July 1st – 6:53 PM – Bedford, VA
After Natalia finished the soup, she set the bowl aside with shaky hands. The hammering in her head had settled to a dull throb and her stomach seemed to accept the small bit of nourishment. Steps in the right direction.
Maybe Sloan was doing a fair job acting as her nurse. She reached up to touch the bandage wrapped around her head, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. He’d been uncharacteristically sweet, carrying her inside, more worried about her wound than he’d wanted to admit. He’d called her Natashen’ka, the Russian version of sweetheart. Then he’d kissed her cheek, not like a man interested in a woman, but in comfort. As a friend.
As Ivan once would have.
She shied away from the thought. No more dreams. No more nightmares. Closing her eyes against the horrible vision of Ivan lying in a pool of blood, she focused on the present. She needed to get better, to help Sloan figure out who wanted her dead. She also longed for a shower to rinse the remnants of dried blood from her hair. Did the rustic cabin even have the luxury of a shower? She’d forgotten to ask.
She inched down and rested her aching head on the pillow that carried the barest hint of Sloan’s soap. Turning her head, she buried her nose in the softness and inhaled deeply. For some reason, Sloan’s scent relaxed her, lessened the force of pain reverberating along the inside of her skull.
The thud of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the loft made her freeze. Then she relaxed. She had to stop seeing danger at every corner. They were safe here. She lifted her head, reassured when Sloan’s broad-shouldered frame filled the room.
“Where is it?” Sloan’s blunt question caught her off guard.
“What?” She hated feeling helpless as she sat upright, clutching the quilt to her chest. His harsh tone wasn’t helping the pounding in her head.
“The information I had on Nevsky. What did you do with it?” He took a determined step toward her.
She hid the flash of guilt and tried to brazen her way out of this. Would be easier to pull off if she weren’t lying half naked in bed with a gunshot wound across her temple. She lifted her chin. “Nothing. Your precious papers must have fallen out of the duffel bag when I pulled out the T-shirt for my wound.”
“They didn’t fall out. You bent to look for them at almost the exact moment you were shot.” Sloan leaned so far over the bed she worried he’d lose his balance and fall on top of her. “But what’s even more interesting is your motive. Why did you take the information, Natalia? Because you know Nevsky? Because you were afraid I’d find something out about you and Nevsky being involved in this thing together? Are you a part of the Solntsevskaya group too? Did you finish off Josef Korolev that night you took care of him in the hospital?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I do such a thing? Someone blew up my house. Then they tried to kill me, remember?” He’d put two and two together to come up with ten. If she didn’t tell him the truth, he’d continue to think the worst.
And for some idiotic reason, she didn’t want Sloan to think the worst.
“Lying won’t help.” Gone was the man who’d cared for her wound so tenderly. His eyes glittered with suppressed anger. “Jordan will be here any minute and he’s bringing computer access. I’ll know all your secrets in the space of a few keystrokes.”
She swallowed hard. He couldn’t possibly know all her secrets, but he was right about one thing, lying wasn’t helping. She needed to tell him about Uncle Alek. “Fine. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll tell you what I know.”
He stared down at her for a long moment, before taking one step back. And another. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
She nodded, waiting for him to do as promised. The minute the door closed softly behind him, she tossed the covers aside and swung her legs around to sit at the side of the bed. The room undulated around her and she gripped the edge of the mattress to keep from falling on her face.
After pulling on her jeans, she hesitated. The sweater she’d been wearing was bloodstained. Using the wall for support, she made her way to the door. “Sloan? I need a different shirt to wear.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then she heard his heavy footsteps taking the stairs down to the main level. Seconds later, he returned, cracked open the door and held out a clean shirt likely from the duffel.
Pulling the garment over her head made her wince, but she refused to give in to weakness. She opened the door, facing him. “Thanks.”
He grunted, then stepped back so she could head downstairs. Keeping her balance wasn’t easy, and when her feet hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, she wanted to weep with relief. By sheer will alone, she walked into the kitchen.
He kept his distance as if he regretted his earlier kindness. She sat in the closest chair before her rubber knees gave out completely.
“What is your relationship with Nevsky?” he asked. Almost reluctantly he set the open package of crackers and a glass of water in front of her.
“He’s my adopted mother’s cousin.” She nibbled the stale crackers and sipped the water, feeling marginally more human. Sloan paced the room like a caged animal.
“Alek Nevsky is your adopted mother’s cousin,” he repeated in that surly tone of his that doubted every word.
She narrowed her gaze. “Yes. But I haven’t seen him in a few years.”
“Define a few.”
“Three years. Since my mother’s funeral.”
That news made him pause. “And you claim to know nothing about his link to the Solntsevskaya.”
She ground her teeth, struggling for patience. “Uncle Alek is a kind and gentle Christian man. He didn’t shoot Josef Korolev and he certainly isn’t linked to the Solntsevskaya or any other faction of the Russian Mafia.”
“Uncle Alek?” Sloan spun toward her. “I thought he was your mother’s cousin?”
“He is. I’ve addressed them Dyadya and Tetya, Uncle Alek and Aunt Lara, since I was a little girl.”
Sloan set his palms on the table and loomed over her. “So if you have nothing to hide, why did you steal the papers?”
Refusing to be intimidated, she told him the truth. “At first I did want to see what was printed about Uncle Alek, but when I realized I was injured I shoved them under the seat. Forgive me for not thinking clearly when we switched cars. Despite my concussion, I should have asked you to pull them out.”
He ignored her sarcastic jab. “You shoved them under the seat because there might be incriminating evidence against him.”
She shrugged. “What does it matter? I wouldn’t believe anything written by the FBI anyway. If there’s a leak, the incriminating evidence, as you put it, is no doubt fabricated from lies.”
Sloan’s jaw tightened and he stared at her as if she were the enemy. “You’re the only one who’s been caught lying.”
“As if you wouldn’t do the same?” Irritated now, she leaned toward him. “If your family was a target, wouldn’t you try to protect them?”
Their gazes clashed and tension pulsed like a tangible force. After an eternity, Sloan broke away. “Princess, my family isn’t part of the Russian Mafia.”
She closed her eyes in a wave of exhaustion. Nothing she could say would make him believe her. Why was she trying so hard? Her head hurt, her stomach churned, and she wanted very badly to take a shower.
A noise outside caught Sloan’s attention and, before she could blink, his long strides covered the distance to the door. He flashed a look, warning her to be silent and doused the lights.
“Stay here,” he whispered in Ukrainian. She heard a slight creak as he opened the door and stepped outside.
She swallowed the automatic protest, telling herself he was just being cautious. As a former agent he would, of course, be careful not to make assumptions. But she refused to sit here like a frightened rabbit and wait.
Holding her breath, she stood and groped for the furniture as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. When she could see, she crossed the room to the fireplace. The fire had died down to a few glowing coals. After grabbing the poker, she hefted the iron weight in her hand, before making her way to the door.
She heard the muffled footsteps outside, then the murmur of low voices. Her palms were slick with sweat as she tightened her grip on the weapon. As the voices grew closer, she recognized Sloan’s.
“About time you got here. Maybe you can keep me from killing her myself and saving the assassin the trouble.”
“Come on, Sloan, can’t be that bad.” Heavy footsteps sounded on the wrap around porch surrounding the cabin.
“You have no idea,” Sloan’s reply held deep resignation.
The door opened and light flooded the room.
Sloan and another man entered the cabin. Sloan closed the door and stared at her. “What in the world are you doing with that thing?”
“Backing you up, in case the bad guys found you.” She lowered the poker to the floor, feeling foolish.
“See?” Sloan glanced at the man she assumed was Jordan and threw up his hands. “I give up. I told her to stay put and as usual she didn’t listen. She’s all yours. From here on out, it’s your job to keep her safe.”
Jordan raised a sardonic brow. “Seems to me she was doing a pretty good job on her own.”
July 1st – 9:15 PM – Bedford, VA
Natalia emerged from the small bathroom to find the men had transformed the kitchen into a high-tech office while she’d made use of the shower. She paused, marveling at the transition. Sloan had never looked more like a FBI agent. Dressed completely in black, his T-shirt clung to his chest, emphasizing his lean, muscular frame. Sloan and Jordan wore shoulder harnesses and guns, weapons Jordan must have brought with him. She noticed a pair of cell phones sitting on the table. Sloan and Jordan were deep in conversation that abruptly ceased when she entered.
No stretch to imagine they’d been discussing her.
She’d been somewhat reassured to recognize the tall black haired Jordan as the man in the wedding photo in Sloan’s condo. She should have been glad; Jordan Rashid had treated her with nothing but kind politeness since he arrived. Yet the thought of Sloan leaving her with the stranger made the knot in her stomach tighten in a painful jerk.
With an effort she shook off the sensation. Maybe when this was all over, Sloan would let her use his equipment to help find her birth mother. The idea cheered her up.
“Sit down. We have a few questions for you.” Sloan’s flat tone proved he was still not happy with her.
Curiosity, more than anything, nudged her forward. “How did you get computer access here?”
“Satellite.” Jordan responded absently, his gaze focused on the laptop screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
She’d heard of such technology but had never seen it up close. Apparently she wasn’t going to get a good look now, either, because Sloan pulled out a chair with the toe of his shoe in a wordless command.
Muttering something unkind in Russian under her breath, she sat.
“How is it that you were the nurse assigned to Josef Korolev?” Sloan wanted to know.
“I was chosen because I was scheduled to work that day and happened to speak Russian.”
“So you didn’t volunteer for the job?” Sloan pressed.
What was he getting at? “I certainly would have volunteered but, as it turned out, my supervisor asked me to take care of Josef before I’d even heard about what happened.” She thought back for a moment to the start of her shift and the flurry of activity the VIP had brought to the routine day. She’d been honored to help one of her fellow countrymen.
Then Josef Korolev had died.
And her nightmare had begun.
“What’s your supervisor’s name?” Sloan asked.
“Margaret Baker.”
“How long have you worked for her?”
“Four years, why?” He must be crazy to think her nursing supervisor was involved in this. Maybe Sloan should leave her with Jordan. If Sloan checked himself into a psych hospital they’d no doubt be happy to provide treatment for his paranoid delusions.
“Exactly how did Josef die?”
“His heart went into a life threatening arrythmia called V-tach. We did CPR and shocked him but we couldn’t convert him.” Her shift at the hospital seemed like weeks ago instead of a mere twenty-four hours. “Most likely, he suffered a severe heart attack as a result of his surgery.”
“When will we get the autopsy results?” Sloan turned to Jordan.
“They’re doing the autopsy in a few days, under the watchful eyes of both Russian and US officials,” Jordan informed him.
“Even then, you’ll only get preliminary results,” Natalia added.
Both men glanced over at her. Sloan scowled. “Why is that?”
“Takes thirty days to get all the pathology reports back, including the tox screen. At least in a normal case. Even with a rush job ordered by the government, you’re looking at a couple of weeks, maybe more.”
“Great.” Sloan dragged his hands over his face. “That figures.”
“After Josef died, there was a lot of discussion around one of the housekeepers who was in the room with him moments before he died.” Natalia glanced at Jordan who seemed more interested in what she had to say. “His name was Ray Johnson. They asked me for a description but the man I described as Ray Johnson didn’t exactly match the guard’s description of the man he saw entering Josef’s room.”
“Didn’t they pull up his picture from their computer files?” Sloan asked.
“No, the computer program was down.” Natalia glanced between the two men. “I’ve tried, but I don’t remember seeing Ray Johnson at all during my shift. I was busy, I could have missed him. But what if the person claiming to be Ray Johnson was really someone else? Someone who stole Ray Johnson’s identity?”
Sloan didn’t laugh off her suspicions but jotted more notes next to the name of her supervisor.
“Go on,” Jordan urged. “What happened after you went home?”
Natalia dropped her gaze to the table, wishing she didn’t have to relive this part. “I’d just gotten out of the ride share when the explosion went off. My home—my cat—everything I owned was gone.”
“Did you smell anything? See anything?” Sloan persisted.
“No.” She shook her head. “I ran. I saw the creepy guy from the Metro on the street coming toward me so I ran. I don’t know what caused the explosion.”
“A bomb, maybe with a motion sensitive detonator,” Sloan mused. Then he swung back toward her. “Did you say cat?”
“Yes. Peety was old, arthritic but I still loved him.” She angled her chin, daring him to poke fun at her.
“The cat must have accidentally triggered the bomb.” Sloan rubbed the back of his neck. “Whoever set the bomb must have missed knowing about your cat. Luckily for you as it saved your life.”
Peety died for her. She curled her shaky fingers into fists. She’d saved him from the shelter, now he’d saved her. Her heart squeezed. The people who had done this awful thing had to be found and punished.
“We know the how, but we still don’t know the reasons why.” Jordan abandoned the computer. “Maybe we’re going at this all wrong.”
Sloan nodded. “Motive. Why take out Natalia? First a bomb, then two assassination attempts. For what gain?”
“Nothing.” Natalia shivered. The way they spoke so casually of her possible death was not reassuring. “I’m just a nurse.”
“She knows someone or something.” Jordan ignored her protest and gazed at her pensively. “Nevsky?”
“Maybe. But why try to kill her? Doesn’t seem logical since they already have him in custody,” Sloan argued.
“It does if he’s being framed.” Natalia was sick of hearing them bash Uncle Alek. Uncle Alek was a Christian, he and Aunt Lara had given her the cross she wore around her neck years ago. He wouldn’t hurt a mouse.
“She has a point.” Jordan sighed. “Think bigger. The attempt at Korolev in a public place had to be a message. To whom? Someone in the US government or further across the globe to someone in Moscow?”
“I agree the hit was a message. Korolev was here to promote his International Middle East Peace Conference. The US hasn’t publicly denounced the idea but everyone knows we’re not supportive, especially with Russia taking the lead. So why shoot the deputy prime minister? As a message to back off the conference?” Sloan sat down in front of the computer and began typing in commands.
“A sanctioned assassination attempt?” Jordan shook his head. “I just can’t see it, not in DC. It’s too close to home.”
“I agree with you. Frankly, shooting Korolev would have the opposite effect. The US can’t afford to publicly disclaim the Middle East peace talks. Not after we went to the mat for Iraq.”
“And how does the Solntsevskaya fit in?” Jordan asked with a frown. “None of the Russian Mafia factions have gotten involved in the political arena.”
“True.” Sloan glanced over. “Let’s hope this isn’t the start of a bigger plan.”
“I can’t see it. There has to be something we’re missing,” Jordan mused. “Some connection between all these threads.”
“I’ll work on digging a little deeper for information before I leave,” Sloan offered. “No sense driving back to DC this late.”
“Considering the last attempt on Natalia’s life was right outside your condo, I wouldn’t recommend heading home any time soon,” Jordan said dryly.
“Which reminds me, Bentley was the one who knew I had her. Do you think it’s possible he’s the leak?” Sloan asked.
Jordan sighed. “I wouldn’t have thought so. Bentley is high up in the organization as an assistant director. He’s always been a trustworthy guy. Besides, he could have talked to someone else who is the real leak. You’d better be careful.”
“I can take care of myself, don’t worry.” Sloan never took his eyes from the screen.
“I’m hungry.” Jordan stretched and glanced around. “Good thing for you I brought food too. I have a bag of groceries outside in my car. Give me a few minutes and I’ll throw something together to eat.”
“No eggs,” Sloan muttered, typing furiously on the computer keyboard. “Natalia hates eggs.”
“Good thing I didn’t buy any.” Jordan disappeared outside. Natalia sat quietly, appreciating the silence. She was just reaching for another cracker when Sloan groaned loudly.
“What is it?” She asked.
Sloan’s grim gaze met hers. “There’s a message from Jerome Bentley, our FBI contact on my e-mail. He’s ordered us to bring you in now or they’ll put out a federal warrant for your arrest. The charge is treason.”
An icy chill settled in her bones. She swallowed hard. “Are you going to take me in?”
“Not a chance.” Sloan gave a harsh laugh. “If there’s a leak inside the FBI, you’d be dead before you ever got to trial.”