Chapter Eighteen

Dimitri should have known the way to seduce Ivy would be with maps. He wished he’d forgone the solar-powered lights, because candlelight would only make the scene more beautiful. She’d draped herself over the plastic table as she studied the notes he’d written on the chart. A long tress had slipped from her hairclip and fell over her cheek, draping down to sweep the chart spread across the table.

He could swear he heard her coo when she saw the underwater cave he’d located to the southeast. The soft noise made him wonder about the sounds she’d make if he took her from behind as she bent over the table.

He turned to the supplies he’d placed here over the last several weeks, and found a bottle of red wine and two stemless metal wine cups, purchased on a whim after reading an article she’d written on the infrared signatures of grapevines in drought conditions, and the possibility of using aerial mapping to ensure water was distributed in the right amount to the neediest crops. An offhand remark had given her favorite vintage.

She might find the purchase stalkerish, and yet she already knew he’d studied her like she was the final exam that would decide his fate.

Because, in truth, she was.

He pulled the cork and poured the wine. She smiled when he offered her the cup, then purred after her first sip. “I’ve always loved this wine, and right now, I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Second best for me.”

She returned her gaze to the map, still caught in its thrall. “What was the best?” she asked, distracted as she traced a triangle he’d drawn where he’d noted Peleliu wreckage on the seafloor.

“You.”

Her finger paused on the shape, but her body didn’t stiffen. She straightened, lifted her cup, and took a slow sip. “Tell me more.”

He stepped up behind her but didn’t touch her, much as he wanted to. “I could describe you like a fine wine, smooth and tangy with an erotic bouquet, the way your flavor bursts on the tongue. But none of it would capture how sensual you are, how you intoxicate me, or explain my addiction to you.”

She leaned against him, pressing her ass to his erection. He groaned at the contact. He wanted to cup her breasts and grind against her, but he set his fists on the tabletop, trapping her. He wanted to lick the dried salt on her neck; instead, he breathed in the fresh ocean scent that infused her skin.

“I want to bury myself inside you, but not for a hot, fast fuck. I want slow, sensual, and intense. Methodical. Fucking you was glorious, but I’m thirsty for more than that. I need more.” He couldn’t stop the flow of words, his mouth having been hijacked by an organ far more powerful than his brain. These were his last days on this earth, and if he could have one thing, it would be something real with Ivy to take to the grave. “The next time I’m inside you, I want it to be making love.”

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and trailed downward. “Believe in me, Ivy. Know that I’m protecting you. First, last, and always.”

She let out a small whimper at the back of her throat, and his erection strained to escape his boxer briefs. Home was so close. The place he wanted to be more than any other.

“Do you trust me, Ivy?”

She lifted her cup and drained it in one long swallow.

“Do you trust me, Ivy?”

“No,” she whispered.

Ivy was so aroused, she wanted to bite his neck. Instead, he stepped back and let her go. She wanted to halt his retreat. To take him deep in her throat and change his mind.

But his words had both seduced and stopped her.

Make love?

That would never happen.

His retreat was logical. He wanted her, she wanted him, but she could never trust him. That equation couldn’t be balanced using any type of known math.

And she had to ask herself, how could she have sex with a man she didn’t trust? This wasn’t stranger sex, like the first time. Now he was a man she knew she couldn’t trust.

And what would it mean for her later? It was one thing to have had sex with him before she’d known what he was, but would Curt Dominick offer her absolution and exoneration if she made the same mistake again, fully aware of his crimes against the US?

She paused at that. How did she know he’d committed crimes against the US? They were in Palau. She knew nothing about his actions as a spy. Maybe he’d done his spying elsewhere.

But there was that perfect American accent. Hardly necessary if he did his spying in other countries. She stepped away from the table, crossed her arms, and turned to face him. “Tell me about your life as a spy. Give me a reason to trust you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where were you? What did you do? Have you killed people?”

“Spy and assassin aren’t the same thing.”

“But if your cover were to be blown, did you—or would you have—killed someone to protect yourself? And I’m not talking about self-defense, like today.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then reached for the bottle of wine. “Let’s get comfortable. I’m going to tell you about Parker Reeves.”

It was strange—and yet felt so right—to be tucked against Dimitri’s side as they sat on thick inflatable sleeping pads and leaned against the cave wall and he told her the outrageous story of everything that happened on a cold night less than a week before Thanksgiving.

Parker Reeves. Dimitri had been the second man on the Osprey, the man she’d believed was a Ukrainian neo-Nazi terrorist who the government had allowed to escape.

First she needed to wrap her head around the fact that he’d been in the US Coast Guard for nearly five years. Then that he knew Undine. She could confirm his story. As could Luke Sevick. One phone call, and she’d know if he told the truth.

But the point that made her heart pick up speed and which had her pulling away from his side to pace the cave as she processed the data was that in the course of events last fall, he’d participated in several phone conference calls with Curt Dominick.

Curt had known exactly who Dimitri was. He said as much in his text. And he’d ordered her to cooperate with him, knowing that. Surely that meant he trusted Parker/Jack/Dimitri at least a little?

But could she trust Dimitri? She felt better knowing this, but still, it raised more questions. Like who was he working for now?

But he would only tell her so much, and his story ended in November.

She frowned at her wineglass. He’d refilled it at the start of the story, but after nearly thirty minutes, it remained half-full. She abandoned it because she needed a clear head.

She turned back to the table with the chart laid across the surface. “I’ve been thinking. I could fly RON out through the large skylight and have him collect data at night. People are less likely to spot it in the dark, especially out here. It will be safer that way.”

“You don’t need daylight?”

“No. The lasers provide their own light.”

“I’ll help you set up the workstation.” He stood and crossed the rock floor to her side. “You won’t be able to upload the data to the military database with the satellite uplink.”

She nodded. “I know. The beacon transmits with every upload. Patrick’s men could find us.” She ran her hand across the surface of the chart on the table. So many beautiful contours and, added to the printed data, markings in Dimitri’s own hand. He’d been at this for months, and he’d been systematic. She could see the pattern in his notation. Insight into his beautiful mind.

“CAM collects a massive amount of data. At some point, I’ll run out of storage on the hard disk.”

“You’ll have to dump it.”

The thought of erasing her baby’s memory caused her to shudder, but she nodded.

“I’m sorry, Ivy.”

And she knew he was apologizing for so much more than the idea of deleting precious data. Because he got her. Probably better than any man she’d ever known. He’d researched her to the nth degree—hell, he even knew her favorite wine and had stashed it in the cave. Her gaze flew to his. “The wine. Did you put it here hoping to seduce me?”

“Not seduce. Just a comfort. I figured you’d be hostile. Afraid. The wine is as much an apology as anything.”

She nodded. His words rang true.

“If I could find the AUUV without involving you, I would.”

She grabbed his shirt with both hands. “And if I could finish what you’ve started without you, I would.”

“If you were to do that, then two people who matter to me very much would die.”

She’d suspected as much. What would happen, in the end, if she had a chance to take the AUUV from Dimitri? Could she make that decision?

She had no answers, only more questions and the uneasy feeling that before this was over, she’d be asked to make more impossible choices.

She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Brief. Chaste. “Thank you, for the apology. And the wine.”

“Do you trust me, Ivy?” His voice held the same pained edge that had infused the question when he’d asked it before, as they stood in this exact same spot, right after he’d seduced her with words.

“No.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I’m willing to consider a heartless screw.”

“No, thanks. Not with you.”

She released him and stepped back. “Well then, time to set up CAM and RON. Bring the maps. I want you to tell me everything you remember about the corals and wreckage and geology you observed on your dives as you searched for the AUUV. I can calibrate CAM using your charts and first-hand knowledge.”

Ian Boyd opened the door of his small house in Maryland and faced his boss, Keith Hatcher, and the ultimate owner of the company he worked for, Alec Ravissant. He didn’t bother to hide his surprise at the unannounced early morning visit.

He’d met Rav many times in the months since he started working for Raptor, but it had always been in a social capacity, outside of Raptor business. Rav, the junior senator from Maryland, had to stay out of Raptor business, which was why he had Keith.

They most frequently crossed paths at JT Talon’s private gym in the heart of DC, where Ian and his small group of new friends sparred on a regular basis. Cressida had been his ticket into the unofficial club, and he’d been surprised at how much he enjoyed being a member.

That the two men had showed up at his house at eight a.m. without calling first didn’t bode well. Official Raptor business happened at the office. But then, Rav couldn’t be there. So this couldn’t be official.

“Sorry to drop in like this,” Keith said.

Cressida peeked into the entryway, and her mouth formed a surprised O at seeing their guests. “This is about Ivy, isn’t it?” she asked.

Alec gave a sharp nod. Ian had to wonder how the man was holding up, knowing his cousin was in trouble. It had been a tense time all around. Cressida and Ivy had become close, but for Alec, Ivy was family.

To Ian, Keith said, “Alec needs your take on the situation, as a former CIA operative.”

“Can I stay?” Cressida asked. “I don’t have the security clearance…”

“Sorry, Cress,” Keith said. “This is off the books, but still, there are rules we can’t break.”

She nodded. “I understand. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. I’ll grab a mug, then get out of your way.”

She led everyone into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Ian caught her waist before she left the room. He held her gaze for a long moment, then kissed her forehead. He’d tell her what he could, but she knew he had to respect the limits of the job. He might not work for the CIA anymore, but he still held to the rules, and there were oaths he’d never break.

She smiled and nodded. She understood.

He watched her walk down the hall to their bedroom, enjoying the sway of her ass. Eight months they’d been together, and he still wondered how he’d ever hesitated, why he’d even considered walking away from her. She was the family he’d never known he needed and everything he couldn’t live without.

He turned to his boss and his ultimate employer and shifted to covert operative mode. He had a mortgage and a reason to live now. These men were important to the goal of meeting the first obligation and enjoying the second.

Cressida had coached him on how to greet guests. In his old life, he’d never had guests—at least, not in his real home. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.

“No coffee for me,” Alec said.

Keith took his coffee black. Ian poured himself a mug and settled at the kitchen table with his boss and his employer.

They each sat on the edge of their chairs, bodies pitched forward. Ready to spring into action and easier to converse in low voices.

“What’s going on with Ivy?” Ian asked.

“This is a side job I’m offering you,” Alec said. “Not a Raptor mission. Paid for from my personal bank account.”

To the best of Ian’s knowledge, Rav was a straight arrow. He’d backed out of Raptor as the law required and left management in Keith’s hands without batting an eye. Legal and ethical to a T. Ian couldn’t help but cock his head toward the man who funded his newfound homeownership and happiness and ask the direct question. “Why?”

“Because it is personal. And this has nothing to do with government contracts. I ran it by Curt. He thinks I’m legally clear, and even if I’m not, I’m finding it hard to give a fuck. An assassin abducted my cousin. I want Ivy home.”

Years of training to control body language couldn’t compete with Rav’s revelation. Ian’s spine shot to the upright position. “Parker Reeves is an assassin?”

“Russian enforcer. Known as the Hammer. Heard of him?”

Acid flooded Ian’s stomach. “Shit. The ball-peen guy?”

Keith shot him a look.

Ian ran a hand over his face, stopping himself from sharing gruesome details he’d learned when he’d been working a Russian informant years ago. He cleared his throat and grunted. “Yeah. I know of him.”

Rav’s nostrils flared, giving Ian the impression his employer had already heard the rumors and more. “This is a private job,” he repeated. “You can say no. But if you say yes, you’ll be well paid. I’m renting a jet from Raptor.” He smiled at the notion of renting a jet from himself. “It’ll be ready to roll in two hours. First stop is Washington State to pick up Luke Sevick.”

“Why me?” Ian couldn’t help but ask. Sevick was the one who knew Reeves. Ian was primarily acting as an analyst and interpreter these days, giving Keith his informed opinion on how to run ops in the Middle East, in addition to providing tradecraft training at the Virginia compound.

“First, because we need someone who speaks Russian and Arabic—Hill’s people are involved,” Keith said. “And second because we figure the best way to catch a spy is with a spy.”

Ian agreed. But Parker Reeves wasn’t just a spy, he was the Hammer, which changed everything. As an ally, he’d be an ace in the hole. But as an enemy? To the best of his knowledge, no one had ever faced the Hammer and lived to tell the tale.

When it came to bringing the assassin in, all bets were off.

“Sevick’s on board with this?” he asked.

Keith nodded. “Luke is the one who called me with a plan to bring Reeves in.”