The light flickered again, and suddenly he knew exactly who could be up there.
Chapter Thirty
It was so cold. Bitter, freezing cold. Not like anything she’d ever felt, even in the worst winter in Boston.
Chained to an iron chair in the dark, Chessie felt a fine mist of icy water fall over her, making her teeth chatter and her bones feel like they could break like icicles.
She barely remembered getting here, with Drummand’s gun in her back while he whisked her through what felt like the back alleys of this hellacious prison.
Every inch reeked of death and misery, making Chessie want to hold her breath and force images of torture out of her head. That’s what they’d done in this room.
What he was doing to her now.
Starting with the brutal, frigid mist that caused a different kind of pain than she’d ever felt before. The kind that made you want to give up. The kind that made you want to tell anyone whatever it was they wanted to hear just to get relief.
It was pitch dark, impossible to see, except for when it was as bright as looking into the sun, the light right in her eyes, blinding and painful, then it would go black again.
It was the not knowing when it would happen that created the first level of torture. The actual misery wasn’t as bad as the anticipation.
“So what exactly were you doing on that computer, Ms. Rossi?”
Drummand’s voice kept coming from a different place in the room. He was circling her, and with no light it was impossible to be sure where he’d be next. Behind her. Next to her. Close to her ear.
“M-m-moving money.”
“Where?”
She jerked back when the words came at her an inch from her face, and the barrel of that pistol stabbed in her chest.
“T-t-to…your…a-a-account.”
She screamed when the light came on, like fire pointed at her eyes, then it was gone, and all she could see was the burning white spot against the black.
“Francesca.” He breathed her name into her other ear, the syllables that sounded so poetic when Mal whispered them merely offending her now. “Tell me the password for that account.”
And never clear Mal’s name? She bit her lip hard, refusing to even think about the simple password she’d just made up.
She’d been so close. She almost proved he’d stolen it, but she’d been one freaking keystroke away when he caught her. One more keystroke, and she would have cleared Mal’s name.
Now she’d probably die in this place, and Mal…what would happen to him?
“We can go back there now. Just tell me the password and this”—the blinding light burst like an explosion in her eyes—“will be over.”
“I w-w-will if you clear Mal.”
He laughed in her face. “Making deals, kiddo? Of course. You’ve got a pair like your cocky-ass brother.” She heard him step away, maybe back to the light, maybe somewhere else.
“The password, Francesca.” He flashed the light on and off, on and off, on and off, like a strobe. And then the mist turned into a drenching of freezing misery from above that made her choke and squirm and want to die.
“Tell me the goddamned password!”
She opened her mouth, but it filled with water.
Another light flashed, and something crashed, making her scream again and get another mouthful of water. A gun fired. A man yelled.
Choking, gasping for breath, she tried to see through the downfall of water that poured from some hole in the ceiling. But the water was rushing so loud she couldn’t hear what it was or see anything.
Another shot and lights came on. Soft lights. Warm lights. And the water stopped.
“Chessie, oh my God, Chessie.” Mal nearly sobbed the word as he fell to his knees in front of her.
“Mal.” She fought for breath and sagged forward, the relief of life and air and protection and him washing over her with more force than the submersion she’d just experienced.
She looked past him at Drummand, who rolled on the floor, howling in pain, blood oozing from his leg and arm. “Is he…did you…”
“He’ll live, unfortunately.”
“Then we have to do something. Can you free me? Can you get me back to that computer?”
To his credit, he didn’t argue or question her. Just produced a key and went to work unlocking the first cuff.
“Hurry, Mal. Before they come after you.”
“I don’t care,” he said, twisting the lock the way his broken voice twisted her heart. “I only care about you. That’s it. That’s all that matters. You.”
He released her other hand and immediately she reached for him, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close. He was so warm and so big and so strong and so safe.
Then she pushed him back. “We have to go!” Shaking and fighting shock, she tried to get out of the chair but her legs were wobbly.
“No! Please!” Drummand called out, his hand extended for assistance.
“We’ll get help to you,” Mal said gruffly, gently helping Chessie up.
“Kill me! Please, please, kill me.” He lay helpless, bleeding, and crying. “I’m begging you.”
“We’ll send help,” Mal told him. “Come with me, Chessie.”
“No, they’ll keep me alive,” he sniveled. “I need to die. I have to die. I…can’t…face him.”
“You should have thought of that before you stole money and laid a hand on her.” Still cradling her with one arm, Mal guided Chessie to the door, but she caught one more sight of the pathetic man on the ground.
“I can’t face him!” he cried again. “Please, I beg you, one more shot. Right here.” He slammed his hand over his heart.
“You want to die so bad?” Mal kicked a gun closer to him, but still out of his reach. “Do your own dirty work, coward.”
Without waiting, they charged into the hall and toward the stairs just as they heard one more howl and the loud pop of a gunshot.
Chessie froze for one second, but Mal urged her on, making it to the stairs as an alarm rang somewhere in the distance.
He ignored it. “This way. Back way. Can you run?”
Chessie shoved her wet hair out of her face and nodded, ignoring the freezing cold of her soaked cover-up, her shaking legs, and the blurry world since, once again, her glasses were history. “I can do whatever I have to, Mal. Just get me to that computer.”
Footsteps pounded around the next corner, and she fought the urge to gasp, letting Mal pull her against the wall, then into an alcove, silencing her with a look.
Four foot soldiers passed through the opening, headed straight to the building they’d just left. They kept marching without stopping. Relief almost strangled her as they stayed hidden, waited a few heartbeats, then took off again, staying close to buildings, in the shadows.
She recognized the outside of the administration building Drummand had forced her to enter, but Mal kept them well in the back, coming to another back entrance, where he produced keys he must have gotten from Alana.
“Alana!” Chessie remembered. “He put her in a closet.”
“We’ll get her.”
“This first,” Chessie said, pushing past him when he unlocked the door and she recognized the hallway.
Fueled by adrenaline, she got ahead of him just as one more alarm screamed and she swore every light in Guantanamo Bay exploded as the search for them must have hit DEFCON 1.
They reached Alana’s office, and Chessie practically threw herself at the desk, stabbing at the keyboard, her heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out the alarms.
“How can I get his password in time?” she cried.
Mal lifted the keyboard and pulled out a slip of paper. “Try this.”
“Really?” She tapped the string of letters and numbers with shaking fingers, instantly getting access. “Damn, Mal. You’re good.”
“We’re good.”
She wanted to smile at that but she was too busy with this goldmine of incriminat
ion she’d uncovered. She called up the saved files, one after another, and finally found the ones she wanted most: the fake invoices, the offshore account, the money. Roger Drummand’s fingerprints were all over his crime.
Outside, thumping footsteps of what had to be an entire regiment of soldiers shook the building they were in, along with shouting and more screaming alarms.
“Hurry, Chess.”
Five more keystrokes to move these files. Four. Three.
A gunshot echoed, and the door behind them exploded open, but Chessie touched one key and then—
“Don’t move!”
Mal threw himself in front of Chessie, blocking her like a human shield.
“Hands up!”
“You’re under arrest!”
“Don’t touch her,” Mal insisted, still blocking her from the soldiers. “Do not hurt her. She’s innocent.”
And so are you. Chessie reached around Mal and smashed the last key with a satisfying stab, then lifted her gaze to face more weaponry than she’d ever seen in her life. Mal stood his ground, but one of the soldiers burst forward to grab him.
“Too late, Harris.”
No, it wasn’t. “Don’t lose hope,” he whispered to her. “We got this.”
“We sure do,” she said.
He searched her face, his expression slowly changing from dread and uncertainty to a slow, warm grin. “You did it.” Not a question, she noticed.
“Not bad for a rookie, huh?”
He inched closer, the noise of the soldiers, alarms, and the world that seemed lined up against them fading into the background as he held her gaze.
“Francesca,” he whispered. “I love you.”
The words stunned her. Maybe they were spoken in the craziness of the moment, but they sounded so completely right. She resisted the urge to say them back, knowing she’d have time. Maybe a lifetime.
Chapter Thirty-one
Sleep faded easily, pulling Chessie from a dream about the Ramos School. A little girl ran around her in circles, laughing and calling Chessie Mamá.
She inhaled without opening her eyes, not smelling guava pastelitos and bitter espresso, but the sweet air of Barefoot Bay and the masculine scent of her lover still on the sheets. She automatically reached for him, hitting a pillow and empty space.
Blinking into the soft pink glow of dawn, she lifted her head to see Mal silhouetted against the morning sky, standing at the patio rail facing the bay, a cup of coffee in his hand. She took a minute to appreciate the physique she never tired of, his broad shoulders that seemed tailor-made for leaning on, and the way his boxer shorts hung low on narrow hips.
He dragged his hand through his hair, and although she couldn’t hear it, she imagined the sigh that lifted and dropped those mighty shoulders. Without hesitation, she rolled out of bed and glanced down at her naked body. Tempting as it was to go to him this way, he was facing the open beach. She pulled open a dresser drawer, snagged the first T-shirt her fingers touched, and slipped it over her head.
It fell to her thighs, covering her enough to pad barefoot to her lover and see what made him sigh.
“I hate when you disappear from my bed,” she said, coming up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his strong, warm back.
“I hate disappearing from your bed.” He turned enough to bring her around and press a kiss against her forehead. “Coffee?”
He offered her his cup, and she took a big sip. “Poor man’s tooth-brushing technique,” she joked.
He reached down and kissed her mouth, tasting just as creamy as the morning blend. “Works for me.” He leaned back and flicked the shoulder of the T-shirt. “Is this a joke?”
“No, I…” She glanced down and saw what she’d chosen.
Allenwood Federal Correctional Institution
“It has sentimental value,” she teased. “Your first gift to me.”
“We did have an auspicious beginning.” He placed his hand on the words, conveniently located directly over her breast. “And an adventurous middle.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and Chessie broke the silence to say what she suspected they both were thinking. “But what about the end?”
He slid his hand up to tuck it behind her neck and thread his fingers through her hair. “We’re doing a good job of dragging that part out, Francesca.”
“A week in paradise after what we’ve been through?” The CIA had kept them in Cuba for what had seemed like an interminable time, long enough for everything to get straightened out. Reports were filed. Investigations launched. Criminal records cleared.
Chessie had been able to make one trip to the school, but it was still a farm with Nestor Ramos saying he was keeping it closed indefinitely. And, of course, Gabe had to be told the sad news about his son, and the fact that they couldn’t be here to share his pain had been devastating.
“Anyway.” She gave him a poke in the belly. “Christmas is in two days, pal. Nino’s pulling out all the stops for your first one.”
She had arranged a grand Christmas Eve on the sands of Barefoot Bay. Nino hoped it would cheer up Gabe, and Chessie wanted to roll all thirty-eight Christmases Mal hadn’t celebrated into one.
“So, I wouldn’t call it dragging anything,” she said.
“I can’t stay on this island forever,” he said on a sigh, making her wonder if that’s what he’d been thinking about earlier.
“It would be time for address number forty-three,” she said, hating the burn of sadness just saying that brought to her chest. “So the big question is, where is that mailbox going to be?”
“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m free to go anywhere.”
“I imagine it’s pretty exciting,” she agreed. “You could stay here and work for McBain Security.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I might if Gabe were staying.”
She closed her eyes at the mention of Gabe. So far, he hadn’t moved on. He hadn’t done much of anything, to be fair, but work out and hide. He’d turned down three new clients, and Uncle Nino was starting to make noise about going back to Boston.
And speaking of Boston. “We, could, um, use you at the Guardian Angelinos?”
“Which sounds like a very cool place to work, but…” He shook his head, his lack of enthusiasm for any of her near-miss plans obvious. “I’m not in the private security business, you know? I’m a spy, and I don’t know how to turn that into a life now that it’s over.”
“I understand. Hell, I empathize. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that mission we were on and…” She made a face and gave voice to something that had played at the edges of her brain for weeks. “Is it crazy that I kind of want to work for the CIA, too?”
“Not crazy at all. You’d be fantastic, and they’d be lucky to get you.”
But she didn’t want anyone to get her but him. “You could take over Gabe’s undercover business if he leaves.” It wasn’t exactly what she wanted him to do, but maybe they needed a compromise to get this plan off the ground.
Mal gave her a steady look. “Let’s stop dancing around this, Chessie. I can go where you go. And I want to. So we can…”
She looked up at him, half aware she was holding her breath. “Plan,” she finally said, giving voice to her thoughts.
He fought a smile. “You would like a plan.”
Well, of course she would. She shrugged both shoulders as if to say she refused to apologize for who she was. “Half the fun of a plan is making it,” she said.
“Is it? Then let’s make one. Together.”
She wasn’t at all sure what he meant, but she felt her arms automatically tighten around his waist. “I imagine it would be filled with contingencies.”
“If by contingencies, you mean sex, then, yeah. Loaded with them.”
“I actually don’t mean sex,” she said softly. “I mean…making love.”
“It is.” He leaned closer and pressed his forehea
d to hers. “It is making love. Every single time.”
The words warmed her, but they still weren’t exactly what she wanted to hear. She knew how she felt about him, but they hadn’t been together that long.
She bit her lip. Once he’d said he’d loved her, but that could easily have been a thoughtless burst of appreciation for a masterful hacking job. Since then, he’d shown her, but never said the words.
“So the question isn’t where that address number forty-three is,” he continued, “but whose name is on my mailbox.”
“Malcolm Harris?”
He gave her a look like she should know damn well what he wanted it to say. “I want to feel settled, Chessie.”
Okay, enough of this. She narrowed her eyes and wound up her best shot. “Define settled.”
He laughed softly and pulled her closer. “I can, actually, define settled.” He kissed her hair. “It starts with will you and ends with yes.”
“Mal.” His name caught in her throat. “Are you…was that…did you—”
“Malcolm! Malcolm Harris!”
They both spun around at the sound of a man’s voice from the beach, a punch of frustration nearly knocking her over. Who would interrupt this? He was about to get down on—
“Mr. Drummand?” Shock made Mal’s voice waver. “William Drummand?”
What? Chessie stared at the old man who made his way across the sand to approach their private patio. Despite the shock of white hair, narrow shoulders, and ever-so-slight stoop to his shoulders, he moved with surprising grace and determination.
“I was told I’d find you here,” the man said, adjusting wire-framed glasses and making Chessie realize just how very little she had on. “I’d like to talk to you. Now.”
Chessie inched back, gauging Mal’s reaction to a man who was, as he’d told her, a legendary spy…and the father of a man who’d taken his own life after begging them to do it.
“May I come into your villa?” he finally asked, the note of humility surprising Chessie.
She longed to tell him to go away, that he’d just ruined the biggest moment of her life, but Mal nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said simply. “You can talk to both of us. We’re a team.”