Chapter Twelve

The conversation on the deck had served its purpose, Ivy reminded herself. She’d needed a way to transition into a working relationship with Dimitri, something that would bridge their morning argument and her orders from the US attorney general to cooperate.

She hadn’t expected to be turned on knowing he could see her but not touch her. Hadn’t expected to be aroused by having his voice in her head when she couldn’t see him.

Well.

But what surprised her most about the whole conversation was…she felt empowered.

There was a raw honesty he gave her. She could hear it in his voice, but it was something he managed to hide when they spoke face-to-face. He was desperate to find hope in his hopeless situation. She’d bet even he didn’t know that about himself.

More important, she’d learned he wasn’t doing this for himself. There were people—presumably family—who he cared about. If Curt could locate them…maybe they could be used to put pressure on Dimitri to cooperate with the FBI.

Of course, that was exactly why Dimitri hadn’t revealed who they were. But dammit, she hadn’t asked for this situation, and she would damn well do whatever necessary to escape, even if it meant finding Dimitri’s weakness and exploiting it.

Knowing he was vulnerable had shifted the balance of power. She no longer felt helpless.

Plus, she believed now more than ever he wouldn’t hurt her. Again, it was the tone of his words when she couldn’t see his face. She could swear the tiniest hint of Russian accent slipped through, meaning his emotions were getting the better of his control.

She’d been watching his amazing body for a week as he swabbed the deck and otherwise put himself on display for her. As he’d intended, she’d viewed him through a lust-filled lens from the start. But he’d been studying her—reading her articles in scientific journals. Memorizing her IQ and accomplishments.

In the course of that, she suspected he’d developed a respect for her. And that respect was getting in his way.

She suspected he wanted a human connection beyond what he’d been allowed as a covert operative. A connection beyond sex. Sex was merely a placeholder for what he craved.

She imagined his life had been quite lonely, and now he faced what he believed to be his final days. He might be viewing Ivy as his last chance to make that connection.

Or it was all bullshit and she was seeing what she wanted to see. She wasn’t a psychologist—although she’d read enough books on the subject. She was a tech geek, because at least there she could find concrete answers. Except, she’d gone deep enough into mathematics to know even numbers could betray her with outliers or unknown variables. There were problems that far exceeded her ken.

Dimitri Veselov was the ultimate equation, and her future hinged on being able to solve him.

Who was he before he showed up in Palau and became Jack Keaton?

Curt had said the name Veselov was news to him, but clearly he’d identified the photo as someone.

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes questioning. Concerned. And holding a trace of lust he couldn’t hide. He turned back, returning his attention to the water as he guided them through the Rock Islands.

Her fingers paused on the keyboard. How could she feel attracted to him, even now?

But she did. She’d felt the caress of his gaze in the same part of her body that he’d lavished with attention late last night. Thank goodness she’d instilled the no-touching rule, when just a look could turn her on.

She was messed up in a way that belied her vaunted IQ. She’d married a traitor. And now a spy had aroused her with a glance.

She finished setting up CAM’s control console. Dimitri had insisted she work at the aft end of the uppermost deck so he could keep an eye on her and the equipment as he navigated the channels between islands.

She’d come to the conclusion Curt told her to cooperate with Dimitri because the CIA, DIA, and FBI wanted whatever it was Dimitri was looking for. Curt must know what Dimitri was after. She understood why he hadn’t shared the information. She could easily slip and let Dimitri know she knew what they were looking for.

Best for her to remain ignorant and keep her acting to a minimum. After all, she’d ruined the fourth grade play with her rendition of sunflower number three. But was it her fault the director didn’t understand that fully mature sunflowers don’t follow the sun across the sky? Their heads are too heavy and their growth cycle is complete. If you ask a girl to play a sunflower, at least understand the science before you tell her it’s October and her petals are turning brown.

She flashed on the memory of her parents laughing in the front row as she dramatically drooped under the weight of her seeds, stealing the spotlight from students singing songs about Halloween and candy corn.

Her heart squeezed. She hoped to hell she’d see her parents again. She wanted to thank them for embracing her kooky literal side and going to bat for her with teachers who were irritated by being corrected by a know-it-all student.

She’d been a handful for her parents and teachers. Socialization came naturally to some, but to Ivy, it was a skill that had to be learned and ten times harder than advanced trigonometry. Triangles made absolute sense, but the boy in seventh grade English who thought she was a freak because she was tall, busty, pimply, and obsessed with astrophysics had been a complete—and painful—mystery to her.

But then, triangles were the best shape, the key to time and distance. Triangles were poetry and magic and explained the entire universe.

She puffed out a deep breath and shook her head. She was losing it if she was mentally escaping to her excruciating adolescent years and fawning over triangles. Why would she want to return to that time?

Again her mind flashed on her parents, giving her the answer. At twelve, no matter how awkward she’d been, she’d always felt safe at home, grounded. Loved. But right this minute, she felt vulnerable on twenty-seven different levels. No wonder she wanted to find triangles in the wood grain lines on the deck.

Coping mechanism. Pure and simple.

She flicked the power switch for the drone, which gave a soft whirr as the system booted up.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Dimitri said from the helm, “what does CAM stand for?”

“Officially, it stands for Computer-Aided Mapping, but it’s a bullshit name. I named the system after my grandpa, Cameron MacLeod. Grandpa Cam.” Her Scottish grandfather with the heavy brogue who loved triangles too. She nodded to the drone as it lifted from the deck. “The drone is named RON.”

“Does RON stand for anything?”

“Not yet. There’s a pool at NHHC. The person who comes up with the best name that fits the acronym gets the kitty. Costs ten bucks to enter a name. I pick the winner.”

“Any good entries?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Recording Orientation…and Navigation?”

“See. It’s not easy. But you have to give me ten bucks if you want me to consider your entry.”

He laughed. “I’ll wait until I have something better.” He used reverse to bring the boat to a stop, then powered down the engine. She heard the metal clank of the anchor descending into the water. “If you want to get closer to the island, we’ll have to use the trolling motor to stay in place. I won’t drop anchor on the reef.”

She smiled, glad that he was considerate of the fragile live corals that were both beautiful and the habitat of thousands of species. She felt the same protectiveness for the Peleliu wreckage, where dropped anchors could damage historic debris and human remains.

RON checked out, all systems running, so she returned her focus to the computer. This was a test run in which she would use the drone to map the seafloor where there were known Peleliu wrecks. RON was equipped with regular and enhanced Lidar and infrared mapping technology. It was the enhanced Lidar she was testing here. To create the enhanced system, she’d bundled radio signals into the light beam so the laser could penetrate to the bottom without the radio signal being attenuated by water. Above-water mapping of the seafloor without distortion. A cartographer’s dream.

A Japanese Zero had crashed in the vicinity. RON would capture a three-dimensional image of it.

Her job at the keyboard was to integrate the data collected by RON using CAM, which could interpret the enhanced Lidar signal and break out the radar data. With calibration, CAM’s brain could learn the terrain, and then her baby would do the heavy lifting of separating the data into different map layers—seafloor, corals, metal wreckage, natural and artificial voids that represented tunnels. CAM and RON together were an X-ray machine for land and sea, with the ability to generate three-dimensional images.

Last week she’d done aerial survey with a seaplane instead of RON, using both types of Lidar and the infrared. She crunched the data through CAM, but in broader swaths, to get the overall landscape, nothing to a scale that allowed for 3D. RON was meant for slower, small-scale, meticulous survey, which she hadn’t been scheduled to start for another week.

Dimitri had altered her timeline.

She tested the regular Lidar system on RON, data she would gather for comparison and calibration. Regular Lidar checked out. Enhanced and infrared were also online. She was ready to begin the field test.

This was the part of the job that got her adrenaline pumping, where the magic happened. In the seaplane with Ulai, she’d barely even looked out the window at the spectacular views of Palau, because on the monitor, she saw a different kind of beauty. Patterns. Heat signatures. Markers of the past.

So many lovely triangles.

She could forget everything as her computer translated the data into terrain that was invisible to the human eye.

The Battle of Peleliu was fought between September fifteenth and November twenty-seventh, 1944. In the battle, over two thousand three hundred US soldiers and marines and nearly ten thousand seven hundred Japanese soldiers had been killed. Long and brutal, the battle left scars above and below the earth.

Her job was to record them all. She was creating more than a map; each layer added to the known history of the battle. Data points were a tribute to the men who’d fought and died on both sides.

Maps told a story. Maps showed power, sacrifice, tragedy, even love.

With GIS, she could choose which layers to show, which story to tell. The natural landform. The vegetation. The scars of war. In a sense, she was the author of the map—and therefore of the history—but she believed it was her job to get out of the way and give each layer their say.

Did the terrain influence the battle, or did the battle reshape the terrain?

Usually the answer was both.

For the next two hours, she lost herself in the beauty and simplicity. She forgot about Dimitri and lies and treason and sex. She forgot about terrorists and betrayal and heartbreak as CAM and RON did their thing and collected data, just as she’d designed him—it—to do.

She should probably stop anthropomorphizing CAM. People were going to think she was nuts. Well, if they didn’t already.

She tapped a few buttons, and the three-dimensional image transformed into flat contour lines. She traced the zig and zag of an underwater ridge. Crystal clear, better than if it had been mapped with side-scan sonar. And she’d done it all above water. “Is there anything more beautiful?” she murmured, not even really hearing herself.

“I can think of one thing,” Dimitri said.

His voice pulled her from her mapping-induced intoxication. She shook her head, to break away from the haze. “What?”

“You.”

“Me, what?”

He laughed. “You have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“No. Did you say something?”

“You’re freaking amazing. That’s all.”

She felt a little flutter at the way he said that. His voice was light. Warm. Jack’s tone, when they were in bed together.

Except that had been Dimitri. There was no Jack.

He’d sat by her side these last hours and watched her work. He’d asked questions, even helped. But he hadn’t interfered. Hadn’t directed. She would never know he was looking for something except that he’d studied each image she created intently. Part of her wondered if today’s work was just a test, to familiarize himself with the system, or if he believed the object he sought was nearby.

It didn’t really matter, because she’d been able to do her job unfettered.

She used the remote control to land RON on the deck. “That’s it for the day. It’s going to take another hour or two for the system to process the data and upload to the satellite.” She glanced around the deck. They were close to the island, and another boat was anchored in the distance. “I need to leave everything on the deck while it uploads. I’m concerned about security.”

He tapped the portable console. “I’ll take us out farther. It’ll be shallow enough to anchor but far enough out radar will pick up anyone approaching.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, we’ll stay out overnight. I haven’t slept since yesterday morning. I need to rest tonight. We’ll be safest if we’re in open water, with no islands to hide an approaching vessel.”

She furrowed her brow. “You didn’t sleep…at all? I could swear I remember…”

A corner of his mouth curled up. “I crawled into bed for about an hour, right before dawn, but didn’t sleep.”

That was what she remembered, the way he’d held her. She’d been comforted by his body pressed to hers. Together they were a study in soft and hard. He was all muscle, triangles galore, while she was round, circles and spheres.

The last months of long hours meant twelve- to sixteen-hour days on her ass in front of the computer and not in the gym. She’d gained weight because all she ate was junk food at her desk. The result was bigger breasts—which she didn’t mind—but also a bigger butt and belly—which she did.

Given her height and extra pounds, she felt like a giant. But next to Dimitri, she felt normal. Petite, even. He was taller and broader.

His shoulder muscles alone were a turn-on. He had abs she could have—and had—stared at all day. His body narrowed perfectly at the hips, and his thighs were a thing of beauty. She’d enjoyed the feel of those thighs tucked behind hers, his hand resting on her round, soft belly.

She cocked her head, her thoughts had taken an alarming path. “What are the sleeping arrangements tonight?”

He frowned, and she could guess his thoughts. There was a decent-size inflatable motorboat mounted to the stern. The tender was for use at ports that were too shallow for Liberty’s large draft. Ivy could take the inflatable and escape.

If not for her orders from Curt, she’d do it without hesitation.

“As I mentioned when you first came aboard, the alarm system will let me know if anyone enters or exits. But of course, an alarm won’t prevent you from leaving any more than it can stop someone from breaking and entering.”

“I won’t try to leave,” she said.

“I want to believe you, Ivy. But I can’t.”

“Don’t—don’t lock me in. I—it—the idea freaks me out. Please don’t make me a prisoner.”

He sighed. “You have a choice: share my stateroom, or sleep in a locked room alone.”

“That’s not much of a choice.”

“But still, it’s a choice. And it’s yours.”

“I’ll sleep with you. But no touching.”

He grinned. “You, however, can touch me all you want.”

If he only knew how tempted she was. Proof she was a bigger fool than anyone ever imagined.

Dimitri wasn’t sure who would be more tortured by the sleeping arrangements. In spite of everything, Ivy was attracted to him, and understandably, she found that desire unsettling.

He had no such qualms. He wanted her, period. But he’d take nothing less than the uninhibited woman who’d begged him to take her in the shower, and that… Well, that was never going to happen.

At least after nearly forty hours without sleep, he was too exhausted to care. He moved the boat farther out to sea, then they shared a light meal on the upper deck so Ivy could keep an eye on the upload progress.

Once the data finished uploading, Ivy broke down the equipment and carried it down the ladder into the salon.

He slid the walls that enclosed the helm into position, then followed her below. From the security panel, he locked the helm, hatches, and side doors, then set every alarm on the boat. Liberty was a fortress at anchor in remote, open sea.

Chores complete, they retreated into the captain’s stateroom. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled back the rug at the foot of the bed and removed the drawer.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Find the opening.”

She knelt beside him and looked into the dark space under the bed, her brow furrowed. “Flashlight?” she asked.

He grabbed one from the utility drawer and passed it to her. She ran the beam over the exposed wood that lined the cubbyhole. She laid it flat, allowing the wash of light to spread across the surface. She pressed at the corners and tried to move the flooring. “I don’t see it.”

“Good. It’s big enough to hold CAM with room left over. Do you want to store CAM there while we sleep?”

The compartment was below the bed, under the obvious storage one expected to find on a boat. To the searching eye, it was invisible, perfect for a smuggler—or in the case of the previous owner of the boat, human trafficker.

“Probably a good idea.” Then she frowned. “Is it lined with something that will block the tracking signal?”

“Nope. Just a wood box.” He ran his finger along the front lip that housed the drawer and flicked the hidden latch. The panel dropped down and slid soundlessly to the side on tracks that ran under the bed and stateroom floor. It was invisible because the panel was one large polished piece of wood—larger than the bed itself, leaving no seams visible.

She let out a gasp of shock as she took in the assortment of guns and ammunition tucked within the hidden compartment.

He’d have to lock the stateroom when he wasn’t in it with her from here on out. This show of trust was either brilliant or stupid on his part, but then a spy’s life was always about choices in the extreme.

He helped her load CAM and RON inside, then showed her how to close and conceal the panel.

Task complete, she stared at him with her head cocked. “What does it mean that you let me see where you keep your guns?”

He shrugged. “Probably that I’m a fool.” He stepped toward her but didn’t touch her. “If anything happens to me, you know where they are. Use them. Protect yourself.” He paused again. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you how to shoot.”

“I know how. A little.”

He raised a brow in question.

“Cressida—one of my coworkers—invited me to go to the Raptor compound in Virginia to learn how to shoot. She’s been taking lessons from her boyfriend since they returned from Turkey. Given that I received threatening hate mail thanks to Patrick, I accepted.”

“Raptor. That’s your cousin’s mercenary company.”

“They do more military trainings than mercenary work, but yes, Raptor is Alec’s company. He doesn’t run it, though. Conflict of interest now that he’s in the senate.”

“And Trina-of-the-good-fashion-advice’s boyfriend runs the place now.”

“Yes. You have a good memory for names.”

He did, but that wasn’t why he remembered Dr. Trina Sorenson or Keith Hatcher. Again he wondered if he should tell her about Parker Reeves. But she’d never met Luke and didn’t know Undine well. Plus, Undine likely hated him for everything he’d done last fall. “Some of the names are familiar from the news,” he said, playing it safe.

“I would imagine there are stories you tracked down when you decided to use me.”

“Yes.” No use denying it. “But I also followed the story of Cressida Porter and Ian Boyd’s exfiltration from Turkey closely. A covert operator always wants to know what the other side is doing.”

She flinched at the reminder they were on opposing sides. But again, no point in denying it.

“And of course, your ex-husband became the focal point of that story, which made it more relevant to me.” He stepped into the head and grabbed his toothbrush. “Is it weird, working with Cressida after what happened?”

She canted her head in a motion that was both yes and no. “At first, but only because I hated that I didn’t warn her and others, even though I didn’t know myself.”

“You feel guilty.”

“Of course I do. I never suspected… I feel stupid and responsible.”

“The head of the CIA didn’t know, and he was the guy who recruited Hill at one point. He’s the one who should feel guilty.” He lowered a brow. “Why did you divorce him?”

She brushed by him to grab her toothbrush, everything about her manner telegraphing her irritation at his question. “To answer your first question,” she said as she applied paste, then handed the tube to him. “Cressida and I bonded over our mutual dislike of my ex. NHHC is a good fit for me—I knew most of my coworkers already thanks to joint projects with MacLeod-Hill. Patrick was the public face of the organization, but I ran things behind the scenes.”

“Why did your father bring Hill onboard when he retired? You were more than capable of being both the face of the organization and the actual director.”

“At the time, I was only twenty-five and didn’t feel ready to step into my dad’s shoes.” She glared at her toothbrush. “Plus, it’s long been known there’s a gender gap in funding scientific research—and we relied on research grants a great deal. We felt more funding was likely to be approved with a male at the helm.”

Dimitri frowned. “And you went along with that?” he asked, unable to hide his incredulity.

“It’s a shitty world. I had to set aside my personal feelings on that topic for the good of the organization.” She sighed. “There’s also the fact that Patrick had great charisma—which I lack. I told myself his magnetism was the key to bringing in more funding. It wasn’t solely because he had a penis.”

“You don’t lack charisma.” Hell no. He’d been drawn to her from the moment they met.

She gave a hard laugh. “Well, I don’t stroke male egos and have an intolerance of idiocy, which is two-thirds of the game.” She shrugged. “There was also the fact that Patrick was bringing money to the deal. On paper, he was wealthy and pledged much of his money to the institute’s scientific endeavors. The initial endowment set up by my grandmother—she was a Ravissant—had long since run out. We were hoping with Patrick’s money we could fund the studies that were passed over by NIH grants.” She frowned. “And projects like CAM, which we wanted to keep in-house.”

“But then you found out sea exploration and mapping was his method for moving arms and gave him legitimacy to travel in the Middle East.”

“Bingo. And when the true source of his wealth was revealed, all that seed money he gave the institute was seized. I had to fight to hold on to CAM and made a deal with the Navy to avoid losing him—it—altogether.”

“And here we are,” Dimitri said.

“Yeah. Here we are.” Bitterness tinged her voice. “I thought I’d made the deal on my terms, figuring I’d learned something about negotiating in the divorce.”

Her jaw tightened. “The Defense Intelligence Agency tried to recruit me to claim CAM, but I refused. I went to NHHC because it was the type of organization I believe in, the type of work I want to do. I have an MA in GIS and remote sensing.” She stared at her toothbrush, as if it held wisdom. “I knew the Pentagon and DIA would eventually duplicate the technology for intelligence-gathering purposes. I could live with that, as long as I wasn’t going to be the one spying on the countries I was graciously permitted to work in. But the DIA is using me. They forced me to become a spy without even a whispered heads-up.”

“Because they knew you’d refuse.”

She met his gaze and jutted out her chin. “Damn right. Spies are soulless traitors.”

His nostrils flared. But what the hell did he expect? Her blessing? Still, he couldn’t let the barb slide. “Easy for you to cast judgment when you have no clue what brought me here.” He backed her into the counter. “Let’s just say your little betrayal by your ex? The way the DIA is using you? It’s a fucking cakewalk in comparison.”

He stalked out of the head and stateroom, crossing the salon to the galley. He’d brush his teeth at that sink.

He kicked the cabinet and cursed when he remembered he’d left Ivy alone with enough weapons to mow down an army.