“How bad is it? I want to see it.” She had to know what she was dealing with.
“The picture?” He tipped her face up so she couldn’t look away. “Revealing, intimate, sexy as hell. I’m going to have to beat the guys away.”
“Tate—”
He pulled out his phone, brought up the photo, and handed her the phone as she held her breath and steeled herself to take a look. She let her breath out as she stared at it. He’d described it perfectly. The picture was too intimate. The expression on her face gave everything away—she was clearly in love with Tate. She gasped. “How?”
“Probably had a hidden camera on the ceiling.” He pried the phone from her and held her tight, wrapping her in his arms. “I’ll take care of it. Cox’s legal team is already on it. We’ll get it pulled down.”
Which was a moot point. Digital was forever no matter how hard you tried to eradicate it.
“I’ll demand a retraction. Threaten to sue. Whatever it takes.” His voice was gentle, reassuring, apologetic. “But you see how we have to make a stand together that that’s you in the picture? And that we’re back together. It’s the only way.”
He paused. “I know what I’m asking. It would be easier and a lot less embarrassing for you to let Sophia take the rap. Maybe even easier for her in some ways. I’m sure RIOT ordered her to sleep with me and the whole thing was a setup. It would look like she’d followed orders. But since they want to kill her anyway …
“Mal? What are you thinking? Without your help, I’m ruined.”
She nodded. “I’m thinking I don’t know what it is about you.” Mal pulled away enough to look him in the eye. “I never thought I’d accept a marriage proposal from another woman.”
He smiled and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “What are we going to do about Sophia? She’s either a double agent or a dupe. Either way, this mission was obviously a setup to frame and ruin you. Can we trust any intel she gives us?”
“The chief wants us to bring her. Now that she knows she’s expendable, she may cooperate and spill what she really knows. She may still be of value to us.”
“Do we confront her with what we know?”
Tate didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
Mal nodded. “What do we tell her about us?” Mal hesitated. “I don’t know about love. If she feels it, it’s a sick love. But she’s dangerous and unpredictable.”
He agreed. “We won’t tell her we’re really back together, no.” He grinned. “Why provoke a woman scorned?”
Mal nodded. She had to agree with him. “We tell her we’re faking it for damage control?”
“Exactly.”
She nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. And we really have to stop meeting in the bathroom like this.”
“Do we?” His eyes twinkled and he grinned. “I like it.”
As they returned to their seats, the woman who’d walked in on them in the loo shot them a nasty look. Mal ignored the woman, who turned to whisper to her traveling companion. When you walked in on someone, you got what you got.
Lash was doing a good job of babysitting Sophia when they returned to their seats. Sophia’s eyes lit up when she saw Tate, although she did an adequate job of not throwing herself into his arms and at least attempting to stay in cover character.
Tate whispered something to Lash. Lash nodded and pulled out his phone. Within minutes he had upgraded them to first class and their own compartment, an extravagance that hadn’t previously seemed necessary. Like every other intelligence agency, MI5 was facing tight budget constraints. As they settled in in their new digs, Lash mumbled something about how the expense report for this mission was going to be a bloody nightmare.
Sophia clutched Tate’s arm as he filled Lash and Sophia in on the latest developments. Mal had to hand it to Tate. He handled the whole thing admirably, using just the right tone and attitude with Sophia.
“I didn’t know what they were planning!” Sophia dug her nails into Tate’s arm. Her eyes were wild with fear.
But is it genuine? Mal wondered.
“You have to believe me. They used me. But now I really want to escape. I couldn’t go back to them now even if I wanted to. When they approached me for this mission, I agreed.” She swallowed hard and stared at Tate, ignoring Mal and Lash. Somehow she’d determined Tate was her best, most sympathetic bet.
“Not that I had any choice. Either you do what they say or they kill you. That’s the way RIOT works. But you know that.
“There were many girls they could have chosen for the job. But they chose me for two reasons. They knew I’d been following Tate’s career and had what they called a crush on him. Which gave them the confidence that I would have no trouble following their orders to seduce and sleep with him.”
Mal couldn’t believe she had to listen to this.
“And, as a happy coincidence, I resemble your ex-wife.” She shot Mal a look full of hate. “The only woman who’s been able to really capture your heart.”
That should have been a compliment. Would have been maybe if Sophia hadn’t practically spat it out and shot her a look meant to kill.
“They set up the plan, tempting you with a beautiful woman who was desperate for you and had valuable intelligence, two things you couldn’t resist.
“The science festival came up and it was the perfect opportunity. They knew that you two had fallen in love in Cheltenham and hoped to capitalize on my similarity and your sentimentality.
“I was supposed to sleep with you and disappear.” She licked her lips nervously. It was prettily done and no doubt meant to be seductive.
She kept pleading with Tate. “They knew you and your ex weren’t on the best of terms. And that she never goes into the field. My handlers never considered that your chief would send her into the field with you.
“But he did. And I screwed up the night of Lord Witham’s dinner. Thanks to her.” Again, she flashed the death glare at Mal. “I showed up in your bed, wearing only a bow around my neck like I was your gift.” Venom filled her voice as she pointed at Mal. “She chased me away at gunpoint.”
Tate flashed Mal a mild, amused look, and cocked a brow.
“So I had to try again—in the parking garage. And she ruined that, too.”
Mal shrugged. She’d been right all along to distrust the RIOT bitch. “Bygones.”
Sophia’s glare hardened. “I didn’t know they were going to photograph us. They never told me a single detail of what they planned to do. They just issued orders that I had to follow without question.
“I failed. I’m expendable. They’ve proven that. They’ll send their SMASH assassins after me as soon as they realize they killed a dummy, not me.”
Although Mal could argue that for all her intelligence, Sophia was a dummy, too.
“They won’t stop until they kill me.” She appealed to Tate again with a trembling smile and all her feminine wiles on exhibit meant to invoke the hero in him. “You have to save me, like you promised. If you do, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Mal thought Sophia looked patently ridiculous clinging to Tate’s arm while he was dressed as Kate and making lovesick puppy eyes at him/her. She was a cover-life artist’s worst nightmare. She really couldn’t stick to a cover to save her life.
Sophia loosened her death grip on Tate’s arm and stroked it with her free hand. “I love you, Tate. I really do. Please believe me. Please save me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“We proceed with the plan and get Sophia out through Northern Ireland.” Tate looked to Mal and Lash for confirmation. “From there we’ll take her to our top secret safe house that’s in the U.S.’s jurisdiction.”
Lash nodded. “The deal still stands as far as Great Britain is concerned. You share what you learn from her with us in return for our cooperation and help. Nothing’s changed.”
Mal didn’t say anything. Tate could tell she was pissed at Sophia, but hanging on to her profes
sionalism.
“Another of our agents will meet us in Liverpool and accompany us on the ferry across to Belfast,” Lash continued. “Especially given the situation, we can use all the backup we can get.”
Tate explained that Mal and he were faking a reconciliation to control the intended damage that picture was supposed to cause. Mal’s expression was masked. But he had the feeling she was seething at Sophia.
“RIOT will be furious and ready to retaliate when they realize we’ve neutralized their attack.” He flashed Sophia what he hoped was a comforting smile. “If it’s any consolation, heads will roll over this failure. Likely literally. Whoever planned this and planned to use you will pay the price.”
That’s when Tate got a glimpse of the real Sophia. She looked pleased by the thought in a criminal way, like she was a Mafia don extracting vengeance and loving it. Not at all like a sweet, innocent pawn of a girl who would be relieved, but horrified at the same time.
Sophia was very good, Tate determined. Much more skilled at deception than she led them to believe. He didn’t trust her. But he was more expert than she was. He’d seen through her façade to the hard core beneath. That look in her eyes didn’t fan ardor in the male breast. It annihilated it. If she were going to fashion herself as a femme fatale she’d do well to learn to mask it. He kept that bit of advice to himself.
“What about our covers?” Sophia asked.
Mal answered for him. “They remain the same. And you’d do well to keep your hands off your sister.”
Tate forced himself not to smile at the irony of Mal’s command. Just talk to the lady who’d seen the two sisters going after each other like horny teenagers in the bathroom. Speaking of which, he wondered if there was any way to neutralize her and keep the gossip from spreading. Not that it really mattered. But he didn’t like loose ends and cracks in the plan. If the wrong person heard about it, his female cover could easily be blown and it was tenuous enough as it was.
* * *
They arrived in Liverpool an hour and a half later after an uneventful, but tense, train ride. Tate talked to Cox Software’s legal and publicity teams and got an update that things were proceeding. And he’d ignored three texts from his mother demanding to know whether it was true that he was getting back with Mal. Did the woman never rest? What time was it in the States anyway?
Somehow she managed to infuse her texts with the tone of her unending displeasure. Lenora Cox was not a happy camper. In her opinion, daughters-in-law were mere son stealers called by a different name. She’d get used to the idea sooner or later. And once she calmed down, she might even realize she might get more time with Kayla.
They shared a taxi to the Liverpool ferry terminal, Lash playing along as if he was their new fast friend. It wasn’t unusual for them to be continuing on to the same destination. There were a number of passengers who had bought a train/ferry package. Which made Tate nervous. Onboard the ferry to Belfast, they’d be sitting targets, not to mention the possibility of a car bomb, which could take out a lot more people than just them.
They made their way into the terminal, up the escalator and into the waiting lounge with its red and blue seats, view of the port, and yellow walls painted with the words SAIL WITH US TO THE EMERALD ISLE.
They met their new contact easily enough. He was seated facing out looking toward the port and the sunny blue skies. He delivered the verification code and struck up a polite conversation, but kept his distance. The cover called for the new agent, Walburn, to be only a passing acquaintance so he could cover their backs at an appropriate distance.
The terminal was full. The ferry totally booked. It held just under one hundred cars and nearly a thousand people. A thousand chances for an assassin to be aboard, less the five of them.
Tate was still hauling around the book-gun copy of War and Peace, pretending to read it, actually reading it, and figuring out how to use all its special features at regular turns. The bulletproof shield was small. In a pinch, Tate would have to make a snap decision whether to shield his head or his heart. Even now he wondered which was his more valuable asset.
Even though he was trying to keep a low profile, he was attracting a fair number of stares and leers from the men around him. Men could be such pigs. He had to force himself not to smile at the sentiment. He was getting his fair share of stares from women, too. Most of them hostile rather than curious. He couldn’t decide whether they’d found him out for the man he was and were miffed he was impersonating a woman and hoping he didn’t try to use their loo. Or they were just jealous of either his looks, makeup, or hair. The looks were his. Mal had done a fine job with everything else.
He was used to woman falling all over him, not shooting him daggers. Well, only occasionally literally. Like that time in Spain. But with their eyes, no. Women loved him because he loved them. And then there was his money.
Next to Tate, Mal flirted with Lash and Sophia was jumpy and trying not to be. Her eyes darted around as if looking for a menace in every newcomer and every unexpected noise startled her. Mal teased her about being afraid of sailing and offered her an antiseasick pill, probably hoping with any luck it would knock Sophia out for the duration of the trip. Tate noticed it wasn’t the less drowsy version.
Tate flipped to a page of War and Peace. A phrase caught his eye: “We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.”
He concurred. Tolstoy had pretty much summed up the spy biz in a few sentences.
Tate checked the weather report. Storms predicted after midnight. Damn. The ferry ride took all night. They wouldn’t dock until around six A.M. He wasn’t a born sailor. He got up to buy his own antiseasick pills, the less drowsy kind. He needed his head.
“I’m going to check out the shops,” he said.
Mal cocked a brow and looked like she wished she’d thought of it. And there was a hint of “don’t leave me alone with this bitch” in her look, too. She had Lash to help her.
He wandered into the shop and found the pills easily enough, throwing in a pair of sea-bands, too. Added protection was never a bad thing. A rack of tourist T-shirts caught his eye and so did his image on a security camera. In the privacy of their cabin on the ferry he was going to change into something more comfortable for the ride, like men’s clothing.
He bought a men’s T-shirt, lamenting aloud that he had such a hard time finding ladies’ sizes that fit. The men’s cut didn’t show off his figure in the best light. Like hell. He looked good in men’s clothing, especially when he wasn’t wearing fake boobs. See? What was Mal thinking? He could maintain a cover as well as any agent.
He paid for his purchases and joined his group. Mal eyed his bag.
Tate shrugged. “We’re clear. I didn’t detect any problems.”
Their ferry arrived. After dispatching its passengers, the boarding call sounded. The four of them boarded together with Walburn bringing up the backside. The three “sisters” were sharing a sleeping compartment. Lash had a single berth in a compartment across from them. Walburn was down the hall.
They checked into their four-berth cabin. Thankfully it had en suite bathroom facilities. Tate availed himself of them. He thought about stripping off his bra and fake girl-maker/fake hip device of torture. After dinner, he thought. When we’ve settled in for the night.
When he came out of the loo, the girls were each sitting on a lower bunk. The upper ones needed to be pulled out.
“We’ve called dibs on these.” Mal was smirking. “We both decided you get the honor of being on top.” Her voice was full of innuendo.
He arched a brow. “The old missionary sleeping position trick.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. You girls might get a peek up my skirt.”
“You aren’t wearing a skirt.” Mal eyed his crotch.
Yeah, she was trying to get a rise out of him, which would hurt like hell. “It was worth a try.”
He stretched. The cabin was small, but roomier than the train. It wa
s going to be a long, boring crossing. At least he hoped so. He needed a drink. “It’s an eight-hour overnight trip across the Irish Sea to Belfast. Let’s get something to eat before we settle down for the night.” And the storm hit. “I could use a nightcap.”
“Good idea.” Mal grabbed a laminated menu from the small fixed desk and flipped through it casually. “The menu looks pretty decent. Let’s hope the cook’s skill lives up to the food descriptions.” She handed the menu to Tate and stood. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”
Sophia had been quiet. “No!” The word exploded from her into the small room like an earthquake. She shook her head. “Order in if you like, but I’m not going out there. It’s too dangerous. You don’t know RIOT.”
“I think we do.” Mal’s brow furrowed, peeved.
Tate bet she was. Sophia had been fighting her at every turn.
“We’ve been battling them for years,” Mal said.
“It’s not safe. The odds are against us.” Sophia crossed her arms. “I have a Ph.D. in mathematics. I can figure odds better than anyone. I’m not going.”
Someone had to stay with Sophia. They couldn’t take the risk that she’d run.
“Go,” Tate said to Mal. “Get yourself something. We’ll order in.”
“And trust that no one tries to poison your food or that the steward who delivers it won’t try to kill you?” Mal’s voice was flippant, but only partially facetious. “I’ll bring something back for you. What do you want?”
* * *
Mal was happy to escape the confines of the cabin and Sophia’s company. Not so happy about leaving Tate alone with her. She didn’t trust that mathematician. It was just past nine in the evening. The sun was low over the water with a hint of wispy clouds on the horizon. It was threatening a gorgeous sunset. Mal made her way to the bar and grill, which was decorated in deep, nautical sea blues and brass, very modern and sleek.
Lash waited for her at a table. Walburn was seated a few tables away.
“Our little fugitive wouldn’t come out of her cabin?” Lash stood as Mal approached and took a seat.