He marched into the bedroom and yanked open the drawer. He snatched the hidden cell phone and had Agent Bounter on the line in seconds.
“Bob’s Bar and Grill,” he answered.
“What the fuck are we gonna do? I can’t bring So—”
“Shut up and calm down,” Bounter said, lowering his voice. “He could’ve wired the place when he was there.”
“Oh.”
“We’ll get some people in there to check for bugs tomorrow. For now, you sleep.”
“But—”
“Listen to me,” he ordered. “We won’t let Sophie near them, okay? We’ll figure something out. Give us some time.”
“Okay.”
“You were excellent tonight. Keep it up…not much longer now. I know how stressful this is, but you’re handling it like a pro. You did good, Mick.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll be in touch. Be good.”
The phone clicked. He stared at it for a long minute. Then he typed out a text:
Are your buns warm?
He paced for a few minutes and finally Sophie responded:
Sorry, was asleep. Come find out for yourself.
Oh sorry to wake u. Talk tomorrow?
U can’t come up?
He sighed. He could almost feel the warm silk of her skin beneath his hands.
Too risky. :(
Did it go OK?
Yes. Went great.
He wasn’t about to share Andrei’s invitation. As soon as he sent the message, he typed another:
I love you, Bonnie.
I love you so much, McSailor. Please be careful.
I will.
Ms. Broccoli loves you too. :)
She better love me more than she loves Rog. Goodnight.
I’ll dream about you, Jack Dawson.
He chuckled. She always had to have the last word. Once he lay in bed, her face floated in his mind, bringing a smile to his lips.
14. Connections
B
EN
F
LUNG
H
IMSELF
on to his bed. This being grounded thing sucked balls. He’d already listened to music, studied for his physics test, and whacked off (Dr. Hunter had told him masturbation was completely normal). Now he was bored.
Discordant music emanated from his phone, signaling a text from Dylan:
Wazzup?
He smiled. Finally. Someone to talk to. His fingers flew over the phone’s touchpad.
Uber bored. Want to go out but in prison.
Still grounded, huh? Nick is too. U guys r no fun.
He typed:
U talk to Nick?
Yeah, don’t u?
Apparently Nick’s dad had only put him on the no-associate list.
Thanks, Grandpa Barberi
. He sighed as he typed:
Nope. His dad thinks I’m a criminal or sumpin.
U r a badass, fo shizzle. Ur mom’s at work?
Why don’t u sneak out?
Have to be here if she calls home phone.
Dude, she’s got the cell bars locked tight!
No shit.
And she used to be so cool.
He was about to respond when Dylan’s next text popped up:
Momster’s bitchin at me to go to bed. Hasta la vista.
Sweet dreams, Momma’s boy.
Five seconds later, he was bored again. Then he heard a key in the front door. “Mom, can we get a Wii?” he called once he heard the door swing open.
“No, Benji.” Her voice sounded tight.
“How ’bout a pet, then? A dog?” He rolled off his bed and headed to the family room. “I’m
so
bored—”
Holy shit
…there was a man standing next to his mother in the middle of their apartment.
She must’ve noticed him freeze in place because she pasted on a fake smile and dipped her open palm to the side, gesturing to the blond man. “Ben, this is Hans.”
The man stepped over and offered his hand. “Hallo, Ben.”
His accent was strange—German, maybe—and Ben hesitated. When he slipped his hand into the guy’s rough grasp, a tendril of dread inched up his spine. He looked up to meet the man’s eyes, trying to make sense of his physical reaction. When he caught a flash of something sinister, he yanked his hand back.
“Ben? What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“Uh…” He gulped. The man still stared at him with an eye-fucking gleam. “Nothing…”
She gave him another strange look as she headed into the kitchen. “We’ve talked about this before. This apartment’s too small for dogs.” She took down a couple of wine glasses. “Besides,
I
don’t want to walk a dog in the winter. March in Chicago is bad enough.”
Hans nodded. “Colder than a witch’s tit out there.”
His mother’s giggle shocked him. When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? And why was she giggling at that stupid thing? His mother had just started to reply when he blurted, “Where’d you guys meet?”
She extracted a wine bottle from a paper bag. “I served him at the restaurant tonight.”
“It seems you’re still serving me,” Hans said, nodding at the bottle of red.
“Well,
you
bought the wine, handsome,” his mother replied.
Ben made a gagging noise, which drew his mother’s glare. “Isn’t it a school night? It’s past your bedtime.”
He felt his jaw unhinge.
Bedtime?
“I don’t have a fucking bedtime,
Mom
.”
“Watch your language,” Hans warned in a sharp tone.
He whirled to face the stranger in his apartment. “Who the fuck are
you
to tell me what to do?”
Glints of rage in his eyes, Hans took a step toward him.
“
Ben
,” his mother said as she rounded the corner of the kitchen. She planted herself between the two men. “Hans has had a tough day, and I…I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I was bringing home a guest.”
Ben relaxed just a bit.
“Would you please hang out in your room?” she asked. “I’d really love some privacy with Hans. He’ll only be here a few minutes.”
“Is that all?” Hans crooned. “I hoped to spend more time with the beautiful lady.”
Now Ben definitely was going to barf. “Don’t worry—I’m outta here.”
He almost fell over when his mother leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. What was her
deal
tonight? “G’night, Benji.” She cradled his face in her hand.
Hans gave him a leering smile, and Ben swiveled and hightailed it to his bedroom. Once his door was closed, he leaned back against it, letting out a long sigh. There was something creepy about the German dude, for sure, but he’d never seen his mom so chill—so happy. Her trilling laughter floated through the flimsy wooden door, unnerving him further.
He grabbed his earphones from his pillow. The music couldn’t come fast enough. Once the blasting grind of his favorite band filled his ears, he flopped back on his bed. After the pulsing drumbeat calmed him down, he reached for his phone to set an alarm. Morning swim practices were over now that the end of the season approached—thank
God
he didn’t have to wake at the butt-crack of dawn. But now he wouldn’t get to see Lindsay till afternoon practice.
He scrolled through photos on his phone, stopping at the same one he always did. He could stare at this photo for hours. Lindsay sat next to Olivia on a bench on the pool deck, and she had no idea he’d snapped her picture. Her long brown hair fell in waves over her shoulder, and she turned toward Olivia with a laugh parting her sweet mouth. He loved the squint of her eyes, the little dimple in her cheek, the flash of her slightly crooked teeth—her whole face lit up with happiness.
His thumb rubbed over the image, then he cradled the phone to his chest.
Do you ever think about me, Lindsay?
His eyes fluttered shut as he blew out a frustrated breath. Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She thought he was a bad influence, which was probably true.
He lifted the phone and cracked open one eye, gazing at her beauty.
But I think about you, Linds. A lot.
She sat, frozen in a state of happiness. He was frozen too. But his state was far from happy.
You’re pathetic, Barberi
. His heart thudded with a dull ache.
***
Grant sat up with a jerk, the covers falling away from his chest, which pounded with a ragged heartbeat. What the heck had woken him? As he glanced around the apartment, his breath began to slow. Daylight fought through the corners of the blinds, illuminating the silent bedroom.
Damn.
How late was it?
He groaned as he found the alarm clock—already ten in the morning with nothing to show for it. In the Navy, his day would’ve been almost half done by now. This late-night gig just wasn’t for him.
Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, he flinched at a ding from his cell phone.
Ah.
That was probably the sound that woke him.
He padded over to the phone, still attached to its charger. He read the message from Agent Bounter:
Call me. Got plan for tonight
His throat tightened, and last night rushed back. His fingers flew over the numbers.
“Hey.” Bounter sounded tired.
“What’s the plan, sir?”
“Cut the sir business—your place might be tapped, remember?”
He winced. “Sorry.”
“Go take a shower while our guys scan the place. Then we’ll talk.”
“Okay.” He yawned, tossed the phone on the bed, peeled off his boxers, and tossed them in the laundry basket. He was just about to turn on the shower when he heard the faint click of his front door opening.
Damn, they’re fast.
He peeked out from the bathroom and saw two men dressed in plain clothes. They stopped when they saw him, then one gave him a thumbs up. He nodded in return.
The warm water soothed his nerves, and soon he found himself singing “Pretend You Don’t See Her.” If those Russian bastards had bugged his place, he hoped they were getting an earful.
Feeling much more alive after he toweled himself off, he reached for his razor. The bathroom door creaked open. He whirled around to face an agent with some sort of electronic scanner, which he used to gesture around the bathroom. Grant got the hint and stepped into his bedroom. He’d just slipped on a pair of dark jeans when the agent beckoned him. The other agent had joined him in the bathroom, and he drew his index finger to his lips then pointed to the medicine cabinet.
Grant’s eyes bugged when he crouched down to see the bug—a tiny little sphere attached to the underside of the cabinet. How dare Andrei sneak in to
his
apartment and plant a listening device right under his nose!
Oh.
Then he remembered he wore a wire every time he neared the Russians.
Touché, Andrei
.
He waited for one of the agents to remove the bug, but the two men just stood there, staring at him in the cramped bathroom. Perhaps they wanted him to do the job? He reached toward the medicine cabinet, but an agent blocked his arm, then pointed out of the bathroom. Grant shrugged and led them out to the living room.
One agent crossed the room to turn on the TV.
Yanking a pad of paper out of his pocket, the agent who’d blocked him from removing the bug started scribbling. Grant approached and read:
Leave it. They can’t know we found it.
He closed his eyes.
Duh.
Give us your phones to check.
Rather than protest that Bounter had recently checked the phone he carried, and Andrei had been nowhere near the secure phone, he shut his mouth and retrieved them. Obviously he was new to this world of espionage.
The agent smiled after he examined the phones—apparently they were clear. More written directions were forthcoming.
Bounter needs to talk. Leave the apt
and call on secure phone.
Grant nodded. He signaled for the agent’s pen and stooped to write:
Thank you.
The agent nodded, then wrote one last message:
Let’s get these fuckers.