Chapter 11

Evalina reached for the photo copy of the passport she’d just faxed, then cleared the browser history of the business center’s computer. Now she’d go wait with Antonio in the car, parked across the street. It was going to be a long night, even with them napping in shifts.

The sight of Alisa Marshall stepping from the lift with a dark-haired man made Evalina shrink back behind the privacy wall. The man looked about thirty and of her own native descent. If he was the Nicholas Marshall whose credit card had originally held the reservation, there was no hint of family resemblance between his dark, wavy hair and the redhead. Then again, her own sister had inherited their mother’s genes and sported straight blond hair compared to her near-black curls.

He held a cell phone to his ear, and lagged behind with a dark gray pull-behind suitcase while the redhead strode across the lobby toward the doors. Evalina snapped a quick picture with her cell before shifting her attention back to Alisa.

The woman had been so determined to get Ben up to her room, where was she going less than forty minutes later? She hadn’t changed from her black dress, but instead of the sequined clutch, she carried a black shoulder bag.

To most, she’d appear casual and nonchalant, on her way out for a night on the town. But Evalina noted the rigid set of her shoulders and the nervous glances she cast in each direction, especially when she drew even with the front desk.

After a slight pause, the woman’s tension eased and she lifted her hand to adjust the strap of her bag as she continued out the door. When the man with the suitcase strode forward without any further hesitation, Evalina wondered if the strap adjustment had been an all clear signal.

But all clear from whom? Her?

And where the hell was Ben?

She keyed her mic for Antonio as she eased out from behind the privacy wall. A few clicks of her thumb on her phone and she forwarded the picture of the guy to her partner. “The woman who just exited the hotel is Alisa Marshall. In a moment, you’ll see the man I just sent you a picture of. He exited the elevator with her, but I’m not one hundred percent sure they’re together.”

“Where’s Sanders?”

“No sight of him. You stick with her. I’m going to head up to the room.”

“If these two are working with him, he’s long gone.”

Probably. She ruthlessly shoved aside her disappointment and ignored his prediction. “If we lose the link, switch to text and keep me posted.”

“Copy that.”

The earpiece went silent and she returned to the lobby to find the manager covering the desk. “I need a key for room two-twelve please.”

Indecision filtered across his expression before he nodded and configured a duplicate card. As the lift rose to the second floor, her pulse beat with dread at the thought of finding the room empty. She refused to examine the reason why beyond the effect it would have on her job. A simple one night surveillance and get the guy back on the plane was not something she could afford to mess up.

If she’d kept him in sight, she wouldn’t be screwed right now. Then again, Antonio had totally called it earlier, so it was his fault for insisting she be the one to go inside with Ben. He wouldn’t have given a damn about watching Ben flirt with the woman—or going up to the room with them for that matter.

No, she thought as she stepped from the lift into the dim hallway. Losing the subject of their assignment was her fault, not Antonio’s. She’d insisted to her partner she could keep this about the job, it was about damn time she proved it. If she ever found Ben again, he’d see just how professional she could be.

Outside the suite’s door, she heard a soft click in her ear, then Antonio’s voice. “Evalina?”

“Go.”

“She left on foot, but about two blocks away, the man with the suitcase pulled up in a blue Alpha Romero. They are together.”

“Any sign of Ben?” She cringed for having used his first name, but Antonio either didn’t catch the slip or thankfully overlooked it.

“None. You?”

“I’m about to enter the room now.”

“I should come back—”

“No. I’m fine. Don’t lose them. If Sanders is gone, they could lead us back to him.”

A swipe of the card key turned the light green, and she drew her Beretta before cautiously opening the door.

“They’re on the move, so I’m probably going to lose you,” Antonio advised. “Watch your phone.”

Evalina keyed her mic twice to indicate she understood as she entered the suite, then eased the door closed as quietly as possible. She moved past the small foyer, into the huge living area. Dead silence greeted her.

Dio mio. Not looking good.

She did a sweep of the downstairs, found nothing, and approached the curved staircase to the second floor loft area. Weapon extended, she ascended the stairs simply to follow protocol. Antonio was right; Benjamin Sanders was long gone. In weak moments, she’d wondered about leaving him all those months ago. His disappearance now confirmed she’d made the right choice.

Four steps from the top, her eyes drew level with the loft floor. A pair of boots lying on the floor froze her in her tracks. Her finger tightened infinitesimally on the trigger. She recognized those broken-in, scuffed boots. Drawing in a shallow breath, she continued up the final stairs, sweeping the room as it became visible.

Her gaze made it no farther than Ben’s large body sprawled atop the king-sized bed. He appeared to be sleeping, but knowing the redhead and the man were together shoved her heart into her throat. Gun trained on the bathroom doorway until she could clear the room, she quickly crossed the plush carpet to the bed. She felt for Ben’s wrist until she could apply pressure to the pulse point as she’d been trained in her emergency medical courses.

A steady beat eased the vice-grip on her chest.

Gripping her weapon in both hands once more, she crossed silently to the bathroom and quickly determined it to be as empty as the lower level. Tucking her gun into the rear waistband of her pants, she returned to the bed and the sleeping American.

He didn’t leave.

Joy swept through her before she could gather enough common sense to suppress the ridiculous emotion. With Antonio following Alisa, she’d better see if she could get some answers on her end.

“Ben. Wake up. Benjamin.”

He gave absolutely no indication of hearing her and she sighed. He’d been a sound sleeper the night they’d spent together, too. Add in jet lag, and she wasn’t surprised by his lack of response to her voice. His chest rose and fell with each deep, even breath he took.

Her gaze swept over his bare skin and stopped cold on the healed bullet scar. Forcing her attention to move on, she noted his solid muscles and trim physique hadn’t changed one bit since she’d last had her hands on him. Completely negating her silent assertions of professionalism, she fought the urge to touch him now.

Dried blood remained on his skin where he’d been cut. She frowned slightly, taking in his unbuttoned but still zipped jeans. With his boots on the floor, and shirt off, she assumed he’d been on his way to the shower before passing out on the bed.

Is that why Alisa Marshall had left? He’d fallen asleep, and she went out to find herself another good time?

She shook her head. The mysterious Italian with the suitcase negated that theory, and a sudden heaviness in her gut told her there was much more going on here.

Raising her voice, she commanded, “Benjamin Sanders, wake up.”

He still didn’t stir. She braced a knee alongside his hip to lean over and shake his shoulder. His bare skin warmed her palm and she stilled. Stared at his mussed hair, blond-tipped lashes resting against his cheeks, the shadow of a day’s growth of whiskers on his jaw. Memories flooded back, all the more vivid with the live version of him sprawled out before her and his unyielding bulk beneath her hand. A wave of heat coursed through her entire body and settled low in her belly.

She drew back as if she’d been burned and shoved away from the bed. Damn the man. Even asleep he was beyond tempting. Better to leave him alone than have him wake to her drooling over his body.

Desperate for a distraction, she dug her cell phone from her jacket pocket. No new messages, but she had one for Antonio.

Sanders is here. Sleeping off jetlag.

After another glance toward the bed, she paced to the stairs and retreated to the lower living room. No more than she grabbed a mineral water from the fully stocked mini-bar, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Seeing as Antonio was driving, she wasn’t surprised by the incoming call. “Gallo.”

“Color me shocked.”

Me, too. “I’m letting him sleep. Makes it easier to keep him in one spot until his flight.”

“Good point. And these two? Any clues around as to how they fit?”

“No.”

“Do you think the three of them could be working together?” Antonio asked.

“The girl was very nervous when I introduced myself. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see me,” Evalina mused, considering that angle. Then she shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “But wouldn’t Ben have warned her when he called from the car?”

“He’s the decoy. He didn’t tip her off to keep it authentic, and now he stays back so they can finish the job.”

It didn’t quite add up for her, but she gave Antonio a vague, “Maybe.”

“I’m going to stick with them and see if they lead me anywhere. You stay there and work that angle when Sanders wakes up.”

“Okay. Keep in touch with any developments.”

“Will do,” he promised. “Ciao.”

She hung up and pocketed her phone. After a glance up the stairs, she spun on her heel to examine the suite now that she had time on her hands. There was nothing much to investigate, but she pretended there was simply to keep her mind off the man lying on the silver-gray bed upstairs.

Beneath the well-stocked bar, she found a trash bin. Inside were a couple of tissues, an empty plastic bottle, and the torn wrapper from a sample packet of an American pharmaceutical sleep aide. She removed the torn garbage and read the ingredients and warning on the label. Her gaze shifted to survey the surface of the bar and spotted the faintest hint of white powder edging the corner.

On a serving tray, two of the six glasses sat right-side-up. The first had contained a drink—alcohol by the smell of it, but the second was dry inside. She lifted it to inspect the bottom and found a tiny bit of white powder still clinging to the edges. Add alcohol and jetlag…

She looked back over her shoulder at the loft, then rose and rushed back up the stairs. Was Ben sleeping, or had he been drugged?