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  Alina scanned the information, her pulse increasing.

  “He says it was a man and a woman, and the man left for twenty-four hours,” she read. “He confirmed the flight details for the US security detail. The man went to Cairo.” She scanned the rest of the email. “Dates match. Bingo,” she breathed, her lips curving as she looked up.

  Damon smiled back.

  “We have a trail,” he told her.

  There was a new sparkle in her eyes and Damon turned his attention back to the road. Viper wasn't going to walk away. She was going to stay and finish this. Damon suppressed a sigh. He hadn't really thought he could talk her into going to safety, and he accepted her decision without another thought. There was no point in dwelling on what could happen. He just had to make sure it didn't happen.

  Michael glanced at his watch with a frown and shook his head. He had to call Alina. There was no way dinner would be ready by seven. He turned his back to the tow truck hauling the burnt wreckage of a car frame onto its bed and pulled out his cell phone. Walking away from the bustle, he hit speed dial and listened to the phone ring.

  “Hey Mike!” someone called down from the parking level above. “You want to come look at this.”

  Michael waved his hand to indicate that he had heard and started to walk toward the ramp. The acrid smell of smoke, burnt rubber, and oil surrounded him and he coughed just as Alina picked up.

  “Hey,” he said, covering his other ear to block out the noise behind him. “About dinner...”

  “Are you canceling on me again?” Alina asked cheerfully.

  Michael couldn't resist the smile that tugged at his lips.

  “No,” he answered. “I am pushing it back, though. Something came up and I'm still tied up with work. Can we say eight instead of seven?”

  “Of course,” Alina said. “If you're in the middle of something, we can cancel,” she added. “I promise I won't get a complex over being canceled on twice in one day.”

  “No. We're not canceling,” Michael retorted. “I'll see you at eight.”

  “Ok. If you're sure...” Alina gave him one last chance to back out and for some reason her willingness to cancel dinner irritated Michael.

  “I am,” he said shortly. “Come hungry,” he added. Alina chuckled over the phone.

  “Oh, I will,” she murmured.

  Michael hung up with a grin, then glanced up to the parking level above him. The grin faded as quickly as it had come as he started up the ramp to the next level. Of all the rotten luck, today had turned out to be non-stop. What was supposed to be a relaxing day getting to know Alina had turned into a bizarre rush of events, all revolving around Stephanie Walker, FBI. What was left of her car was getting towed to the FBI forensics lab, and the woman herself was not answering her cell phone.

  When the Feds showed up, Michael was relieved to see their lead man in charge was Blake Hanover, one of his poker buddies. They agreed to a joint investigation after Michael explained his involvement, and now he had a sinking feeling that Stephanie Walker had just become cause for heartburn for the next few days.

  “So check this out.” Jerry, one of the technicians, met him at the top of the ramp. “When we couldn't get any camera footage from the cameras down there, we tried to see if we had any incidental footage from the cameras up here,” he told him, motioning for Michael to walk with him. “There are two cameras on this side of the level. One faces the ramp and the other is angled to take in this entire aisle.”

  Michael nodded, glancing around. Jerry stopped walking and pointed up to the camera facing the ramp. Michael looked up and raised his eyebrows, whistling softly. Jerry was grinning.

  “All the cameras were shot out,” he stated the obvious. Michael glanced at him.

  “Same gun?” he asked. Jerry shrugged.

  “I won't know until we get the bullets, but my guess would be yes,” he answered.

  Michael looked around with a frown.

  “Well, isn't this shaping up to be a big barrel of fun,” he muttered. “So, we have no video and no witnesses.” He glanced along the aisle and walked over to the wall over-looking the level below. “The car just detonated all by itself.”

  “The Fed's bomb guys found part of the explosive. They say it was pretty basic,” Jerry said, joining him at the wall. They both watched as the tow truck below rumbled to life and started to ease toward the ramp with its dripping, blackened cargo. Firefighters moved out of the way as it passed, pausing in the act of cleaning up.

  “How basic?” Michael asked. Jerry shrugged.

  “Just a basic charge linked into the ignition,” he answered. “Nothing fancy. No timers, just turn the key and boom.”

  “But no one turned the key,” Michael pointed out. “There was no body. It exploded without the ignition.”

  “Maybe they wired it incorrectly,” Jerry said. “The whole thing seems a little off to me.”

  Michael turned to look at the cameras with a frown.

  “It doesn't add up,” he agreed. “We're missing something.”

  “Unless there was a remote starter...” Jerry was still watching the tow truck absently. Michael glanced at him. “A remote starter might have triggered the explosive.”

  Michael turned his eyes thoughtfully back to the cameras.

  “Get all the cameras down,” he said after a few minutes. “Get everything cleaned up here and see if there are any videos of the entrance to be had anywhere. Something had to have picked them up somewhere. A ghost didn't come in here and do this.”

  Jerry nodded and turned from the wall.

  “You have to get out of here,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Didn't I hear you have a date tonight?”

  Michael rolled his eyes.

  “You guys are worse than old ladies at bingo for gossip,” he said, turning to walk back toward the ramp. “It's not a date. It's dinner.”

  “That sure sounds like a date to me,” Jerry retorted with a grin. “Your place or hers?”

  “Mine.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jerry watched him stride away with a laugh. “You're cooking? That's a date.”

  “It's not a date,” Michael threw over his shoulder with a frown. “She's an old friend's kid sister.”

  “Is she legal???” Jerry called.

  He burst out laughing as Michael held up the finger before disappearing down the ramp.

  Alina pressed end on the phone and glanced into the living room where Damon was cleaning his Beretta. He appeared to be paying her no attention whatsoever, but Alina knew that he'd heard every word she said to Michael. She watched him slide a thin brush into the chamber and dropped the cell phone onto the kitchen table. She had given Michael every opportunity to back out of the dinner date, partially because he just had a huge headache dumped in his lap with the toasting of Stephanie's car and partially because Damon was right. She was practically daring the Secret Service to figure out her identity and come after her. It was turning into something of a mess, but it wasn't entirely her fault. She had gone into the mess hoping to get some information out of Michael and maybe get an ally on her side. She hadn't expected Stephanie to pull him into an inter-agency investigation that would increase his odds of putting two and two together.

  “How long do you think it'll be before your boy sends out the search party for those Fearless Feds of yours?” Damon asked, glancing down the short hallway to where she was standing next to the kitchen table, lost in thought.

  “He's not my boy,” Alina retorted absently, picking up a bottle of water and walking into the living room. “Once they don't get any hits on either GPS, they'll start the rounds with their boss. Probably tomorrow they'll start searching in earnest.”

  She sat on the couch next to him.

  “You took all their electronics?” Damon asked. Alina nodded.

  “I replaced them with clean ones. I told them either you or myself will be checking in with them,” she told him and Damon's blue eyes lit with laughter.

  “I
bet Stephanie practically started foaming at the mouth,” he murmured. “She still thinks I ran her girlfriend off the road, doesn't she?”

  “Not so much anymore,” Alina answered.

  Damon sat back and looked at her, the laughter fading from his eyes.

  “You told them what we're doing,” he stated rather than asked. Alina shrugged.

  “There didn't seem to be much point in hiding it from them,” she retorted. “They were sensible enough to realize that they had to stay squirreled away. Now, they know just how important it is that they do stay hidden. It's not like they're a threat where they are.”

  Damon shook his head.

  “You trust them with too much,” he muttered.

  Alina shrugged, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Perhaps,” she murmured.

  Damon looked at her, his blue eyes hooded. After a moment, he ran his hands through his hair.

  “What a God-awful mess,” he sighed.

  Before Alina could answer, a ding came from his laptop, sitting open next to the parts of his gun. He leaned forward to pull up his email and Alina watched the muscles ripple across his broad shoulders as he reached over to the laptop. She swallowed, grabbing her bottle of water and shifting her gaze quickly from his shoulders to the parts of the Beretta laid out on the table.

  “It's the file from London,” Damon said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Alina raised her eyes to his and smiled.

  “Fantastic!” she exclaimed. Damon lifted the laptop onto his lap and sat back, scanning through the email. Alina waited while he read, her eyes drifting impatiently to the screen. She couldn't see anything from her angle. “Well?” she finally demanded after he had been silent for a few minutes.

  “It's him.” Hawk looked up. “It's Alex Ludmere. There are pictures and documents. Hell, he even sent a copy of the flight manifest to Cairo.” Alina leaned into him impatiently, trying to see the screen and Damon grinned, shifting the laptop so she could see. “You could have just asked,” he murmured.

  Alina chuckled and reached over to start clicking through the photos.

  “Why did he save all this?” she asked, scanning through the mass of information.

  Damon shrugged.

  “Because that's how he works,” he answered. “Paul was always paranoid. He says that you never know what job can come back and bite you. He probably has a couple servers filled with information. If he ever went rogue, we would be in big trouble,” he added thoughtfully.

  “Well, right now, I love his paranoia,” Alina said. “That must be the woman.”

  She stopped on a grainy photo of Alex and a tall woman. They were getting off a plane and the woman had her head turned away from the camera. Alina tilted her head, studying the picture. The only thing she could really tell was that the woman was tall and had dark hair. Other than that, she was just a faceless woman.

  “Is this the only picture of her?” Alina asked, glancing up at Damon.

  She found his blue eyes entirely too close to hers. She swallowed, her eyes automatically dropping to his full lips.

  “I think so,” Damon answered, those full lips curving into a slow smile when she looked away hastily. “But I just scanned through the file briefly. You think she's important?”

  “Maybe.” Alina shifted away from him breathlessly and glanced at her watch. “Everything is important right now, until we figure out what isn't,” she added, getting up. “I have to get ready to go.”

  She grabbed her water bottle and headed toward the stairs.

  “Chicken,” Damon murmured and Alina paused at the foot of the stairs.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  Damon didn't even turn around.

  “You heard me,” he retorted, his head still bent over the laptop.

  Alina's eyes narrowed as she started up the stairs.

  “It was a strategic retreat,” she muttered.

  His laughter followed her up the stairs.

  Chapter Ten

  Alina perched on a bar stool, sipping a glass of red wine, and watching as Michael chopped up vegetables for a salad. The kitchen was large, sporting a wood-topped island with bar stools in the center, and a counter running along the back wall with a window above the sink. A glass-topped oven was to their left, throwing out warmth, and the smell of baking lasagna filled the kitchen.

  “Sorry it's not quite ready,” Michael said, dropping a handful of chopped green pepper into a large bowl filled with a mix of spring greens and romaine lettuce. Alina smiled.

  “Don't be sorry,” she replied. “You've had a busy day.”

  Michael glanced at her. She was dressed in loose black linen pants and a sleeveless, dark purple shirt that fell in a drape across her shoulders. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she looked completely at ease, perched on the bar stool, watching him chop vegetables. He smiled slightly.

  “It wasn't supposed to be,” he said, starting on some cucumbers. “What did you do with your afternoon?”

  “I went shopping,” Alina lied easily with a smile.

  Before Michael could answer, his phone chirped from the counter. He glanced at it with a frown, reaching behind him to grab it. Alina watched as he read the text message quickly. The slight frown turned into a flash of irritation before he cleared the screen and dropped the phone back onto the counter without replying.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologized, glancing at her. “You went shopping?”

  Alina nodded. Her eyes strayed to his phone briefly when he turned his attention back to the cucumbers.

  “Yes.” She had her eyes back on him when he glanced up. “New shoes,” she added with a grin.

  “Of course!” Michael chuckled. “Women and their shoes.”

  Alina shrugged and sipped her wine.

  “It's a girl thing,” she retorted. Michael nodded.

  “Yes, I know,” he agreed. “It's a girl thing that men will never fully comprehend.” He scooped up the cucumbers and tossed them on the salad. Lifting the salad bowl, he shook it, tossing the vegetables together. “I like my salads loaded,” he told her. “How about you? Do you like vegetables?”

  “Pile them in!” Alina answered cheerfully.

  Michael smiled and set the bowl down.

  “Good.” He turned toward the refrigerator and while he had his back to her, Alina glanced at his phone again. “I'm always disappointed by what some people consider a salad,” Michael said, his head buried in the fridge. “Throw some iceberg lettuce, a cucumber slice, one grape tomato and some grated carrot on a plate, and people call that a salad.”

  He emerged from the fridge with grape tomatoes, baby carrots, red onion and broccoli.

  “Then cover it with two cups of ranch dressing,” Alina added.

  Michael dropped his armload of veggies on the island and laughed.

  “Exactly!” he agreed. “Pathetic. When I was deployed, I used to dream of salad. Your brother just didn't get it. He dreamed of cheesesteaks.”

  “Dave did love his cheesesteak,” Alina remembered fondly with a slight smile.

  Michael glanced at her.

  “What food did you miss most when you were deployed?” he asked, starting to chop the carrots. Alina set her glass aside and reached for the bag of broccoli.

  “I'm not sure,” she said thoughtfully, opening the bag and pulling out a broccoli crown. “Honestly, I think it was an even tie between hot wings and good chili,” she finally decided.

  Michael's eyes met hers and he smiled.

  “So you like it spicy,” he murmured. Alina winked.

  “The hotter, the better,” she replied. “You want to pass me a knife? I can't just sit here and watch you work anymore.”

  Michael grinned and pulled another knife out of the butcher block on the counter. He handed it to her and watched as she skillfully flipped it in her hand and went to work on the broccoli. He went back to the carrots thoughtfully.

  “Do you miss New York?” Alina asked him
, changing the subject.

  She hadn't missed his piercing glance when she flipped the knife. It was a habit, her way of testing the knife's balance before using it. She got the impression that Michael sensed the action was not entirely culinary.

  “I get up there pretty regularly now, so I don't miss it as much as I used to,” Michael answered. “My folks are still up there, so that's another reason I'm happy in DC. It's close enough to go up and check on them.”

  Alina nodded and finished with the broccoli crown. She tossed the florets in the salad bowl as Michael's phone chirped again. He sighed and Alina glanced at him from under her lashes as he turned to grab his phone again impatiently. This time he didn't even read the text. He just cleared the screen and set the phone back down. When he turned back to the island, he encountered laughing dark eyes.

  “Maybe if you answer, whoever it is will leave you alone,” Alina suggested.

  He shook his head slightly.

  “Sorry,” he apologized again. “I would normally put it on mute, but I have some people working on something through the night and they need to be able to reach me.”

  “Oh, I'm not bothered by the phone,” she said cheerfully. “But you seem to be bothered by whatever is coming through.”

  Michael had the grace to look sheepish.

  “It's annoying,” he admitted, scooping the carrots into the salad bowl while Alina opened the grape tomatoes and dumped half the container into the salad.

  “That sounds suspiciously like old flame troubles,” she informed him, snapping the container closed. He surprised her by agreeing as he started on the red onion.

  “She's persistent.”

  Alina raised her eyebrow, studying him.

  “How long did you date?” she asked curiously and Michael rolled his eyes.

  “We didn't,” he replied. “We went on a business dinner once. At least, that's what I thought it was. She apparently thought otherwise.”

  “Ouch,” Alina murmured, her lips twitching.

  Michael looked at her in time to catch the lip twitch.

  “Laugh and you won't get any lasagna,” he threatened her, pointing his knife at her. “And I make a banging lasagna.”