Rafe looked grim—when did he not?—but shook Jamie’s hand. He lowered his voice. “I don’t care what she says—we’re protecting her.”
Jamie nodded.“Oui, capitaine.”
“And don’t you dare tell her I said that.”
“Oui, capitaine.”
* * *
ASTHEH-HOURgrew nearer, Jamie tried to prop up his energy levels—to fool both Samira and his own brain—but a head-to-toe ache settled into his muscles like he was fighting the flu. He’d spent all the time he was supposed to be napping in a fog of dark temptation and self-loathing. Samira was right—he was a fraud.You’re always trying to fix me. Why don’t you fix your damn self?
In the bad old days, he’d be taking uppers about now—and how good would that feel? He needed to be at his best tonight and he was far from it.
Hyland’s convoy left, the senator wearing a thick coat unbuttoned over a tux, talking on a phone. No gadget visible but they couldn’t get a clear look. Fitz stayed behind.Merde.He was one of a handful of goons who might ID Jamie. Then again, all Fitz would have seen in the forest before he conked out was a disheveled wild man leaping at him in the dark. And he’d have an almighty hangover from the concussion.
Samira fitted and taped covert earpieces, mics and mic packs on each of them, bought by Jamie from an electronics store that morning, after Samira had researched them online. As Holly pulled her hair over her ears to hide hers, Samira taped fake plastic-coated coiled wire onto Rafe’s and Jamie’s necks, to match Hyland’s security agents. Even just having her feathery fingers touching his neck like that...
“I feel like I’m wired up with a bomb,” Jamie said, moving away quickly, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Don’t even joke about that, after last year,” Rafe said.
Jamie shut himself into the bedroom. “Testing, testing,” he said, pushing the press-to-talk button disguised as a cuff link.
Three replies, loud and clear, in his ear. Too loud. His head felt stuck in a vise, in danger of caving any second.
“We’ll get a little interference,” said Samira, her voice clear but distant, “especially when we’re on different floors, but it’s a powerful and sensitive system, so you should only need to whisper.”
Jamie adjusted his earpiece so it sat more comfortably. “Have you used these before, Samira?”
“We used to play around with them at university.”
“Of course you did.”
“We were fantasists. Never thought I’d be doing something like this for real.”
“Heads up,” Holly said. “Prius on the move.”
Jamie crossed the bedroom, knocking over the rucksack. Through the net curtains he made out the passing car. “Was she in it?”
“Blonde in the back,” Holly said.
“She’s just posted on social media that she’s on her way.” Sharp tapping filtered into Jamie’s ear—Samira on the keyboard. “With a selfie in the car.”
“With a messy hairdo,” Holly said, triumphantly. “No need to stake this woman out, is there? She does it all herself.”
Jamie exhaled, fluttering the netting. He crouched, stuffing the rucksack’s spilled contents back in. He picked up the first-aid kit. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d unclipped the lid. If ever he needed a little help...
“Jamie?”
Feedback squealed in his earpiece. He dived for the mic pack in his pocket. The kit went flying. His fingers fumbled. “How the fuck do you turn this thing off?” Any second his skull would crack.
He ripped the earpiece out, just as Samira burst in. She grabbed the pack from his pocket and flicked a switch. Silence. He squeezed his eyes tight. Thank Christ.
“I’ll make some adjust—”
He sensed her freezing, and flicked his eyes open. She crouched and picked up a syringe and vial from the carpet. The contents of the kit had scattered.
“This is the same stuff that was on the bedside table at the cottage.” She picked up a blister pack of tabs and then a bottle of pills, reading the labels. “You told me you’d destroy it.”
