At the sound of his voice I ripped the earpiece out of my ear and yelled, “Shut up!” I also reached up and unhooked the hair clip with the tiny camera and microphone attached. Holding it close to my lips, I shouted, “Just give me a friggin’ minute, would you?!”
And then I dissolved into even more tears. All night I’d battled to keep my emotions in check, and now here they were, tumbling out of me like ants from an anthill. “Edgar?” I heard Dutch call weakly from the backseat.
I sucked in a blubbery breath and held very still. Jesus, I’d even forgotten that my battered and bruised fiancé was in the car! “I’m okay,” I whispered, wiping my eyes quickly and trying to get my shaking hands to grip the steering wheel again.
I heard the squeaky sound of the leather seat behind me as Dutch pushed himself to sit up. Looking in the rearview, I caught sight of his swollen and puffy face again, and I couldn’t help it—I began balling in earnest again. “I’m so sorry!” I told him, feeling so incredibly ashamed of myself I could hardly even stand it. How could I have kissed the man who had done that to Dutch?
He reached over the seat and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “Honey, I’m a little beat up, but I’ll be okay.”
He was misunderstanding what I was really sorry about, and the guilt was crushing. And I couldn’t explain it to him. Ever. So I simply nodded, sucked it up, and put the car back into drive.
Still, the tears continued to roll down my cheeks the entire way back to the condo.
Frost met me at the elevator with a physician in tow. I didn’t know where he managed to find a doctor willing to make house calls at four in the morning, and I wasn’t about to ask. I was just grateful that the kindly physician with the receding hairline was treating Dutch with great care and concern.
I watched from the doorway of the bedroom with my arms wrapped tightly around me, afraid the doctor would say that Dutch’s injuries were even worse than they looked.
After stitching a cut on his forehead, the doctor managed to pry open Dutch’s swollen eyes enough to remove his brown contacts; then he dabbed some ointment around his face, wrapped his ribs, and felt all along his abdomen and limbs for any signs of internal bleeding or broken bones. Finally, the doctor got up from the bed and motioned for me to follow him.
Frost was in the kitchen on the phone, but he quickly hung up when he saw us. “How is he?” the agent asked.
“Banged up pretty good,” the doctor said. “I wish I could get an X-ray of his ribs and a CT scan of his head, but I understand you need to be discreet about this.”
“Very discreet,” Frost agreed.
“Well then, we’ll skip the X-ray and the CT. His lungs are free of fluid, which is a good sign, but those ribs are definitely bruised and one or two may have a hairline fracture. He’ll be quite sore on his left side for the next few weeks.
“He also has a slight concussion, but he answered all of my questions well, and his cognitive and reasoning skills are intact.”
I let go of the breath I’d been holding and wiped at my eyes. I couldn’t seem to stop crying tonight. “Thank God,” I whispered.
“He should stay in bed for at least a few days,” the doctor cautioned. “And if he suddenly becomes dizzy, nauseous, or has issues with his vision or balance, I will insist that he go in for a head scan.”
“Absolutely,” I promised, not even looking at Frost. If Dutch showed any sign that he was getting worse, I’d personally fight off the CIA all the way to the hospital if I had to.
The doctor departed shortly after that, leaving me with several prescriptions to fill. I grabbed my purse and started for the exit.
“Where’re you going?” Frost asked.
I waved the three pieces of paper at him. “I saw a twenty-four-hour Shoppers Drug Mart about three blocks from here. Dutch is going to be in some pain when he wakes up, and I want to make sure he’s got his prescriptions filled. I’ll be back soon.”
Frost stepped in front of me as I moved toward the elevator. “I’ll go,” he said.
That caught me off guard. “You will?”
He took the slips out of my hand and turned away. As he was leaving, he said, “You did good tonight, Cooper. You kept your head and you stayed in character, which was the only way you got out of there alive. I might have underestimated you.”
Before I could even fully absorb what he’d said, Frost had slipped into the elevator and closed the doors. I stood there stunned by my handler’s compliment for a few beats, but I was weary down to the bone and I turned away from the doors and drifted back into the bedroom. Once there I peeled off my clothes and slipped into some comfy pj’s, then got into bed next to Dutch and moved very carefully under the covers to snuggle next to him.
He murmured softly when I laid my head next to his on the pillow. “You okay?” I whispered, thinking maybe he was trying to tell me something hurt.
One puffy eye opened and that midnight blue iris looked right into mine. “Love you,” he said.
I felt my lower lip tremble, and I tried to bite back the urge to confess my sins, but the guilt was too heavy. “Dutch,” I began, my voice wobbly and emotional. “In order to get Grinkov to agree to the poker game, I had to pretend that I was attracted to him, and I—”
“Edgar,” he interrupted, lifting one hand to lay it on my cheek. “It’s okay. You got me out. It’s okay.”
For a long, long time, I could do nothing more than weep and listen to the sound of his breathing. But eventually, I found the courage to forgive myself and finally drifted off to an exhausted slumber.
The next morning I woke with a start. Someone was brewing coffee. Dutch was still asleep next to me, and I noted the prescription bottles on the side table next to him. One of them already had the cap off, and the half-empty glass of water next to the lamp suggested that Frost had made sure that Dutch had gotten his medication.
Quietly I wrapped a robe around myself and shuffled out to the kitchen. Frost was reading the paper with a steaming cup of black brew right next to him. “Morning,” I said, my voice all croaky.
“Cooper,” he said tonelessly without looking up from his paper. Was he just a bucket of sunshine or what?
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
He looked up in surprise. “Sure. The mugs are in the cabinet next to the fridge.”
I yawned while I poured myself some coffee, then shuffled back to the table. “Thanks for making it,” I said, lifting the cup in a little toast.
“Sure,” he said, back to his paper.
We sat silently for a little while, Frost intent on the paper, me wondering how to start a conversation with this snowflake.
Out of sheer boredom I flipped my radar on and began to scan his energy. A few things there surprised me. “You’re a widower?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Frost’s head snapped up. “How’d you know that?”
I pointed to his left hand. “My symbol for widowhood is a white ring.”
Frost looked down at his hand. “I’m not wearing a white ring,” he said.
I smiled. “I know. It’s not a hallucination; it’s sort of a vision I get in my mind’s eye when I look at your hand.”
He cocked his head. “You see me wearing a white ring?”
I nodded.
“Why is it white?”
“It symbolizes death,” I said.
Frost looked back to his hand, and circled his ring finger. “Huh,” he said.
“You’re pretty young for a widower,” I said, really curious now. I mean, the guy couldn’t be a day over forty if he was even that old. “What happened?”
Frost sipped his coffee and eyed me suspiciously. “You tell me.”
I sighed. Why were these law-and-order types always such pricks? “She was murdered,” I said, seeing a dagger in my mind’s eye, which didn’t mean she’d been stabbed; it was just my symbol for murder.
Frost’s brow rose, but he didn’t comment.
??
?And she was murdered by someone she knew,” I added. How ya like me now, Mr. CIA boy?
“Yes.”
I sat back and folded my arms, satisfied that I finally had his attention, and then I focused further on the jumble of symbols twirling about in my mind. “I can’t figure it out,” I said after a bit. Maybe I was still too groggy, but the murder of Mrs. Frost was more than it appeared. “Someone close to her murdered her, and it almost feels like she knew it was going to happen. In fact, I’d swear that she accepted some of the responsibility for her own death.”
Frost was studying me intently, but otherwise his expression was unreadable. He didn’t look upset to be reminded about his wife’s death; in fact, he almost appeared detached. “What happened?” I asked into the long stretch of silence that followed.
Frost folded his paper and set it aside. “It’s classified,” he told me.
I laughed. I thought he was joking, but when his expression didn’t change, I knew he wasn’t. “Uh . . . okay,” I said, preparing to get up and leave this awkward conversation.
Frost stopped me, however, when he asked, “What else do you pick up about me?”
Huh. Even I didn’t see that one coming. “I’m sensing you’re a decent cook,” I told him after focusing on him again.
For the first time since I’d met him, Frost actually gave in to a tiny smile. “I am,” he admitted.
My stomach rumbled. “How are you with breakfast?”
“I’m a rock star with breakfast.”
“Awesome. I like omelets. You make me one of those, and I’ll give you a reading.”
Frost was a much easier read than I would have guessed. Only very rarely do I sit with a client who has amazingly loud energy. These people are a welcome rarity because when I read them, it’s as if they’re projecting their futures onto a big screen with the volume turned way up loud.
Most people I read for project at medium to low volumes, which is why tuning in for someone is such exhausting work. You have to really, really listen and pay attention to so many subtle nuances to give a good reading to someone.
But Frost was one of those few exceptions whose energy held vivid details and plenty of stuff to select from. “I’m seeing Hawaii,” I told him after he’d served me a piping hot pepper, cheese, and mushroom omelet.
That slight smile returned. “I was born there.”
“You’re going back,” I said.
“Yes. Next month.”
“You should stay longer,” I advised after taking a bite of the eggs. Frost was right about one thing—he could knock an omelet out of the park. “You could really use a nice long vacation, Frost. Thaw out a bit.” I tried to hide a smile but he was on to me and my pun.
“Yeah, yeah, Cooper,” he said, his tone softening and a smile forming at the edges of his mouth. “What else can you tell me?”
We went on like that for half an hour. The reading was loaded with details about Frost’s career, which had seen a bit of a lag since his wife’s death, but which was about to move forward in a new and interesting way. “You’ll be traveling quite a bit again,” I assured him. “Mostly to Europe, but specifically to France.”
“I’m fluent in French,” he said.
“Good. You’ll need it. There’s a little bit of activity in the Middle East, but I’m thinking that won’t occupy too much of your time. You should also consider holding on to your town house in D.C.”
Frost opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted him. “You’ll lose money if you sell now. The market’s still too soft. Give it two years, and rent it out while you’re away so that it won’t hurt you financially any more than it has to.”
And on went the reading. By the end, I felt like I knew Frost far better than if we’d had a six-hour conversation together. Even if I didn’t know the details of his wife’s murder, I knew pretty much everything else.
The one thing that didn’t come up in the reading, however, was romance. He seemed to notice, because when I asked if he had any questions, he said, “You didn’t bring up dating. Do you see a woman in my life?”
I wadded up my paper napkin and tossed it onto my plate. “Nope.”
Frost’s features didn’t reveal how he felt about that, but I could see it in his energy and I decided to elaborate. “Maybe what I need to explain to you is my personal understanding of the future. I don’t foresee only those things that will happen; I see those things that could happen too. And that means that the future isn’t a set and definite thing. I believe it’s malleable, and if I had a recipe for what the future was made of, I’d take one part destiny and add two parts free will. In other words, if you continue to do nothing to extend yourself romantically, then your life will continue to be very solitary, and at times even lonely. But if you take a chance and come out of your shell and try, well then, that’s a game changer.”
He seemed to think on that for a bit, because he took his time replying. “So, what you’re telling me is that if I want someone in my life, I have to do something about it; it’s not just going to happen on its own.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. In other words, if you do nothing to alter your solitary status, no love will come into your life. At least not in the foreseeable future, which is about the next five years. And now that I know you a little better, Agent Frost, I can tell you that that would be a real shame.”
His eyes came up briefly to meet mine. “Thanks, Cooper,” he said. What he said next surprised me. “Have you ever considered a career with the CIA?”
“Ha!” I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m dead serious. You’re a very talented person, and I think you could be a real asset to your country.”
I sat back in my chair and considered him. “Are you trying to play the patriot card with me?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, buddy. That only works for the long term on someone like Dutch. I pay my taxes, keep my nose clean, use my radar for the good guys, and after this mission is over, that’s all the asset I’m willing to be.”
Frost made a circle on the tabletop with his finger. I had the feeling he was thinking up another angle to try on me, so I decided it might be time to take my leave of him. I looked at the clock, noting that it was well past eleven and that gave me a good out. Getting up, I stretched and carried my plate to the sink. “I’m gonna hit the shower and check on Dutch. Then we can chat about how to approach Grinkov and get an intro to Boklovich.”
Chapter Seven
Dutch was able to shuffle out to the table to sit with us while we talked through our options. Looking at him hurt my heart. His eyes were both still badly swollen and there were some ugly bruises forming, especially on the left side of his face. But the voice that came out of that body was strong and sure. “It looks worse than it feels,” he told me when he caught me staring at him.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I wish I could have been there sooner, but I had to wait for the money.”
“Where’d it come from?” he asked.
I fiddled with some lint on my sweater. “Milo.”
“You gave Grinkov half a million dollars of Milo’s money?” Dutch said, clearly displeased by that idea.
I was quick to shake my head and then I got up and brought over the attaché with one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in it, which I gave to Dutch to inspect. “Milo wired me two hundred thousand, which got me in the door and was enough to start a poker game. I won enough to cover Des Vries’s debts and only lose out on fifty grand.”
Dutch’s face swiveled to Frost. “I’ll reimburse my friend the full two hundred grand, and you guys will reimburse me the missing fifty. You got that?”
“Got it, Agent Rivers,” Frost said tersely. “I’ve already put in for a check. It’ll take a few days, but we’ll make sure you’re reimbursed.”
I got up from the table and retrieved from the freezer one of the ice packs the doctor had left us. Moving over
to Dutch, I handed it to him and he laid it gingerly on the side of his face. “Thanks, dollface,” he said.
“They worked you over pretty good,” I said, taking my seat again.
“Most of the damage was done at the office,” Dutch said. “They used a Tazer, then beat the crap outta me. When we got to Grinkov’s, he actually stopped them from killing me, and had me thrown into a locked room until he could decide what to do with me.”
“So he bought the disguise?” Frost asked. “He really thought you were Des Vries?”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” Dutch said. “Of course, I was a bloody, bruised mess by the time he saw me, and now that I think about it, getting roughed up by him may really work to our advantage.”
“How do you figure?” I asked.
“Grinkov’s going to spread the word that he worked me over—it’s the only way to ensure that everyone else pays up on time—and meanwhile, anyone I come into contact with who might personally know Des Vries is going to expect to see a few differences, if only from the bruises.”
“Rivers is right,” Frost said. “We can use this to our advantage. If he meets anyone Des Vries has previously met at the auction—assuming we get in with Boklovich—they’re not going to scrutinize too much why his speech is a little off or why he might not look exactly like the Des Vries they remember. We should move forward and work on connecting with Grinkov again, convince him to get us an introduction to Boklovich.”
“The tricky part is going to be finding a reason why Des Vries would want to bury the hatchet so quickly,” Dutch said. “I mean, if I call him up right away and ask him for the introduction, he’ll probably get suspicious.”
“I could do it,” I offered. “I mean, he had no problem taking my call yesterday.”
Dutch’s jaw bunched and he winced. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you out of it.”