For a moment Becca, elbows propping her up on the bed, smiled at Dane. She was in the zone. One more giggle slipped out.
He snatched the toothbrush from his mouth. “In-sodding-credible.”
His astonishment did not override her high. Allowing her head to fall back onto the pillow, she let out a satisfied sigh.
Tension: obliterated. All the day’s stresses: gone.
One MI-6 agent: gobsmacked.
Still smiling, Becca sat up on the bed, ensuring her towel was pulled down to her thighs.
Dane stood in the doorway like a Ken doll waiting for direction.
“Do you always brush your teeth in the shower?”
“Woman.” He strode to the alcove but stopped a good distance from the end of her bed. Spreading his arms to encompass something he couldn’t wrap his mind around, he exclaimed, “You’ve just come gloriously, and all you can ask is where I brush my teeth?”
She shrugged. “Told you I could take care of myself.”
“I guess you can.” He tossed the toothbrush to the bedside table and sat at the end of the empty bed, his back to her.
And while she should be feeling embarrassed, even shameful, not an ounce of either stirred Becca’s blood. She was sated. Relaxed. Ready to drift off to sleep.
Dane’s shoulders glistened with water from the shower. His moist hair stood up in spikes. He swept a hand across the back of his neck, then turned to her, switching from a smile to a grimace, and then to an expression of utter confusion. He didn’t know what to say!
Reaching behind her head, Becca gave a punch to the pillow and leaned back. “It’s a great tension reliever.”
“Oh ho? And now you expect me to sleep next to you in this little narrow bed after…that?”
Drawing up her legs, Becca slipped them under the toile de Jouy counterpane. “Yes.”
“Bloody incredible!”
Dane walked around to the opposite side of his bed and tossed back the sheets with an irritated fling. He fingered the towel wrapped about his hips. Even in the dim light Becca saw something had risen to the occasion.
Admittedly, this situation was fast becoming uncomfortable. He wouldn’t actually expect her to…? No. And she wasn’t about to offer.
“Don’t tell me you sleep in the nude?”
“Usually, yes,” he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice. “I hadn’t expected to be sharing the room.”
Becca flicked off the table lamp. “There.”
In the few moments of utter darkness that followed, she listened as Dane slid between the crisp sheets. Naked. Now it was too dark for her to get a proper glimpse of British arse. Would it be tight as his pecs? Mmm.
Stop it. Already satisfied, remember?
A streetlight beamed through the narrow crack in the draperies, slicing a line across the ends of their beds. Steam from the bathroom seeped out in lavender clouds, further coaxing Becca to sleep.
It was utterly silly that she had done such a thing. And to be caught?
She snuggled into her pillow.
She was aware that Dane didn’t lay down, but instead sat up in bed. What could she say? Apologize for taking a moment for pleasure? Hardly.
“So,” he began in a whisper, “do you always giggle after you come?”
“Not always.” She turned toward him, and propped a hand under her head. “Sometimes I cry.”
Two beats of silence, then, “That must go over well with your lovers.”
“It’s not like sobbing crying,” she said defensively. “It’s more like tears of joy silently streaming down my cheeks. You know, everything comes out all at once. It’s a tremendous release.”
“Sure. Release.” His sigh seemed to slowly siphon off his own tension.
“You can go ahead,” she offered, feeling a bit of a tease. And more powerful for it. Hell, it was the wine. She’d never been much of a drinker. Two chocolate martinis and it was time to tuck her in.
“Go ahead and do what?” The question echoed across the room.
“Take care of yourself. Jack off.”
He gave a snort of laughter. “Not bloody likely.”
“Shy?”
“Bloody rot. You want me to…? Not in a million—it’s—a man reserves that for when a woman is not available.”
“Ah. What makes you think I’m available?”
“And a bloody good-night to you, New York.”
“I am high maintenance, remember.”
“So that’s what they’re calling it now.” Dane shuffled down into the sheets and said not another word.
Smiling to herself, Becca turned over and closed her eyes. Score one point for self-maintenance chick.
At 5:00 a.m.—less than four hours later— Becca’s cell phone rang. Which meant Zeek was working late.
“We lost each other last night.”
“Couldn’t be helped.” Becca strode across the dark room, mining for shoes. She’d been awake for about twenty minutes and had been in the process of dressing.
“I’ve got an identity for Pink,” Zeek said with a yawn. “Katarine Veld. She’s associated with the Russian Mafia, known for burglary, money laundering, black market military trades, all sorts of nefarious deeds.”
“Russian Mafia, eh?” A glance determined Dane slept still, the counterpane shoved down to reveal his bare chest slowly rising and falling. “What about the info I sent you on the Turkish prince?”
“That particular face is being a bit more elusive. I’m tracking him through all databases. What makes you think he’s Turkish?”
The question of the moment.
“I don’t. I think he’s Russian. At least he spoke it fluently last night. He’s posing as a Turkish prince, and has been photographed hobnobbing with the elite in New York. Do a search on Dimitri Boratov.”
“So that’s why MI-6 nudged in on this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Six has been after the Russians for a while. Last year they took out a couple of MI-5 agents, tortured and killed them.”
My father was killed in the line of duty. Dane’s father?
“Though, as I understand it, the MI-5 deaths weren’t Mafia related.”
“Hmm, so if Pink is also Russian—”
“I didn’t say she is a Russian. Actually, Ms. Veld is Nordic, of Icelandic descent. More like a mob moll, if you ask me. She the prince’s girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure. She met up with another man at the club. Lots of skull tattoos and a roving tongue. No, I wouldn’t say she belongs to Dimitri exclusively. So what’s the word on Lester? Did he screw me?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Agent Arlowe arrived to find him near death, a breathing tube tight about his neck.”
“That’s not the way those things are supposed to work.”
“I know,” Zeek said. “Anyway, our guess is Pink followed the stone after Scotland Yard arrested the thief that ended up committing suicide.”
“Which means she had to have followed Dane and me to Paris.”
“Unless she’s getting cues from someone higher up. You got the stone from the auction, yes?”
“Yes, and more.” Becca looked to the nightstand next to Dane’s bed. She’d completely forgotten about two diamonds! “Pink handed the diamond over to Dimitri. And then he made the exchange with me. Of course, I didn’t give him an option.”
“Excellent!”
“Even more excellent? Both stones were in the exchange.”
“No kidding.”
Becca could hear the furious tapping of computer keys in the background.
“I’ve made a note of that.”
“Zeek, what the hell is going on?”
“What do you mean, Becca?”
“I can’t help but feel my objective isn’t really the diamonds. The CIA isn’t as keen to nab the stones as I hoped.”
Zeek’s sigh registered as a warning tingle at the back of Becca’s neck. “All I can do is verify your suspicions by stating that indeed your objective has been altered. I’ve nailed the origin of the diamonds.”
“I thought it was Amandus Magnusson?” Becca asked.
“Almost. He got them from his son. One Uther Magnusson, nanotechnologist and utter genius.”
“I know Uther.”
“Really?”
“From when we were kids. He was a little hellion who used to take piano lessons from my father. I remember him well, only because one time my father had to run an errand and he left Uther alone for an hour. The kid disassembled Father’s grand piano.”
“Precocious little prick, eh?”
“To put it lightly. How’s he involved?”
“Not sure. But the CIA can verify someone has been snooping around his laboratory. Someone with a Russian first name.”
“Interesting. So the CIA has been following him all along?”
“You were chosen simply to follow the diamonds, Becca.”
Until now. So the CIA had been playing the need-to-know card as well. Bastards. The least favorite part of her job? Protocols. Becca sighed, and prompted Zeek to continue.
“We’ve questioned Uther’s father. He said his son is away. Doesn’t have a location. As well, his girlfriend has been elusive—we haven’t had opportunity to question her. Uther is very secretive. But I have managed to track his credit card to a flight to Berlin a week ago, and I’m currently chasing electronic transactions. Can you guess what your new objective is?”
“Get to Uther?”
“You got it. He’s the only one who can answer the big question. What is in the diamonds.”
“And who is after them. Obviously, the Russians.”
“Yeah, but didn’t you mention Agent Dane is keen to nab the stones as well?”
“Right. I wonder what MI-6 wants with it?”
“I’ll search the cyber-alleys, see what I can come up with. Just don’t let the rocks out of your sight. Right now I’m being told they don’t want to send in agents to get the diamonds yet. Don’t bother asking why. I don’t know. But keep your enemies close, if you know what I mean.”
Behind her, Dane’s snore rattled softly.
Becca nodded. “Thanks, Zeek. I’ll keep the diamonds in hand. Tickets to Berlin, then?”
“They’ll be at Will Call at de Gaulle. You depart in an hour. Oh, and Becca? After you’ve located Uther, you’re to return to the States with him. He’s ours. We’ll take things from there. Talk to you soon.”
He’s ours.
So much in those two words. Becca hung up the phone and finished buttoning her shirt.
Did Zeek mean Uther was working for the CIA? Or did she merely imply the CIA intended to claim Uther upon his return? Return, meaning capture. A capture that might see him forever removed from his life, family and friends to do the government’s bidding.
Behind her, Becca heard Dane move. From the corner of her eye she saw him sit up and wrap the sheet around his waist.
He groaned and wandered into the bathroom. The tail of the sheet got stuck in the door. Another loud groan echoed out from the bathroom. The sheet disappeared with a tug.
How was Uther involved in this goose chase of diamonds and crazy Nordic women?
Dane emerged from the bathroom. “Where are my bloody trousers?”
Becca nodded toward the floor by the bed. “They’re probably dry, but they look a little crunchy to me.”
“Crunchy will do. Who was that?”
“CIA. They’ve discovered the source of the diamonds. A nanoscientist. Seems his father might have accidentally sold the stones without realizing they may have had more than monetary value.”
“Pure dead brilliant of you, New York.”
He should thank her. It was more information than he was willing to share.
“I’m surprised, though.” She stood and folded her laptop shut and shoved it in her Gucci bag. “I find it hard to believe the old man would sell something he knew was of value to his son. And of what value would a ten-carat stone be to a nanoscientist?”
“Besides the obvious? Millions?”
Becca shrugged. “The Magnussons are old money.”
“A tax bracket you’re familiar with?”
“Yes. Intimately.” Becca winked as Dane smirked. “So, you see, Uther, the son, doesn’t have to worry for cash.”
“I imagine nanoscientists require a bit of dosh for their experiments.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Still not making the connection to the Russian Mafia.”
“Russian Mafia?” With the sheet wrapped about his waist in Zulu fashion, Dane inspected his wrinkled trousers, avoiding eye contact. “When did they become sussy?”
“Pink is linked to the Russian Mafia. Our man last night—”
“Your Turkish prince?”
“He was Russian. And I think you know something about him you’re not telling.”
“You may be wrong.”
“Dane.” She approached, tugging the trousers from his hand. His pecs tensed as he took a step back, like a wary dog. “What are you not telling me?”
“I never not tell anything.” He frowned. Even he, apparently, had trouble deciphering that statement.
“Fine. Have it your way.” She made to hand back the trousers, but something slipped from a pocket. Becca caught it. His passport. Without thinking, she splayed it open with her thumb. A small head shot photo was paper-clipped inside.
Dane snatched it from her, along with his pants. “Just a passport, love. You’ve seen one…”
“Right.” Hiding something. Again. “Two can play at this game.”
Grabbing up her laptop and surreptitiously slipping the diamond pouch into her pants pocket, she gave a parting scan to the room. “Our flight to Berlin leaves in an hour.”
“Berlin—”
But she’d already walked out the door.