“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He drew her into his arms.
She snuggled against him, resting her head on his chest. “That’s okay.”
He stared up at the ceiling, his body tense, his fingers trailing caresses down her bare arm. “What if we don’t find anything? What if all of this gets us nowhere?”
Holly didn’t even want to consider that possibility. “We can always turn to my CO. I know he would do everything he could to make certain you—”
“No. I don’t trust anyone at the Agency right now with one exception—you.” He kissed her hair.
“We could surrender to Zach and the US Marshals Service. I trust him with my life, and the marshals service is good at making people disappear.”
“I’m guessing McBride would like to put a bullet in my brain right about now. Besides, I wouldn’t qualify for WITSEC.”
No, he probably wouldn’t—unless he had evidence that could be used to convict Bauer in court. That’s why it was so crucial to find something in these files to prove that Bauer, not Nick, had sold out the Agency in Batumi.
She pushed herself up, looked down at him. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What makes you so certain?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It just has to be. That’s why.” She kissed him.
They slept in each other’s arms. By seven, they were both awake again. Holly made breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and some atomic-strength coffee—while Nick showered. Then she wrote a list of everything she thought they’d need to organize the thousands of pages of documents they would be sorting through.
Nick left just before nine, list in hand.
“Don’t forget to get extra toner cartridges for the printer,” she called after him.
“Yes, dear,” he called back.
He stopped, looked down at the grass, a frown on his face.
“Snakes?”
“Our driving over the grass has left tracks.” He pointed. “Not good. One of the farmers around here might see this and report it to police.”
The high grass was flattened where tires had driven over it repeatedly. She hadn’t noticed it, but he was right. It wasn’t good. “Should we mow it?”
He grinned. “Got a mower? Have you seen the size of this lawn? And who is this ‘we’ of whom you speak, because we both know it would end up being me.”
After he drove off, Holly took a shower and then put together a spreadsheet that would enable them to organize the documents by metadata. By the time Nick had returned, the spreadsheet was completed and installed on both of their computers.
She explained it to him while he set up the printer. “For every document, list the date it was created, who it was from, who it was intended for, and any people, places, or events mentioned in the body of the document. That way we can cross-reference by any of those criteria. We’ll keep one spreadsheet for the Agency files, and one for the Georgian files—but in English, please.”
“I’m impressed.” Nick started the printer. “Officer Bradshaw, you are hot shit.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Actually, it was the journalist part of me that came up with this.”
He grinned. “You’re double trouble.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
* * *
They worked in silence through the morning and into the afternoon, Nick sorting through Dudaev’s email and printing whatever might be relevant. Most of it was worthless. An email to his goons about their improving their English. Another wishing a cousin back in Georgia a happy birthday. Yet another asking one of his goons to set him up for a manicure, pedicure, and eyebrow waxing.
Nick had no idea the bastard had been such a metrosexual, and he pitied the esthetician who’d had to put her hands on him.
Some of it, however, was clearly related to his criminal activities. There were emails written in poor English about his good friend Shavi, who would be arriving in town soon. Those were drug shipments, shavi meaning “black”—a Georgian slang term for heroin. There were also emails discussing how to find work for his poor nieces from the country—no doubt code for prostitution. These messages would all have to make their way to DEA and ICE.
He clicked on the next message—and felt his teeth grind. There on the screen were images of Holly. She’d been photographed, clearly without her knowledge, on her way to and from work, out at a club, and even in her home. There were several grainy images of her getting dressed in her bedroom, her breasts bare.
Nick looked at the date and guessed that Dudaev had sent someone to scope her out the moment she’d called about an interview. And clearly the son of a bitch had liked what he’d seen. He found five other emails like that one—all containing photos of Holly in her life before all of this began, her life before him.
His mood now sour, he printed them, then went to stand by the printer, hoping to retrieve them before she could see them. It was an absurd impulse. The photos wouldn’t upset her. She knew the kind of man Dudaev had been.
But they might remind her of what you did, Andris.
As he waited for the pages to print, he found himself watching her. She was reading something, nibbling on the end of her pen, her brow furrowed in concentration. She glanced up, smiled at him—and he felt a hitch in his chest.
Oh, no. He was not going there. He did not have feelings for her. Yes, he cared about her. She was a good officer—smart, resourceful, skilled. She’d been a great help to him. And if she was also beautiful, made him laugh, blew his mind in bed, and was pretty much the total package, that didn’t mean he had to fall in love with her.
He didn’t have time for that now. She didn’t have time for that now. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was get involved with another officer. If he fell in love again, it would be with a schoolteacher or a librarian or a nurse.
He picked up the pages, held them out for her. “You might want to see these.”
She took them from him, glanced through them. “I guess I should close my bedroom curtains.”
“That’s all you have to say?” How could she be so calm about it when Nick wanted to resurrect Dudaev so he could kill him again?
“Believe it or not, I get spied on a lot. Weird, I know.” She glanced up at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.
Feeling itchy and angry—maybe he’d had too much caffeine—he went back to scanning emails. He’d been reading for another hour or so when he found a subfolder that held emails written in English and dating back six months or so. He glanced over the first message and began filling in the spreadsheet with the metadata. He must have been distracted because it took him a moment or two to realize what he was reading.
He stopped filling in the spreadsheet and stared at the screen.
What the hell?
He went to the first email and quickly read all of the messages in order from the first to last, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. But there it was.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, hitting “Print.”
Holly looked up. “Believe what?”
He stood, walked over to the printer. “It looks like Dudaev was trying to broker a deal with the Agency.”
“What?” She gaped at him.
“He contacted the Director’s office and offered to tell them everything he knew about the operation in Batumi, including who had leaked the intel about the arms transfer. They were interested, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Some of the conversation must have happened via an intermediary and over the phone, because it’s not all here. There are time gaps and references to meetings.” He retrieved the pages, handed them to Holly. “They made some kind of agreement. I think that’s why he came to the US.”
“Really?” She glanced down at the pages then up at him again. “I guess that explains why he wasn’t stopped at the border.”
“He decided the Agency was playing him, just trying to get information from him without having to de
liver on their end.”
“I’m sure he was right. He killed Dani—an Agency officer. There’s no way they would honor an agreement with someone like him.”
“He got angry, stole the USB drive, and killed the officer who was acting as his intermediary.” Nick pointed at the documents in Holly’s hands. “You weren’t sent in just to retrieve stolen files. You were sent in to steal files Dudeav refused to deliver.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Holly spent the afternoon and evening reading through the emails Nick had found, matching them with documents from the Agency files Dudaev had stolen, the string of communications and intra-agency memos giving her a picture from both Dudaev’s and the Agency’s side of how things had come together.
She set the pages in chronological order on the other workbench, Nick walking along beside her, looking over her shoulder.
“He contacted them in January, offering to expose the officer who betrayed you all that night in Batumi. They considered detaining and interrogating him but decided they’d learn more about his network and any connections he had within the Agency if they played along. It looks like they had him under surveillance for a while, but his men found the listening devices and removed them. He felt betrayed. He accused his case officer of lying and killed him.”
“That’s rich—a murdering, thieving son of a bitch like Dudaev accusing anyone of playing dirty.”
Holly checked the urge to turn over the crime scene photos from that officer’s murder, not wanting to seem like a wimp. The poor man had been shot and then burned alive, the cruelty of it and the gruesomeness of the photos turning her stomach.
And to think she’d been alone with the monster who’d done this.
Averting her gaze, she went on. “It looks like the Agency had already planned to hook me up with him to re-establish surveillance, but after he killed his CO, they added retrieving the USB and taking his laptop to my assignment. And look at this.”
She handed Nick another stack of papers. “They had an arrest warrant for him and several of his men. They planned to detain and question him.”
It was further proof that Nick’s termination of Dudaev couldn’t have been authorized.
Nick looked through the documents. “Meanwhile, Bauer already had him under surveillance. He must have known all of this. He sent me to eliminate Dudaev and take the files and his laptop before anyone else from the Agency could get a hold of them. I’m guessing he wanted me to eliminate you to stop you from getting the information first.”
“That’s as good an explanation as any.”
Nick tossed the pages on to the workbench, cold anger on his face. “Bauer used me. The son of a bitch. He knew about Dani and me. He knew I wouldn’t hesitate to kill the bastard—or to take you down if I thought you were colluding with Dudaev.”
“He was wrong about that last part.”
“Was he?” Doubt clouded Nick’s eyes. “I didn’t kill you that night because I thought you were nothing more than a shallow blonde who wanted to land a wealthy man. If I had believed you were working for Dudaev . . .”
Holly made a mental note to knee Bauer in the balls if she met him face-to-face again. “Bauer is your CO. You trusted him. How could you have guessed his true motivations? It’s even hard for me to believe he’s capable of anything like this, and I don’t work for him.”
But Nick didn’t seem to want her reassurance. “I made the perfect patsy.”
“They can’t pin this on you if they can’t tie you to the murder scene. You’re not an amateur. You didn’t leave a trace of evidence in the room. As long as they don’t find the Ruger with your prints or in your possession, how can they prove it was you? The way I see it, the only thing they can pin on you absolutely is my abduction.”
“I suppose you’re right.” A look of realization came over his face, and he shook his head. “Fuck!”
“What is it?”
“I spoke to Dudaev. Before I killed him, I spoke to him. In Georgian. The audio feed would have picked it all up.”
This was not good.
“What did you say?”
Nick closed his eyes. “Oh, nothing much. Just something like, ‘Remember that night in Batumi? I’m here to even the score.’ I called him a son of a whore. I saw his Makarov lying on the floor. I asked him if he wanted it, then picked it up and told him it was mine. Then I said Kramer’s name and Dani’s, and I pulled the trigger.”
Holly’s heart sank. “I take it back. You’re screwed. You gave away your identity and handed them a motive and evidence of premeditation.”
She could only imagine what he’d felt as he’d spoken those words, two years of grief over Dani’s murder culminating in a single, sharp moment of justice. But she also knew how his words would sound to investigators.
Nick stared into space, a muscle tensing in his jaw. “I was a fucking idiot.”
“That wasn’t your best move.”
An understatement.
Holly got up from her chair, walked over to him. “Stop beating yourself up. I’m sure Bauer has some plan to tie you to Dudaev’s death without the audio feed.”
Nick reached out, caught her hand, his fingers warm. “I don’t regret killing him. I’m sorry my actions led to this mess, but I don’t regret killing that bastard, if for no other reason than he never had a chance to hurt you. If I go to prison for that, well, that’s all right by me. The man was a fucking murderer. But when I think how close I came to killing you—”
“Don’t feel guilty for things you didn’t do.” She kissed his forehead. “We’ve done enough today. Let’s go to bed.”
Holly brushed her teeth and went to bed, not bothering with pajamas. It was so hot, the air strangely muggy for Colorado. Besides, Nick would only have to take them off anyway. He joined her a few minutes later, turning to her in the dark, taking her into his arms, and loving her slowly, the two of them falling asleep in each other’s arms.
Holly couldn’t say how long she’d been asleep when she realized she couldn’t move. Her body was strangely heavy, her limbs sluggish. She opened her eyes, turned her head—and felt her blood turn cold.
Dudaev.
He was dead. Blood. Brains. Two bullet holes in his forehead.
Oh, my God!
There was blood on the bed, blood on her skin, and brains like curds of cottage cheese on the sheets.
She had to get off the bed, had to get away from him, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t seem to scream, either, her heart tripping in her chest, horror washing through her in an icy wave. She fought hard, summoned all her strength—and screamed.
“Holly, honey, wake up!”
She opened her eyes, and Nick’s face swam into view.
* * *
Nick held Holly close, stroked her hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She clung to him, her heart beating so hard he could feel it. “Wh-what . . . ?”
“It was just a bad dream.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, her body beginning to tremble. “It seemed so real.”
“They always do.” He kissed her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
For a moment, he thought she would say no, but then the words began to spill out of her. “It was that morning all over again. I woke up covered in his blood, and he was lying there dead, blood and bits of his brains on the sheets. I tried to get out of the bed, to get away from him, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even scream.”
“That sounds pretty terrifying.”
She sat up. “I’m sorry I woke you. It was just a stupid dream.”
Nick sat, too. He reached up, wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Hey, no worries. Besides, I think that nightmare was probably my fault. I shouldn’t have let you see those crime-scene photos.”
She frowned. “I’m not a wimp.”
“I didn’t say you were. You’ve been through a lot in the past few weeks. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t showing some sign of trauma.”
“Trauma?” She shook her head. “I am not a trauma victim.”
“How many dead bodies have you seen?”
She looked away. “Not counting TV and the crime-scene and autopsy photos downstairs? Only the one. How about you?”
Nick wasn’t certain that poking around in his mind would help her. She didn’t need to know what he’d seen. He searched for an answer. “I don’t know. I quit counting a long time ago. I’ve killed people, Holly.”
“Have you ever had a nightmare like that?”
Just admit it, Andris.
“I still have nightmares about Dani’s death. They feel real. When I wake up, it’s like I just lost her again.”
“That must be so hard.” Her voice was soft with empathy.
“Yeah. It is.” But this wasn’t about him. “I don’t think anyone could have gone through what you’ve been through without being traumatized on some level.”
“I’m not just anyone. I’m a trained Agency officer.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t trained for this. Even Special Forces guys sometimes get pushed too far.”
She flopped backward onto her air mattress. “My life sure has changed since I met you, Nick Andris, and not for the better.”
He stretched out beside her, took her hand, kissed it. “We sure got off to one hell of a bad start, didn’t we?”
She gave a little laugh, sniffed. “Yeah, we did.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the whirring of the fan.
Her smile faded. “You must think I’m pathetic—just some weak chick.”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
Her father, Nick realized.
That’s how he’d treated her.
“I . . . I don’t know. I . . . I just . . .” She looked away.
Nick had never seen her at such a loss for words.
“No, Holly, that’s not at all what I think about you.” He cupped her cheek, turned her face toward his, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Want to know what I think? I think you’re incredibly strong. I think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met—male or female. I think you’re one hell of an officer.”
“Really?” There was a vulnerability in her eyes he’d never seen before.