had the same suspicions as Baker, but my secret is out, and I’ve been able to question you directly when Baker couldn’t. My doubts are gone. Professional distance is no longer possible or required.”

“So your attitude toward sex now is ‘why not’?”

“Pretty much. We’re stuck together.” The finger tracing her lip slipped inside her mouth, a slight strategic advance followed by a quick retreat. “I’m still hot from your shower invasion. I want to fuck you, very much. I want to make you come, make you call out my name in that sexy throaty voice you have when you’re turned on. Sex would release tension and pass the time. Win-win.”

“I wanted sex with nice-guy John Baker. I’m not interested in Ian Boyd.” This was an outright lie. She’d been interested in John Baker, sure. But Ian Boyd? He turned her on in the most disturbing way. And she feared he knew it.

She realized now that Ian, not John, had been the man who gazed at her with stark concern in his eyes after the assault by the train. For a moment, a brief flash of time, Cressida had
mattered
to Ian Boyd. And after twenty-eight years of craving a look like that, she wanted to matter again to the man who’d given her the first taste.

“You’re lying, Cressida. You want me as much as I want you.”

“Physically, sure. But that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it.” She paused. She had no pride left to lose, may as well admit the truth. “I’ve got an abysmal track record with men. Every time I’ve trusted my judgment, I’ve gotten burned. And with you, I’m completely at a loss. If you’re a double agent, and I stay with you, I’m dead. If I take off on my own, then Zack or whoever blew up the soldier will find me. Lose-lose.”

His finger left her lips, traced her cheekbone, then strayed to her hairline. The touch was gentle, sweet, and, surprisingly, lacked persuasion. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say to convince you you’re safe with me. But will you accept you’re
safer
with me? We need to work together if we’re both going to get out of Turkey alive.”

She nodded. She’d given this a lot of thought. “I won’t run from you, and I won’t try to turn you in.”

He shifted closer and kissed her forehead. “Good. Get some sleep, Cress. Every hour after this one could be worse than the ones that came before.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ball of sunshine?” she said with a grimace.

He chuckled. “I’ve promised myself I won’t lie to you anymore. Ever. That includes giving you my honest take on our situation. And frankly, it isn’t good. In fact, we could die tomorrow, so if you want to get laid, now’s the time.”

She let out a soft laugh and rolled over. They both needed sleep if they were going to survive the upcoming difficult hours.

Chapter Twenty

E
rica Scott twisted her key in the old lock on the front door of Building One in the Washington Navy Yard. At eight p.m. on a weeknight, no one was around, which was her purpose for dropping in at the office after business hours. Her boss, a man who bore the impressive title of Underwater Archaeologist for the US Navy, was long gone and therefore wouldn’t pepper her with questions due to his constant need for attention. She’d have quit her job at the NHHC two years ago, if she didn’t have designs on the man’s job.

She nodded to the portrait of Lincoln in the front hall as she did every time she entered the building and climbed the stairs to her office, a large room that overlooked the Anacostia River. The wiring in the building might be sketchy, cold drafts made the office uncomfortable in the winter, and over time she’d become a believer in the tales that the building was haunted, but damn, she had a view, even at this late hour, as lights sparkled off the dark flow of the river.

She dropped the résumé files she’d brought home on her desk. In two months, the Navy planned to bring up a sunken US submarine from the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and her boss had been urging her to oversee the excavation. Diving would be done primarily by Navy divers assisted by the laughably named SCRU—Submerged Cultural Resources Unit—of the National Park Service, but the project would require several deep-water dives to ensure the historic vessel wouldn’t be destroyed during retrieval, and Erica had yet to tell her boss she couldn’t dive because she was eleven weeks pregnant.

She planned to suggest her assistant, Undine Gray, for the job, but knew the boss man would insist they come up with a short list of candidates from the résumé files. He had a thing for Undine and would resist sending her off for two months. But Undine had grown understandably uncomfortable around him, which was one of the reasons Erica wanted to send her.

Undine, Trina, Mara, and her former intern, Cressida, had taught Erica what it was like to have friends again after the painful loss of everyone who’d mattered to her years before. Of course, one reason she’d bonded so quickly with Cressida might have something to do with her being an intern. Erica couldn’t even
say
the word intern without smiling.

Now Cressida was in trouble, and she would do anything to help her, which was why she’d come to the office after hours. A CIA operative had been outed in Eastern Turkey—in the very area Cressida had gone to research. Erica was here to search the service records for references to Ian Boyd. She had better access to Navy files than Army, but Delta Force and SEALs often worked together. That overlap could lead to interesting tidbits. She and Mara had agreed the computer records request should come from Erica’s computer, not Mara’s, given that Mara was married to the attorney general.

She’d just accessed the database and had typed in Boyd’s name when her phone rang, causing her to jump. No one but Lee, Mara, and Trina knew she’d gone to the office at this hour.

Caller ID rarely worked on the office phones. It had to be Lee, checking on her. The stick had turned blue two weeks ago, and they’d yet to tell anyone the news. Right now it was their little secret, and Lee was adorably giddy about the whole thing. Erica didn’t know if she was ready to be a mom—thankfully, she had several months to get used to the idea—but Lee, he was beyond ready to be a dad. She rubbed her belly as she reached for the phone. This was one lucky baby, to have Lee Scott for a father.

“Erica Scott,” she said as greeting. She was still surprised by how much she liked sharing his name, liked the way it bound them together. Kind of a shock considering how long she’d put off marrying him, but that wasn’t because she didn’t love him and want to spend the rest of her life with him. It was the exact opposite. She’d loved him too much to marry him before she was certain she wanted to have children. He’d always been clear he wanted children, and she couldn’t doom him to childlessness because she was afraid of motherhood.

“Ms. Scott, I’m with the CIA. We have some questions for you about your former intern, Cressida Porter.”

She jolted. Had her computer search alerted them? If so, that was awfully fast. “Um, sure?” The man hadn’t even given her a name, but she supposed with the CIA that was to be expected.

“I will be at your office in five minutes.”

“No,” Erica said firmly. “I’ll go to Langley.” No way in hell would she take anyone’s word they were with the CIA. The only way to confirm their credentials was to meet inside their lair.

“Fine. We’ll expect you within the hour.”

After she hung up she sent Trina a text:
Late night confab needed after I meet with boys at Langley. Your place or mine?