“You think I want to sleep with Karen?”
“She’s smart, and beautiful, and willing. She still wants you. I can tell.”
That was news to him. Karen was the one who had pushed him away, indicating they had crossed some boundary where she was no longer comfortable with their arrangement. “I know rank and position aren’t supposed to matter, but I’m her boss. It’s… unethical.”
Nancy blinked. “But you enjoyed—”
“What man doesn’t like sex? Of course, I enjoyed it. It’s still unethical.”
“You’re under a lot of pressure,” Nancy said. “The program allows people to blow off steam. Without that release, you can go crazy down here.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Perhaps if you had an arrangement with someone of equal authority,” Nancy rushed out.
For the second time in a row, Eric was stunned. “We’ve had coffee. I don’t think we’re ready for a physical relationship.”
“I’m attracted to you, Eric. We’d make a good couple. Our strengths and weaknesses complement each other.”
“I think a relationship should be based on more than that.”
“You’re physically attracted to me.”
Nancy was lean and supple from all the training in the gym, but she somehow managed to maintain soft curves around her breasts and hips. Her jaw was almost razor-sharp, her skin creamy and unblemished, her shoulder-length hair thick and luxurious.
She reminded him of a gymnast, and sometimes, in his darkest fantasies, a porn star. When she flashed her pearly white teeth, she was stunning.
Her eyes, though. They were empty. Vacant.
The only real emotions he knew to be genuine were her anger and desire. She had aimed the anger at many, but the desire was always reserved for him.
“Once again,” he pointed out, “I’m a man. I’m attracted to any woman.”
“I can be difficult. I acknowledge that. I’m trying my best to change. To be… normal.”
“I’ve noticed. You have grown. I’m going to be perfectly honest. You shouldn’t have to change for me. Be happy with yourself. The man you wind up with should be happy with you just the way you are.”
“And I’m going to be perfectly honest.” She approached him, stopping in front of the couch and staring at him with a disturbing intensity. “I want you. I would be whatever you want me to be. I’ve seen what this job did to my father. The stress will kill you. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll be there mentally and physically.”
She knelt in front of him, so close he could feel her body heat. She smelled of vanilla, and it warmed his insides. His heart thumped in his chest, and his mouth was as dry as the desert outside the mountain.
“Make no mistake, Eric. I want to pleasure you in every way imaginable, using every bit of my body, and I want you to do the same to me.”
“I…”
“It’s more than that,” she continued. “I want to hold you and feel your heart beating against my cheek. I want to know you’ll protect me and that I’ll protect you. I want to know that you like me, not because of my father or because it’s a mission. That you want to know what I think or feel. I don’t want to be some sexual conquest. I want…”
He licked his lips, desperate for air. “What?”
“I want you to love me.”
He considered grabbing her, kissing her, ripping her clothes from her body, and carrying her to his bed. The urge was so intense that his eyelid twitched, but then she stood, turned, and left him alone on the couch. The door swooshed shut behind her as she exited his quarters.
I’m in trouble.
John opened his eyes. As his vision swam into focus, he noticed the white ceiling above his head and a metallic chirping. He tried to make sense of it, and then the smell of disinfectant tickled the back of his nose.
He experienced a moment of clarity before his head began to throb, the mother of all headaches working its way up the base of his skull. He tried to sit up but only made it halfway. He glanced down and found his hand was cuffed to a metal rail on the side of his bed.
He blinked and his brain finally started working correctly. There was no mistaking the white drape hanging from the track in the ceiling.
He was in a hospital.
The soft chirping away near his head was a heart monitor beeping along with his heart, and there were pads fixed to his naked chest and a blood pressure cuff on his arm that whined as it inflated. An oxygen tube ran up his neck, around his ears, and under his nose. A steady stream of oxygen puffed around his nostrils, and he took a deep breath, holding the air for a count of ten, then slowly exhaled.
The last thing he remembered was running across the street to the Park Hyatt.
He concentrated, using a technique Eric had taught him, imagining himself in a movie theater. In his imagination, he sat halfway back, in the dark, and played the image on the screen.
It was like watching someone else. The man on the screen ran up the stairs. Things blurred, and he concentrated harder. The image on the screen slowed. He saw the steps of the Hyatt, then the screen went white. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above his head.
So much is missing.
He closed his eyes and backed the film up until a new image appeared. It was the body of a man sprawled across the floor, and he struggled to put a name to the body.
Klaus something. Holzer. No, Holzinger. Klaus Holzinger.
There was a flash of light so bright that it blinded him, and he backed the image up.
A bomb went off in the room. I was bombed!
He backed the image up until he was once again running up the stairs, and this time there was a man at the stairwell and a voice buzzed in his ear.
Deion told me to ignore the man and to help Holzinger. It was a trap.
Someone cleared their throat, and he opened his eyes. The white drape swirled, and a man stepped through. He was a dozen or more years older than John, but with a mustache that matched his thinning brown hair. The man’s tan trenchcoat gaped, revealing a rumpled suit underneath. The man smiled and nodded at him.
“You know why I’m here?” the man asked in heavily accented English.
John nodded.
“Tell me your name and who you work for, and then we will discuss the events of the afternoon.” He withdrew a pad of paper and a pen and started scribbling. “Your name, please.”
John said nothing.
The man looked up. The ghost of a smile played across his face. “Come, come, you must tell me. You have no options. You were responsible for an explosion. We know that to be true.”
John relaxed against the bed and stared at the ceiling. The man was trying to gather information, but Eric had trained him well. Any information he gave, no matter how inconsequential, could be used to profile him.
“My name is Gohl,” the man said. “I work for the government. Not the police, you understand? The government. We have called many embassies, but no one claims responsibility.”
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Gohl was Deion’s contact in Switzerland, and he finally understood why Deion loathed the man.
“Are you American?” Gohl asked. “British, perhaps? You aren’t Russian. French? No, you don’t have the smell of a Frenchman.” He stared blandly at John. “Tell me your nationality so that I might contact your embassy. We can begin the negotiations immediately. You will be sent home within the day. That’s more than can be said for Mr. Holzinger. Speaking of Mr. Holzinger, how did you know him?”