“No,” he laughed.“We refueled a couple hours ago.You slept through it.We’re on Mallorca.”
She blinked.“I slept the whole way?”She reached for her glasses, settled them on her face, and turned to look out the window to confirm his claim.
“More or less.”
Satisfied by the deep blue evening sky and the golden sun melting over the stately palm trees that they were in fact on an island in the Mediterranean Sea and not in Germany, she ran her hand over her hair to tame her wild waves.Then she gave him an abashed look.“Please tell me I didn’t use you as a pillow for the entire ten hours.”
He shrugged.“I didn’t mind.”
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical.“Still.We’re not exactly flying steerage.”She gestured around the cabin of the private flight Potomac had chartered to get them there as quickly as humanly possible.“I could have stretched out one of the beds.I’m sorry.”
He ached to tell her ‘not minding’ was the understatement of all understatements.Instead, he smiled.“Don’t be.I’m here to serve.”
A small smile played across her lips and lingered for a moment.Then she reached for her tablet, pressed her fingerprint against the reader, and opened the encrypted briefing package.
“Okay,” she said briskly, unaware that he’d memorized every word of it while she slept.“We need to change into the clothes the equipment team packed before we meet our driver for the trip to Palma.Idris Mahmoud has a dinner reservation for four at the last seating of the hot new Peruvian place, so we have one, too.We’ll engineer a run-in at the bar.”
She made it sound so simple.But hooking a target required a delicate touch.Too eager, and you scare them off.Too nonchalant, and you might not get a nibble in the first place.And from the dossier, he expected Mahmoud to be particularly slippery.The son of a corrupt Tunisian multimillionaire with ties to the government wasn’t likely to be a trusting guy.Especially not one who traveled with six armed bodyguards.Not to mention, the dossier was silent on the remaining three members of his party.The CIA hadn’t seen fit to share their identities with Jake, and the team hadn’t had time to run them down independently.Gaps in information weren’t mere inconveniences.They were dangerous.
All he said was, “Sounds like a plan.”
She claimed her bag from the closet and headed back to the private bedroom.While she dressed, he texted Trent to let the team know they were wheels down, even though he was sure someone had been tracking the flight.He grabbed his bag, pulled out his change of clothes, and yanked his shirt over his head.
She emerged from the back of the plane and his breath caught in his throat.She wore a shimmery cream-colored silk blouse and a long, diaphanous skirt that flowed like water when she walked.A gold and onyx choker encircled her elegant neck, and gold-rimmed glasses and gold kitten heels completed her outfit.Her glossy dark hair was swept up in a sleek knot.
“Wow,” he managed thickly.
She studied him back, taking in his soft dove gray linen shirt, the top two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, charcoal-colored, European-cut trousers, and black driving loafers.She said nothing but nodded approvingly.
They deplaned, looking every inch of their cover—Oscar and Margaux Irfan, a wealthy Canadian couple on a Mediterranean excursion.A sleek black Mercedes idled on the hot tarmac, its driver leaning against the hood.When he spotted them walking toward him, hand in hand like the loving newlyweds they were supposed to be, he straightened hurriedly and smoothed down his tie.
“Mr.and Mrs.Irfan, I’m Bruno, your driver.How was your flight?”He was solicitous yet dignified.
“Very smooth,” Omar told him.
The driver nodded and opened the rear door with a flourish.“Please, get settled.There’s chilled water, cava, and a tapas tray for you to enjoy.I’ll get your luggage and we’ll be off in a moment.”
“Thank you, Bruno.”Marielle beamed at the man before gracefully sliding onto the back seat.
By the time Omar joined her, she’d poured them each a flute of the sparkling wine and was popping an olive into her mouth.
He lifted an eyebrow.“We’re working,” he reminded her in a low tone as Bruno hurried toward the open trunk with their matching roller bags.
“Oui.And the Irfans would certainly toast their arrival.I’m not suggesting we drain the bottle.Just take a sip, move the food around.What kind of undercover agent are you?”
She had a point.He reached for a grilled squid ring and dipped it into the garlicky alioli.As the driver loaded their leather-trimmed navy polycarbonate bags and closed the trunk with a soft thump, Omar swallowed the bite and raised his flute.
“To a trip to remember,” he said, staring into Marielle’s eyes.
A smile bloomed on her full lips and she touched her glass to his.“To love—and us,” she purred back.
Bruno, already behind the wheel, grinned at them in the rearview mirror as he put the car in drive.Omar smiled back and rested a casual hand on Marielle’s thigh.She continued to sip her cava as if the contact were routine, but when she covered his hand with hers, her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.
4
Marielle wonderedif Omar could hear the loudthump, thump, thumpof her galloping heart under the silk shell.She removed the compact from the gold and cream clutch and opened it.As she reapplied her deep rose lipstick, the little lighted mirror set in the lid began to flicker.She frowned and almost closed the case before she realized the flickering wasn’t random.She stared at the light, willing the pattern to materialize.When it did, a burst of laughter escaped her lips.
“You okay?”Omar asked.
