“I’ll tell you whatIwould do.” The kid’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “I’d stay out late every night getting pissed.”
Steven laughed. “Well, there’s that, I suppose.”
“Right. Later, then.” The kid waved, hopped into his eye-bleeding monstrosity of a car, and quickly drove away.
Steven glanced left and right down the quiet street. A few blocks up the way, Morrison and his driver sat in the black SUV. Steven could feel the old man’s eyes on him, boring into him, even though the tinted windows reflected nothing but the deepest, darkest black.
“Nothing for it,” he muttered to himself, pulling up the collar on his mac. To Americans, that word meant a brand of computer; to Brits, it was a kind of trench coat. Then he tugged the brim of his black wool newsboy cap low on his brow. Careful to keep his chin down, his eyes on the ground, he crossed the street.
Getting close to Parker’s house was easy. The three-story structure sat on the sidewalk, a set of whitewashed steps leading up to the front door. Getting a gander into the first-floor windows was another matter entirely. It required that Steven belly up to the house and rise on tiptoes.
Andthatwon’t be conspicuous at all, he thought sourly.
With another look around at the merry golden glow in the windows of the houses, he hoped the neighborhood’s residents were too busy preparing dinner to take notice of a Peeping Tom. Blowing out a breath, he grabbed a windowsill and did a quick up-and-down peek-a-roo. Nothing but comfortable furniture, deeply polished floors, and a big flat-screen TV that sparked an ember of envy.
Fecking hell.The empty room meant he had to check the next window.
Trying to keep up casual pretenses was impossible. So he hurried around the front steps and over to the only other first-floor window.Bingo!A low murmur of voices hummed from behind the glass. The conversation was too muffled to make out, but no matter. He wasn’t there as a spy. He was there to ascertain whether Chelsea Duvall and her merry band of masked men—andhopefullythe thumb drive—were on the premises.
Up and down he went again. But this time, the downward motion took him all the way into a crouch. Fear and confusion made his heart beat out a rabbit-fast rhythm.
ItwasChristian Watson he had seen.TheChristian Watson. Not that he had ever met the man in person, but he had seen Watson’s picture plenty of times. The man was famous inside the ranks of the SAS. He was supposedly one of the greatest officers to ever wear the Special Air Services sand-colored beret. Tough. Ruthless. Brilliant—although there was some speculation that he’d been part of that bad business in Iraq known as the Kirkuk Police Station Incident. Regardless, he was…assumed dead!
Holy shit! What’shedoing mucking about in all this?
Steven’s mind buzzed around possibilities like a bee in a garden. Apoisonousgarden. Because every reason he could imagine for why and how Watson would be there was worse than the one before it, and—
The rumble of a car muffler in need of repair snagged his attention mid-thought. Even though the sun had set, it threw ambient pink and purple light into the sky. It was enough to show the approaching vehicle was a pickup truck. The kind of hulking monstrosity that ate petrol by the liter. The kind of thing Rusty Parker drove.
You can take the man out of America, but you can’t take the American out of the man, Steven thought bitterly, quickly pushing away from the house and heading up the block toward the waiting SUV.
His adrenaline-filled veins urged him to hurry. But training and self-control kept him at a steady pace. He was careful to pass Morrison and his driver and continue up the block. Only after he heard the truck’s big engine quietly ticking as it cooled, and the squeak of the front door to the house, did he turn around and start back toward Morrison’s vehicle.
He hopped into the backseat, and the old man wasted no time demanding, “Well? Is she in there?”
Steven nodded, his mind still racing.
“Go get her, then. Get that bloody thumb drive and be done with it.”
It was difficult to keep the incredulity from his face, but Steven managed it. Or, at least, hehopedhe did. “And how would you suggest I do that? There is only one of me, and there are five of…no, correction…there aresixof them.”
“So call the local constable.” Morrison flapped his hand through the air in that way that made Steven want to throttle him. “Tell them about the APW, and let them apprehend her and turn her over to Scotland Yard. Then we’ll get her.”
“These local authorities aren’t equipped to deal with the men in that house,” Steven said, his tone brooking no argument. “Those bastards are well-trained, which means they know all about escape and evasion.”Especially Christian Watson.“They’ll find a way to outmaneuver the backwater police force here. Mark my words. And then they’ll know we’re on their trail. Our element of surprise will be lost.”
Morrison narrowed his eyes, considering. Then he shrugged. “So then you know what to do.”
“Yes.” Steven nodded and fished the phone from his trouser pocket.
He hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d wanted to solve the problem himself. But now… Well, now he was forced to admit he needed help. With fingers he was disgusted to note were trembling, he dialed the number sure to have backup headed his way.
Chapter 31
Chelsea took her half-eaten Frosties to the sink, dumped the remains down the garbage disposal, and tried to screw up her courage while she placed her bowl in Rusty’s small European-sized dishwasher.
Now that the agenda was set, the others had wandered into the living room to welcome Rusty home. She heard them filling him in on the new plan and thanking him for his hospitality. She knew she should probably go add her voice to theirs—Rusty Parker really had gone above and beyond—but she wasn’t sure how convincing she would sound. Not because shewasn’tgrateful for all Rusty had done, but because she was wholly preoccupied by the fact that the time for the truth had come. Here in a few minutes, the sweet, seductive smile on Dagan’s face would turn hard and ashy.
Hang tough, her father’s ghostly voice whispered through her head. It had been his go-to phrase anytime things got hard. It was so much simpler thanThis too shall passorLife’s full of ups and downsor any of those other trite sayings that always sounded as if they’d fallen straight out of a dog’s ass.
