Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (186 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

FOR THE ENTIRE RIDE UP TO THE SIXTH FLOOR Maria was determined to keep any thoughts from taking shape in her mind. Even one would lead her to what she was doing yet trying so hard to deny: leading a man of God into—

You’re a sinner and going to hell anyway. Why not?

She tried to push that thought aside, though deep down it was exactly what she felt. So the feeling must be true.

It would take serious strength to act on those feelings that raged within—without regard for consequence, indulging in the forbidden just this one time. But it also took a delicate approach. Because this situation was as brittle as a sheet of ice so thin a butterfly could fall through it into the frigid depths.

The elevator slowed. Maria smiled. She and Jonathan had avoided looking at each other the whole way up.

Jonathan didn’t see the hand she put on the rail right next to his—he was looking up at the lighted numbers. Before she could talk herself out of it, Maria slid her hand under his warm fingers.

The door slid open.

Maria knew what to do. Still holding Jon’s hand, she led him down the dimly lit hallway toward her room.

“Maria, you know I—”

She turned, placed a finger on his lips.

“Shhhh.” Stopping short, he’d nearly walked into her. Close enough to whisper. “Better if we don’t talk.”

He didn’t reply, but his musky scent nearly drove her mad with desire. Was it because he was so kind, so gentle? Was it his strong chest and arms under the thin cotton t-shirt he wore beneath his jacket? Or was it because he was a man of influence to whom millions listened?

Yes.

With one tingling hand still resting against the pronounced ridges of his chest muscles, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out the key card, and slid it into the slot.

The red light turned bright green.

A quiet beep welcomed them to her room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE ROOM IN WHICH YURI SAT contained nothing but a table and chair. Prior to arrival they’d cuffed him, put him on a helicopter with an armed guard, and flown him for about an hour to a military base in San Diego.

When—not if—they opened the suitcase and saw the contents of the package, it was all over. He’d be tried as some kind of enemy combatant, sent to Guantanamo Bay, tortured...

Ironically, he loved America. This was the land of free money to anyone who could get away with it. And “as far as he knew” the materials in the package were for scientific research, right? He never asked, just did the job.

Finally, the door creaked open.

In stepped a man in military uniform. His short-cropped hair was white, but he looked like he could take on a heavyweight champion.

“Yuri Kosolupov?” Yuri nodded. “Colonel Jack Braun. You’re in it up to your eyebrows, boy.”

“Me and my friend went on fishing trip, that’s all. Coast Guard made illegal search. No probable cause.”

“That suitcase tested positive for radioactive content, Yuri. We had more than enough cause to open it. You’ve got all the parts for two suitcase nukes.”

“
What
? You’re kidding me. Maybe I pick up wrong bag at—”

“Spare me the bull! How did you ever think you’d get it into the States?”

“I want lawyer, now!”

“Look, I might be able to help you out if you tell me where you got the materials.”

Yuri folded his arms and leaned back in the chair.

“Law-yer!”

The colonel slammed his hand on the desk.

“You’re a damned terrorist, that’s what you are. So you’re not in any position to make demands.”

Another officer entered the room, bent down and whispered into Braun’s ear. The colonel got up and slammed the door behind him.

The client had made it clear that if Yuri failed to deliver, there would be—what was the expression?—hell to pay. He took it to mean something really awful, probably worse than incarceration on terrorism charges. Perhaps it was better to stay under the protective custody of the United States government.

After a long wait Colonel Braun returned with a man in a black suit who introduced himself as Assistant Director Neal Walker of the Central Intelligence Agency. To Yuri’s surprise, he handed over the suitcase.

“You’re to continue on your mission,” he said.

How could this be? Not that Yuri was about to question it. But the colonel looked really pissed off at the CIA guy.

“What in hell are you—”

The CIA guy held up a hand and continued to address Yuri as if the colonel hadn’t said a word.

“And you have the apologies of the United States of America for nearly compromising your mission.”

“Uh...well, it’s okay, mistakes happen.”

“We take these matters seriously, Mister Kosolupov—”

“Then why the hell weren’t
we
informed?” Braun said.

“This is highly classified, Colonel,” Walker said. “The storm threw our operative’s schedule off, we lost track of him, and he missed a check point. We’d have contacted you sooner if we knew where he was. Fortunately, the Coast Guard picked him up and your office contacted us. Your assistance is most appreciated.”

“Gentleman, may I go now?” Yuri said, edging toward the door. Walker glanced at Colonel Braun.

“Unless you have any objections?”

“I still maintain that he’s a terrorist,” Braun said.

“Colonel, does the name Stanislav Lunev mean anything to you?” Walker asked.

“Soviet intelligence defector, yes.”

“Not just any defector—he was the highest ranking GRU member ever to defect. His claim that Soviet suitcase nukes had already been deployed in the U.S. was true. Our man here is posing as an eastern bloc arms dealer, helping us flush out potential threats to national security. At the same time, he’s taking discovered devices to classified sites for deactivation and analysis.” Walker turned to Yuri. “How’s that going?”

Incredible luck, but what should he say?

“I’m glad to be back on track, sir.”

Walker returned his sharp gaze to Colonel Braun.

“Satisfied?”

“Marginally.”

Eyes narrowed, Braun moved aside, giving Yuri a wide berth. Still incredulous at his luck, Yuri was escorted out of the building by a pair of black-suited men who handed him his wallet, cell phone, fake passports, everything.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Colonel.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AS SHE FELL, THE RAGGED WOMAN neither screamed nor let out any other sound. The laws of physics would try, convict, and sentence her to a watery grave. The angel laws, on the other hand…

Casting discretion aside, Nick flew down, wrapped his arms around her, and whisked her back to the shoulder of the Coronado Bridge’s island-bound right lane.

Astonished, she opened her eyes, and tried to form a sentence.

“What...Who are you? I thought...”

Nick released her and stepped back, still holding her trembling shoulders.

“Easy there.”

“Where did you come from!”

Nick projected the construct of a parked BMW pulled over in the outermost lane. Over his form, he’d constructed a casual pewter-colored jacket over a black T-shirt and a pair of Calvins—
zeitgeist
and all that rot.

“You’re safe now,” he said. But she shrugged free and tried to shove him out of her path.

“You had no right!”

“I just saved your life.”

“You have no idea—why couldn’t you just mind your own business?” She headed back to the edge, slapping Nick’s arm away when he reached out to stop her. But when she got there, instead of making another attempt to jump she leaned against the lamp post, covered her face, and began to cry. Or laugh, it was hard to tell.

He got close. Another good look at her might shed some light on why he’d suddenly decided to jeopardize his career by saving her.

“It figures I would lose it.” She felt around her neck.

“Lose what?”

“The jade pendant my father gave me when I was little. He got it from the Forbidden City in Beijing.” She looked up, blew a tangle of hair away from her mouth. “Probably worth more than my life.”

“Are you all right?” Nick said.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I just tried to jump from the Coronado Bridge, also known as the third deadliest suicide bridge in the nation.”

“How’d you get up here? There aren’t any pedestrian paths.”

“For a twenty-dollar tip, cabbies don’t mind dropping you off wherever you want, no questions asked.”

“Hmmm.” He gave her a head to toe once-over.

She too looked at herself, her tattered clothes and grimy hands, which she wiped on her pants.

“Yeah, well...I figured blowing my life savings on a cab ride to
end
my life had a poetic ring to it.”

“Are you going try jumping again, or shall I tie you up?”

“I don’t think so.” She let out a long breath. “Not tonight, anyway.”

Following her lead, Nick exhaled—a most satisfying feeling when occupying a physical form.

“Come, now. It can’t be as bad as all that.”

“How would
you
know?”

“Tell me.”

She stared wordlessly at him for a good three seconds.

“No.”

“Why not?” he said.

“I’m tired.” True enough. Weariness tinged her voice.

“Of course.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I could spend another night in the shelter.”

“Say no more.” He gestured to his construct-BMW, gently took her arm, and led her to the passenger side door, which he opened for her.

“A gentleman, no less. What are you, from the last millennium?”

He couldn’t help smirking.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JON NEARLY LOST HIS BALANCE when he entered Maria’s hotel room with her lips firmly pressed against his. In the process of steadying himself his left foot hit the door with enough force to shut it.

He found himself suddenly short of breath, his heart racing, his mind in torment. He’d only meant to accompany her to her room for safety’s sake. Now every nerve, every cell in his body screamed,
Do what’s natural. It’s the way God created you. You want this. You
deserve
this!

Maria leaned back and met his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Jon?”

“Nothing, I just...” This was pathetic. He could never do this. It wasn’t fair to Elaine, it wasn’t fair to Maria. It was
wrong
.

“Maria, I’m really sorry that I...” A sudden wave of regret warmed his face, ears, neck.

“It’s okay,” Maria said. “We’re just two people in need. Two consenting adults.”

Knowing better, Jon turned toward the door. From behind she pressed her warm body against his back.

Pain filled his heart.

Pangs of guilt wrung from the agony of going too far, only to deny the release of the fire he had so foolishly kindled.

No one will ever know...

That voice, those words—he recognized them. They weren’t completely
his
words. He had slipped into a state of elective moral blindness, but now that he could discern that inner voice intermingled with his own he was able to squeeze his eyes shut and pray.