Beneath the Surface Page 10

  “You will meet back here tomorrow with someone else. If the codes work, then you’ll have further instructions. Be sure to bring the weapons engineer.”

  “He’ll still be needed?”

  “We won’t know for sure until after the case is opened. If all goes well, he’s expendable.”

  “You know nothing else of what we’re to do?”

  Ilya grinned. “Soon, you’ll return to your former job with the US government. You will be contacted if anything else is needed.”

  “Who?”

  He barked out a laugh. “There are others there. They have been activated and will get word to you if you are needed in the final stages.”

  Chapter 14

  Russia

  Hannah—11 years old

  My grip on Elsa’s hand was ironclad—the small connection was home to me. There was nothing that would pry us apart. Not the new school or the two years between us. We followed behind the click of one of the foreign-language professor’s heels. She was showing us around. Helga Popov, from what was briefly told to us.

  Even though I didn’t want to see the school we’d been taken to only one week after the car crash, I noted every detail I could. It was something our father drilled into us to do. “Awareness of your surroundings, of details, could save your life someday,” he’d said. I didn’t fully understand, but I could pay attention to details.

  I wished that piece of information from our dad had saved our parents’ lives.

  “This is the main hallway for the psychology classes you will take,” Helga said to us in English.

  We followed behind her quietly. We didn’t have psychology classes at our old school, so I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. At eleven, it wasn’t yet an option for me. I glanced at Elsa, but her face was drawn with sadness. At thirteen, it was possible she planned to take the class at some point.

  We rounded a corner. The hallway looked exactly the same as the last, barren with closed doors on either side. Through the small windows, I glimpsed the kids within.

  “This wing is where you will learn politics, and farther down is geography.” Helga continued to point out the classes. I paid attention to the numbers next to the doorways and memorized which were for what type of classes.

  As we turned again, she swept the line of doors and announced they were foreign-language classes. Confidence straightened my shoulders. Elsa and I were great at English, French, and Spanish. We weren’t as strong with Mandarin but had been working on it.

  Elsa’s hand spasmed in my grip, and I looked to see what was wrong. Her bottom lip quivered, and I knew she was seconds away from crying. She needed me.

  “Professor Popov?”

  She halted then turned to face us. I almost sucked in a breath at the severity of her expression. Maybe she didn’t like to be interrupted. I got the sense we were an annoyance to her. Too bad. “I would like to attend classes with my sister.”

  “That is not possible. You are two years younger.”

  I can do this. After our regular school hours, I’d been taught at home with Elsa for as long as I could remember. We were at the same level at home, especially when Dad worked with us, and I couldn’t imagine it would be any different at school. Upsetting Dad wasn’t something either of us had liked. There were lectures. “Can you please test me?”

  Elsa’s hand turned into a vice.

  Helga pursed her lips, something that looked impossible to do given how tight her bun was. The silence stretched between us as she tilted her head and looked at me. Finally, a slight nod. “That can be arranged. We will do the tests first thing after dinner. I will find you then. Right now, I’ll take you to your room.”

  My entire body sagged, as did my sister’s. I can do this. And she said “room.” That means we’ll be together.

  As we slowed down in yet another boring corridor, Helga pushed open a door and ushered us inside. A bed was on each wall, with a window and a radiator in between. There were two dressers and desks situated along the walls, as well. A television sat facing the beds on top of one of the dressers. She pushed open another door to reveal a small bathroom.

  “Dinner is in two hours. If you have any difficulty finding it, just ask one of the other students in this corridor.”

  Helga droned on about what time we were to be in bed and when we were expected to report to the office to get our schedules. With her hand on the doorknob leading out of the room, she paused. “I trust you will do your best to succeed here. We have rules, of course. One you must know is you are expected to speak in English at all times unless in specific classes that require a different language. There are spot checks now and then, and if you are caught talking in your sleep—in Russian—that is grounds for dismissal.”

  She left and I leapt at Elsa, my hands on her shoulders. We were the same height, despite our difference in ages. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung open. As she regained control, she whispered in a voice ravaged by tears, “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll be fine. But I don’t think we should speak in Russian at all, even though Mom let us when Dad wasn’t home. We can’t afford to get thrown out. We have nowhere else to go.”

  Chapter 15

  Jack

  Hannah’s a goddamn spy. Nothing else made sense. Jack’s blood boiled from his vantage point not far from where he’d witnessed Hannah talking to another man, who’d just left in the opposite direction. The noise from the rain hindered his ability to hear their every word, but he’d picked up enough.

  She turned and unknowingly headed toward him. A few more steps. She seemed to sense his presence, but it was too late. Once she was at arm’s reach, he grabbed her. His fingers bit into her bicep, and he struggled to maintain control. “So many lies.”

  Pressing her lips into a stubborn line, Hannah glared. “I’m not sure what you thought you heard. Let go. Our paths stopped crossing after our little chat in the café.”

  She inched back.

  His grip tightened. With each step she took, he followed. His instincts flared—he knew she would try something.

  She twisted, and his grip lessened. She yanked her arm free. In a flash, she took off running down the narrow passage. She’s fast. Breaking into a run, he pursued her but didn’t overtake her. Not yet. Where are you going? She leapt up and pulled down a fire escape. At a breakneck pace, she ascended the ladder.

  On her heels, Jack’s hand shot out. He stopped the ladder from rising back into place. Jerking it down, he followed her up. There were several feet between them, and he increased his pace as she crested the roof. In the short time since they’d exchanged words, the rain had slowed. He took three steps at a time up the ladder then took off running along the slick tiles behind her.

  Water slid beneath his boots, and he fought to stay on the trail as Hannah lightly leapt from the building they were on to the next. Landing in a crouch on the other rooftop, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes flaring as she saw him already in the air and about to land next to her. Aren’t you a surprise? He fought the urge to grin, enjoying their chase.

  She lurched forward in a fast sprint, gaining a few paces before he landed. She was within reach, and he almost grabbed her but didn’t. They were already at the edge where they would have to jump for the next roof, and he didn’t want to risk hurting her or causing her to plummet to the ground from three stories up. Whether she was a spy or not, he needed information.

  The next roof was lower, and they landed only a second apart. He shot his arm out and grabbed her around the waist. Shifting her weight, she took them both down in a heap on the flat rooftop. He jerked before impact so as not to land on her. The feel of her against him washed him in familiarity. He shoved the sensation aside. She was the enemy.

  Locking his arms tightly around hers, he avoided the elbow that he knew would come and shifted his head out of the way to avoid getting smashed by the back of hers. His legs instantly twisted around hers and locked her body in a tight hold. A few mom
ents passed as they panted and she tested her bonds, finding no give in his ironlike grip.

  “Are you ready to have that conversation?” he growled close to her ear.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He grunted, and the wet strands of her dyed hair stuck to the side of his face and neck as rain coated them. “It’s simple, Hannah. You tell me what this is really about—because it’s not looking good—or I make a decision about what to do with you, and you won’t like it.”

  “Really, Jack? What’s this really about? Huh? You could’ve had me in seconds after I was free in the alley. Is this personal and not professional? Because we went out for a while? I warned you.”

  “I didn’t realize I was dating a fucking spy,” he roared. “Goddammit, of course it’s personal.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. If it wasn’t personal for you too, you would have reacted differently at the café when you saw me coming. Jesus, Hannah.” His head thudded against the roof. He had to stop. All things personal aside, it was a serious situation. “It’s not looking good from my end. You lied not only to me but to everyone who trusted you at the CIA. That’s treason. And now what? I’ve got to turn you in. Lock you up. Or kill you. Look at the position I’m in now. Was this your plan all along? Or did you use me in another way? Did you get information…”

  Rain pelted them, but Hannah took the brunt of it as she was on her back, against his chest, and facing the sky.

  She sagged against him, the fight seeming to go right out of her. “Fine. We can talk, but not like this. I’m liable to drown if I try to hold a conversation with you for the length of time it will take.”

  Jack unwound his legs from hers. “If you run from me again, I’ll be forced to shoot.”

  She growled.

  She drove him crazy. A tiny part of him couldn’t help but be intrigued with her. It was bad. Goddamn. This woman.

  With sheer force of will, he shoved his personal feelings aside and focused on the threat she posed to his country. His objective was to retrieve the weapon, not his ex-girlfriend.

  Later, he could find out if anything they’d shared was real. It wasn’t a necessity, despite the condition of his filleted heart. At least I might finally get to the bottom of her reasoning behind ending our relationship. Even with his priorities straight, her closeness brought back a barrage of memories of waking next to her and having coffee before they got ready for the day, something he wanted a hell of a lot more of. He ground his teeth. Their old life was no longer a possibility.

  Loosening his hold on her arms, he slid his hand down her wet forearm to clasp her right hand. They both rose awkwardly while he maintained a tight grip on her. She shoved her dripping hair from her face and cast him a resigned glance. He hoped like hell he didn’t have to turn her into the CIA and that she wasn’t what he suspected she was.

  He led her down the closest ladder in silence and walked the short distance to a room in a hostel he’d rented in expectation of waiting her out for a day or two in town. Once he opened the door, he ushered them both into the bathroom so they could grab towels. While Hannah wrapped one around her head in the windowless bathroom, he grabbed a change of clothes for both of them. He didn’t have much with him, but he could offer her a T-shirt while her clothes dried.

  The corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smile, and she held him in a steady gaze as she peeled her clothes from her beautiful body. He leaned against the doorjamb, his body reacting as he remembered the way they had seamlessly fit together. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her. It was distraction 101, and he refused to take the bait.

  His shirt fell to mid-thigh on her. While she hung up her wet clothes, he changed his, and a memory of one of their last times together slid into his mind.

  They’d gone out to eat that night. The flickering light from the votive candle caressed Hannah’s every move, and he was goddamn jealous of a candle.

  They’d been sitting across from each other at the table, and she clinked her glass of red wine to his. Wine… Liam would have gotten a kick out of seeing him drink that stuff. He should have ordered a beer.

  “You know you could’ve.”

  He took a sip and set it down. “What’s that?”

  She twirled the wine glass by the stem. “Ordered a beer. I know you like that better.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he studied her. The candlelight bathed her stunning features in warmth. The shadows the flame cast highlighted the secrets he sensed behind her pale-blue eyes. “Did you want dessert?”

  They’d finished off a meal of steak and potatoes at one of the restaurants that was quickly becoming a favorite to both of them. He’d rather be back at her place, dining on her, than sitting there and talking about dessert.

  She smirked, clearly reading his expression. “No, I’m full. Let’s go.”

  He signaled to their waiter and paid their check. He stood then pulled back her chair as she rose. He rested his hand on her lower back as they left the restaurant. “Your place?”

  Mischief skated across her features in the subtle curve of her lips and sparkle in her eyes. “I thought we’d go to a movie or see a play.”

  “We could. Or we could go back to your place.”

  “Impatient?”

  “I’ve been sitting across from you watching your mouth move while your silky blouse shifts and conforms around your body. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m impatient. Torture isn’t my favorite thing, especially when it’s happening to me.”

  “What’s to say I didn’t have that in mind when we got home?”

  Home. Shit, she’s referring to her place as if it was theirs. Do I want that? He’d spent most nights there over the previous several weeks, but he didn’t think she was thinking along those lines. Even so, it sounded right. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to take their relationship further. She worked for the Pentagon, and he contracted with them from time to time, but mostly with the CIA. The only thing he saw as an obstacle was their locations. He lived in Maine, while she resided in Washington DC.

  They made it to her place in record time. All the traffic lights worked in their favor, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so grateful.

  He rounded the car, opened her door, and extended a hand to help her out. With a click, he locked his car with the key fob, and they walked side by side to the door that led to her apartment. The building had a doorman, something that made Jack happy. It was a little added security for the residents within.

  He glanced at a small red light that indicated a camera monitoring them in the corner of elevator. The ride to her floor didn’t take long, and as she fit her key into the lock, his hand moved on her back in a slow caress. She pushed the door open, and he was on her. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he threaded his fingers in her soft platinum hair. He devoured her lips, tangling his tongue with hers as she molded her body against his. Her fingers caressed and teased along the muscles of his stomach then slid up his chest, pulling his shirt up as she went.

  He broke apart from her only as long as it took to yank his shirt off then sealed her lips with his once more. She tasted so damn sweet. In her, he’d found a home.

  Her scent was everywhere. He felt her around him, inside of him. A primal part of him rose to the surface, needing to brand her as his.

  And he had branded her, but in the process, she’d done the same to him. In a state of sated exhaustion, they fell into bed together. The hours between dusk and dawn passed in a blink.

  When he woke in her bed, his need for her was just as fierce as the night before. There’d been moments here and there when he’d sensed a chill. Her warmth withdrew, and her soul fell from his grasp.

  When he looked again, she would smile, and it was as if he’d imagined it. Part of his mind acknowledged she was slipping away. He saw it in the wary way she looked at him when they got too close and when their emotions overrode logic.

/>   Not the night before. She’d been fully present, fully with him. Those rare moments where his concern would rear its head were nonexistent.

  In the soft light of dawn, she shifted in his arms. They both had to get up and go to work. There was time, but not much. He wanted those stolen moments. Every second of hers he could possess, he would gladly take.

  He brushed her hair from her forehead. Long, spiky lashes rested against her cheeks. As he threaded his fingers through her hair, she stirred, and her lids slowly lifted. Pale-blue eyes, drugged with sleep, traced his face. The desire he felt for her thundered in his veins, and she responded to it, pressing the soft curve of her body to his hardened one.

  He groaned at the feel of her in his arms. There was nothing better. Dropping his head, he teased her full lips until they parted. He licked her lower lip before he plunged inside her warmth.

  The sheet was shoved aside as he covered her fully, every inch of heated skin touching. Her hands explored his sides, back, and shoulders. With his knee, he parted her legs then seated himself at her opening. Slick heat greeted him.

  Her leg lifted and wrapped around him, pressing against his ass and giving him greater access. When she applied pressure, urging him on, he thrust fully inside her heat.

  Time ceased to exist in their escalating passion. Every time with her was spectacular, carnal.

  They were going to be late for work, and he couldn’t care less.

  A squeak from the tiny bathroom jolted him from his thoughts. The tiny room in Colombia came into focus once more. Hannah’s hands were flat on her thighs, and a growl rumbled at the back of his throat. Things had changed. Disgust at her deception filled him.

  He’d been played. She was the enemy. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured for her to have a seat on the bed, and he took the lone chair, facing her. Fury simmered in his veins. Sometimes, poison came wrapped in pretty packages.