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SINCE BLACKTHORNE WAS clearly busy, Nash called Grinch. “What’s going on? Gun runners? Bowling and bridge scores?”
“What makes you think I’m looped in?” Grinch asked.
“Even if you’re not, you can get there a lot more easily than I can. Jinx gave me a thirty-second call. Said Danika had provided information.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Grinch said.
“It’s complicated.” Nash had let too much time pass. He could play the grief card—which had messed him up—but he should have touched base. Showed her he cared. Trusting that jerk at the hospital to deliver a message was a dumb mistake.
“Is she all right?” Nash asked.
“She was when she left here.”
“She’s gone?” Dammit, she was supposed to stay in Colorado. Grinch had said he’d keep an eye on her.
“The goons are in custody, remember. She wanted to go home. I had no reason to stop her, not that I could have. She does have a strong-willed personality.”
“I’ll call her. Can you find out more about this gun runner and bowling-bridge connection?”
Grinch said he’d try, and Nash punched Danika’s number into his phone. Voicemail. Was he calling her old phone or the new one? He tried the other number. Voicemail. “Danika. This is Nash.” As if his name wouldn’t show up on caller ID. “Look. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. No excuses. I need to know if you’re all right. Please call. Text.”
He disconnected. Lame message, but what was he supposed to say? I love you?
He flushed hot, then icy cold. He did love her. How it happened so quickly was beyond him, but Elizabeth had seen it, even before Nash had. One thing he knew. You didn’t say I love you to a woman for the first time in a voicemail.
Had she gone home to Santa Fe? Or had she decided to move on? To go somewhere new?
He was stuck in New York dealing with his father’s death. For how long? He couldn’t leave everything to Dad’s caregivers. On Coach’s advice early on, Nash had insisted on a trust, not a will, which streamlined things. He’d already talked to Dad’s financial adviser, who’d been handling Dad’s affairs for years. Most of what Nash needed to do relied on showing a death certificate, and his copies hadn’t arrived yet.
Even if he left, where would he go?
He clenched the phone in a death grip. Where the hell are you?
Nash couldn’t stand it anymore. He put in a call to Intel. Jinx had said Danika had provided information. Someone there ought to know how to find her.
The first two people he spoke to had no idea what he was talking about. Jinx wasn’t available.
Slow down. Regroup. Think.
Grinch had said Danika had provided information to Emiko. Nash asked to speak to her.
“She’s kind of busy,” one of her underlings said.
“It’s important. I need ten seconds of her time. Please.”
“Who did you say you were?”
Nash gave his name again. He had a feeling this underling wouldn’t last long, not in Emiko’s department. She tolerated no nonsense, no mistakes. “Tell her it relates to Danika Payton.”
Several long seconds later, Emiko came on the line. “Make it quick, Rambler.”
“Where’s Danika?”
“Home in Santa Fe. I talked to her at ten this morning. She was fine. We’ve got an op to run.”
“Wait. One more thing. You’re sure she was in Santa Fe when you talked to her?”
Emiko snorted. “Visual call. Her apartment.”
He thanked her and disconnected. Left another message on both Danika’s phones. Made sure he had a bag packed. Checked flights. Flying into Santa Fe was next to impossible. It would have to be Albuquerque, then rent a car. One nonstop a day, and it left at twenty-hundred hours?
Flying commercial sucked.
Nothing guaranteed Danika would be at her apartment.
If he left, he’d be deserting his father. Again.
*****
HIS PHONE BROUGHT NASH out of a fitful slumber. Two in the morning? He grabbed his phone, read the display. Grinch. And snapped awake.
“What do you have? I owe you big time. Single malt?”
Grinch chuckled. “Not so big time. A six pack will do it for me. It’s Emiko you’ll owe the good stuff.”
“So noted. Now get on with it.”
“First, the gun drop was intercepted and the authorities are once more grateful to Blackthorne and its impeccable service. No casualties on either side.”
“You didn’t call me at oh-two-hundred to report that everything’s copacetic. What else? If it’s not asking too much, the short version.”
“I’ll leave out all of Intel’s brilliant research and decryption skills this pass. When Danika said she couldn’t find history on Barinov, Emiko’s magic antennae went up. Believe it or not, the guy’s a Russian sleeper agent.”
A frisson ran down Nash’s spine. “He was after Danika? Why?”
“Unknown. Someone told him what to do, and he followed orders. Yes, he set the bomb, sent the letters, vandalized Danika’s car and kidnapped her.”
“You have the ringleader?”
“It’s complicated. The involved Russian sleepers are scattered across the country, most in the west. Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada. The guns have been coming in on delivery trucks run by independent truckers, well disguised in false-bottomed cases of motor oil.”
“Hang on,” Nash said. “Didn’t the guy who owned the Tacoma work at a gas station?”
“Exactly. Motor oil arriving at a gas station is perfectly normal. The third guy worked at an auto body shop in Fairplay.”
Nash avoided an I told you so about spies and sleeper agents hiding in plain sight.
Grinch continued. “Typical of espionage cell structure, nobody knows anyone outside their limited circles. They communicated via articles in the Albuquerque Gazette. Encrypted messages in the Gazette’s weekly community goings-on reports. I don’t have the details. Emiko said the codes were part of the bowling league and bridge club scores.”
Nash tried to follow. “What’s the connection to Barinov?”
“The editor-in-chief of the Gazette is also a sleeper agent. He planted coded messages.”
“So, Gerard set Barinov after Danika?”
“Possibly. Emiko’s not sure how much any of these players knew about any of the others. There were those who were sent messages to relay, those who planted said messages, and those who acted upon them. The trigger was when Danika proposed a story about ethnic groups in New Mexico that included Russians, compounded by her story about disabled vets running a basketball league for at-risk kids.”
Nash digested that. “It explains why Gerard fired Danika. Afraid she’d stumble onto his spy ring. Or figure out the code in the articles, since the basketball leagues were part of them.”
“He overreacted. If Blackthorne hadn’t found the gun runners in Russia, it’s unlikely they’d ever have made the connection at all. Talented as Danika might be, she wouldn’t have access to the necessary resources to uncover a spy ring.”
“But Blackthorne did. Broke up a gun-smuggling operation, exposed a bunch of Russian spies. Not bad for a few days’ work. What’s going to happen with the guy from the Gazette?”
“Not our problem,” Grinch said. “We merely provide the authorities with the information. Let them deal with it. We’re covert operatives, remember. Emphasis on the covert. In and out like the wind.”
“Thanks again, man. I still owe you.”
“Next time you’re in Colorado.”
“Deal.”
He’d just disconnected when his phone chimed again. HQ? Emiko? Calling him? At two in the morning? Okay, three hours earlier at HQ. Nevertheless, a chill snaked down his spine.
“Hanley.”
“I picked up a message from Danika. She sent it to my personal cell, and as you are aware, things have been busy the last few days.”
“Roger that.”
“She said she’d been invited to lunch with Mr. Gerard. He was her boss—”
The chill turned to ice. “I know who he is. What’s wrong?”
“Before you panic, I want you to know we’re already taking action.”
Don’t panic? Too late. He slowed his breathing, paced to the kitchen, to the living room. “Talk to me.”
“I checked with the Albuquerque police. Her car is parked outside the restaurant where she met Mr. Gerard. They’re looking for her now. I’ll update you as I get more information.”
“Thank you, yes, I want to be in the loop on this one. I’ll be on the first flight to Albuquerque.”
*****
DANIKA RUBBED HER TEMPLES. Her blacksmith was back, hammering away. Aspirin. She had a lunch appointment with Mr. Gerard. Needed to get dressed.
She squirmed to the edge of the bed. Not her bed. Not her bedroom. Not her apartment. She muttered a curse. Light. She needed light. A yellow ribbon glowed under a door. More light came from a gap in the curtains. A green display on a bedside clock announced it was ten after eleven. At night.
Enough light to recognize a hotel room. She fumbled for a bedside lamp and turned it on. More like a cheap motel. She tiptoed into the bathroom. Empty. She was alone. Good or bad?
How did she get here?
She scanned the room. Her coat and purse lay on an easy chair near the window, her shoes on the floor. She was fully dressed.
Think.
She remembered talking to Emi. Getting dressed. Going to a restaurant to have lunch with Mr. Gerard. After that, a total blank. Not quite a total blank. Drinking hot cider.
You were drugged. Idiot. The cider. You know better.
She did, but she’d never considered Mr. Gerard a personal threat.
Panic surged through her system. She didn’t feel like she’d been violated. Clothes intact, no soreness, no other signs he’d had sex with her.
But why bring her here? Had it been Mr. Gerard?
Simplest answers are usually right.
Think.
She found a notepad on the desk by the phone. With the name of the motel. And the address. She was still in Albuquerque.
Think.
Whoever brought her here might be coming back. She’d sort out the hows, whys, and wheres another time. First. Get someplace else.
She had her purse. Her phone. She wasn’t tied up. As abductions went, this was better than last time. She made mental notes for her article.
Think.
Don’t involve the front desk. She used her disposable phone, found the Uber app and ordered a ride.
Ten to fifteen minutes. She put on her shoes and coat, then found the lobby. The front desk was deserted.
She spotted a side entrance and texted her driver to meet her there, not in front, and went out to wait, standing in the shadows.
Think.
Tell someone you trust where you are, what happened. Emi? It was the middle of the night. The cops? If she was in Colorado, she’d call Deputy Cochran, but what would she tell the cops here? I was stupid and woke up in a strange motel room?
Was this even related to Barinov and his brutes? Had to be. Nobody was unlucky enough to have two separate reasons to be kidnapped. Which meant Mr. Gerard was involved. How? Why?
While she waited for a confirmation from her driver, she scrolled through her text messages. Nothing.
Nash. It was two hours later in New York. He had connections. He wouldn’t need to do anything that would interfere with dealing with his father’s death. He could notify the right people.
She sent off a text.
Think I was Roofied. Mr. Gerard. I’m OK. Going to my apartment.
After sending it, she noticed the voicemail icon. Two messages.
She listened. Both from Nash. Both sounding more worried than she’d ever heard him.
Her driver pulled into the lot. Feeling better that she’d let Nash know she was all right, she climbed into the car.
This time of night, traffic was light, and she was home in under an hour.
A black-and-white Santa Fe Police car was parked in front of the building. Good or bad? She’d had enough time on the drive to piece together more memories. She was close to positive Mr. Gerard had been the one to take her to the motel.
“Drop me off in back,” she told the driver.
Danika punched in the entry code for the back door and used the stairs, not the elevator, to her apartment. Inside, she went to her landline and found the non-emergency number for the police, giving the woman who answered her name and address.
“There’s a police car outside my building. Is it supposed to be there? Are they looking for me?”
After a few anxiety-filled moments on hold, the woman said it was a well-being check requested by a security company in San Francisco. “Are you all right, ma’am?” the woman asked.
“I am now,” Danika said, “but I was drugged in Albuquerque. Should I be telling you? Or the Albuquerque police?”
“Please stay where you are. I’ll send the officer up.”
Danika demanded to know the name of the officer, which the woman provided.
It’s not paranoia if people are really after you.
In under a minute, the officer in question appeared at the door, accepting that Danika wanted to see his identification before she released the security chain.
“I’ve called the paramedics,” he said after she’d explained what had happened—leaving out all the Colorado events, because those guys were in jail. She was drained.
“I don’t think anyone will come here,” Danika said. “If he thought I was a risk, why did he leave me alone in the motel?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, but we need to draw blood and get a urine sample to verify the presence of the drug in your system.”
“Would it still show up? It was lunchtime. Over twelve hours ago.”
“You said you didn’t wake up until a few hours ago?” the office asked.
“Ten past eleven.”
“Then it’s possible—even likely—he drugged you again.” The officer gave a tired smile. “We won’t know until we run the tests, ma’am.”
Danika let the paramedics have a blood sample, peed in a cup for them, but refused to go to the hospital for further tests. “I know I wasn’t raped,” she said. “I’ve had enough of hospitals lately, and a good night’s sleep in my own bed is what I want.”
“We’ll be doing extra patrols in the neighborhood the rest of the night, which should make you rest easier.”
Not like having a protector in the next room. Or the same bed. But it would do.
She crawled into bed and listened to Nash’s messages again. And again. Why his voice made her feel safe didn’t make sense. She’d take it. His last message had said he’d call her in the morning. She smiled and set a ringtone for him.
She awoke to the Playmates singing “Beep Beep.”