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Cal frowned; their position in the garage left them too exposed. “We’ll finish this conversation in private.” He grabbed his suitcase and shut the trunk. “Where’s your car?”
“I took a cab here, then came up through the back stairs.” When he took her elbow, she fell into step beside him. Just three inches short of six feet, her long legs kept stride easily with his. “I still have the stair key you gave me.”
“Why didn’t you wait for me in the apartment then? I gave you that key also.”
“Actually, it’s sitting at the bottom of the Potomac. Where I threw it.”
Cal glanced up, but let the comment pass. “Any reason why you’re using the back door?”
“Seemed to fit with the cloak-and-dagger theme you’ve managed to surround yourself with lately,” Julia commented. “Besides, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen going or coming from your apartment.”
“I remember a time when it didn’t bother you.”
“There was a time it didn’t,” she responded quietly. “But things change.”
“Julia,” he said slowly, not liking how easily the name rolled off his tongue. Too intimate. Too many memories.
Ones that set his blood on fire and his protective mode into overdrive.
“What makes you so sure Jason isn’t dead?”
“Someone left his file on my coffee table,” she responded. “Inside were documented letters from President Mercer and Ernest Becenti disavowing any knowledge of Jason.”
Cal stopped midstep. His hand tightened and turned her back into him. “How in the hell did they get into your apartment?”
“You don’t have to yell, I’m standing here in front of you.”
“Answer the question,” Cal ordered, but his voice lowered a few decibels.
“How should I know? My security system was intact.” Her eyes flashed with temper. Just enough to warn him of the anger, simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not the enemy here, Cal.” She tugged against his hold. “And you’re hurting me.”
Cal loosened his grip, but didn’t release her. Not yet. Not before she was safe in his apartment. “What did the police say?”
“I didn’t call them.”
“Bloody hell.” Cal swung open the stairway door, checked the hallway for any movement, then pulled her through after him.
“I didn’t have proof. And I wasn’t about to share Jason’s dossier with the police.”
Fear twisted his guts into a rigid knot. He’d walked away from her for this very reason.
Cain MacAlister, the current director of Labyrinth, had promised to keep Julia under surveillance. What the hell happened? “And you’re sure the letters are legitimate?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” This time she didn’t mask her impatience. “I also understand the reason for it, but I don’t have to accept their decision.”
“As a government operative, Jason understood the risks that go with the job. He accepted them every time he took an assignment,” Cal stated.
“Don’t talk about him in the past tense, Cal. He’s not dead.”
They reached the lobby’s elevator and she hit the call button. “The intruder left a picture with the file. He’s holding an American newspaper. Yesterday’s newspaper with the current headlines and the date.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.” The elevator slid open and both of them stepped in.
“Drug cartels are not forgiving, Julia, when they find a government agent among them,” Cal remarked. He jabbed the button for his floor. “A child can digitally change the face of a newspaper with the right computer program.”
At least that wasn’t a lie. And if his intel was correct, they were dealing with one of the most powerful drug cartel lords: Cristo Delgado.
Delgado took pleasure in what he called “public relations.” Many who died by his hand, did so slowly and on camera. Later, Delgado arranged for the footage to be circulated over the internet to discourage anyone else from trying to infiltrate his business.
Cain MacAlister’s people could not find any footage on Jason.
The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out into the private entry of Cal’s loft.
Julia hugged the teddy bear to her chest. Something sharp—a yearning—jabbed at her gut.
Grimly, Cal reached for his keys. “Hold on.” He opened the door and stepped inside for a moment.
Julia stood in the doorway, familiar with the procedure as he turned on lights and punched in the security code on a wall keypad.
A scant minute later, he returned from checking the rooms.
“Expecting company?”
“You showed up, didn’t you?” Cal quipped, then took the bear and set it down with his bag. “Just making sure no one else felt the need to find me tonight.”
The light gave Julia a chance to study Cal. Just over six feet, she had to tilt her head back to get a good look at his face. He had light brown hair, worn a tad longer than what was expected on the Hill. The small brown locks curled over the collar of his white dress shirt.
He was lean, but not lanky. More solid, sculpted. Almost as if he was modeled from the Greek statues at the Smithsonian.
Muscles flexed, then shifted beneath the charcoal suit coat, hinting at the controlled movement beneath.
Longing twisted deep in her belly. Refusing to be distracted, she locked her spine straight and brought her eyes back to his features.
His hazel eyes, unflinching, seared hers.
Julia broke contact first. She glanced around the apartment.
The first time Cal had brought her here, she’d expected sleek, streamlined decor and was mildly surprised at the cozy tapestry pillows, the tapered walnut coffee table and oversize chairs that flanked a sand-colored leather couch. Overstuffed and fairly new.
English country.
A touch of home, she’d thought at the time, surprised at the sentimentality from such a cynical man.
“Did you bring the file?”
“Yes.” Julia reached into her suit pocket and withdrew the folded pieces of paper. “But it only explains the mission. Not what went wrong.”
His eyes settled on the papers for a moment, before shifting back to her. “I need to make some tea. Would you like some?”
“Yes,” she said, surprised. She’d expected him to want something sharper, like a brandy or even some wine.
“What is it?”
Annoyed, she realized if she were to pull off her plan, she needed to do a better job keeping her expression unreadable.
She lifted a casual shoulder. “British or not, I’ve never known you to drink tea.”
“A habit I picked up recently. My jetlag demands something traditional.”
She followed him to the kitchen, which was more modern in style. Black granite counters, steel appliances stood in contrast to the warmth of the living room. Fit the man more in her mind, but so did the contrast themselves.
The stuffed bear drew her gaze. Another contradiction.
Ignoring the small ache in her chest, she picked up the bear and squeezed. A soft lullaby through the thick fur of its belly.
“Cute,” she murmured and turned it over, noting the Velcro seam. “I’d make sure they have extra batteries. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to get used quite a bit.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“It really is perfect, Cal,” she told him sincerely. “Regina is going to love it.”
“Jordan mentioned that you and she had become close over the last year.”
Cal grabbed a streamlined, silver tea kettle from the stove and filled it with water.
“We did. Actually, it was your doing. The few times we joined them for dinner, Regina and I really enjoyed each other’s company. After you and I split …” Julia shrugged and propped the bear up on the corner bar stool next to her. “We still manage to call each other once a week or so now that they are in London.”
She settled herself on another stool at the counter. “Are you up for a trip to South America, Cal?”
“Why?” He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and placed them by the stove.
“Jason is in South America. Alive.”
“Whether he is or not, I’m the wrong person to help you.”
“You’re exactly the right person, actually.” Julia struggled to keep her tone even. “I’m calling in Jason’s favor.”
Cal’s eyes flickered over her. “What favor?”
“Don’t play politics with me.” She gave him a long, cool look. One that sent many aides scurrying from the Oval Office. “Before Jason left D.C., he told me to contact you if anything happened to him. He said you owed him a favor and that you were the only one I should trust.”
“Trust to do what?” Cal questioned, swearing silently. “What are you planning, Julia?”
“To rescue him.”
“Even if I owed him, I’m a diplomat from England and there is little—”
“I read your file,” Julia said, taking a little pleasure in cutting him off. “You’re ex-MI6. And now work for Labyrinth. Although, why you changed sides isn’t stated. And neither are your Labyrinth missions.”
“How in the hell did you get a hold of my file?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Julia nearly smiled at that. He sounded so indignant. Good. It didn’t hurt him to realize she had a few tricks of her own. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me who I work for.”
“My association with Labyrinth has nothing to do with Jason,” Cal pointed out. “And it doesn’t change the facts.”
“This might.” She pulled a recorder out of her pocket and placed it on the counter. “Listen.” She hit the play button.
“Ms. Cutting, I’m going to get right to the point. I have your husband, Jason Marsh.” The words were brisk, businesslike, the tone deep with a gritty, Latin accent. “He is not dead, but he will be if you do not meet our demands. Arrange for ten million American dollars to be deposited in an offshore account of our choosing. You will be given the details once you secure the money. You will have three days to meet with me personally. Do not test us on this. If you notify your government of this request, we will kill him. A hotel reservation has been made in—”
Julia pushed the stop button. “Sounds like bad guys don’t differentiate between ex-husband and husbands, either.”
“He could be lying,” Cal suggested. “The odds are that Jason is already dead.”
“I’m willing to go against the odds.” Her chin shot up, defiant. “Are you going to help me?”
“Possibly.” When he reached for the recorder, she snatched it away.
He sighed. “Even if you did meet them, there is no way to call their bluff. No one has access to ten million in such a short time. Not these days.”
Julia shoved the recorder in her pocket. “I do.”
Chapter Three
“If you have ten million dollars, you didn’t come by it legally.” Fury set Cal’s shoulders into harsh, unyielding lines.
“It belongs to the government,” Julia acknowledged. And Cal knew the admission cost her. “I’ve already transferred the money into a dormant government account. Right before I took an extended vacation.”
“Tell me how you going to prison for embezzlement helps Jason?”
“No one’s going to prison. I don’t intend on giving Jason’s kidnappers the money. The transfer can easily be considered a mistake later on. An accounting error. I’ll get no more than a slap on the wrist.”
“That’s your plan?” Cal raged. Of course, she’d jeopardize her career for Jason. Whether she loved him or not, Jason had an inexplicable hold on Julia.
Jealousy snapped at his heels, making his next words terse. “You’re traveling into Venezuela without letting anyone know your whereabouts. You plan on dealing with Cristo Delgado and his men by promising money that you aren’t delivering and hope he’ll just hand over your husband?”
“Ex-husband. I haven’t used my married name in years—” Julia stopped, her eyes narrowing. “I never told you Jason was in Venezuela or that he was taken by Cristo Delgado’s men. You haven’t even looked at the file yet.” She glanced back into the living room. “Or have you?”
“Who else would he be dealing with if Ernest Becenti was involved? Becenti is the DEA’s administrator,” Cal argued, cursing himself, not liking the fact that anger and fatigue got the best of him.
“Try again, Cal,” Julia snapped. “You already knew about Jason’s disappearance, didn’t you?”
The teapot whistled. Forcing himself to calm down, he took the pot off the burner and poured the hot water into the cups and added tea bags. “Cain MacAlister called me. He requested that I check into the situation.”
Even though Cain was technically Cal’s boss, the two men shared a history that put their friendship far ahead of the working relationship.
“So Cain thinks Jason is alive.”
“No,” Cal replied, then settled for a half-truth. “I’m to confirm his death. Big difference.”
