Next Exit, Pay Toll Page 17

  “Yes.” Alina took a deep breath and looked at him. For once, no smile hovered around her lips. “Thank you. I appreciate this more than you know.”

  “I know,” Michael said softly.

  They shared a smile and Alina wrapped the picture back up.

  “Did you make the frame?” she asked as she folded the paper back around it. Michael nodded.

  “Yes.” He motioned around his garage. “As you probably guessed, wood-working is a hobby of mine.”

  Alina smiled, her mask firmly back in place when she lifted her face.

  “So I see,” she said. She nodded to the table top on the saw horses. “Making a table?”

  “For the dining room,” Michael replied, looking at the table top. “I want something more rustic, like something in a farmhouse.” He grinned. “But I don't want to pay for it.”

  Alina walked over to the wood and ran a hand across it gently.

  “I don't blame you,” she murmured, glancing at him. “If you have the skills to make it yourself, you should. I'd be interested to see it when it's done. I might pay you to make one for me!” she added with a wink.

  “Just pay for the wood,” Michael replied with a grin. “I enjoy doing it.”

  He watched as she slowly walked around the table, her hand sliding along it gently. She seemed lost in thought and Michael was quiet, watching her. She suddenly stopped, removed her hand from the wood, and turned to him. Her lips were once again curved in that half-smile she used to conceal her thoughts.

  “I really need to get on the road,” Alina said abruptly.

  “Where are you headed?” Michael asked as she walked past him toward the door.

  “I have to go up into your old neck of the woods, actually,” Alina lied smoothly. “I have a meeting with a client in Manhattan before I can head home.”

  “You said your place is in North Carolina, right?”

  Michael followed her, switching out the garage light and closing the door behind them. Alina lifted her keys from his island and turned to face him.

  “Yes, not far from Raleigh,” she answered. “I'm thinking of moving back north, but we'll see. I've gotten used to the pace down there.”

  “It's a different world,” Michael agreed. Alina nodded.

  “I miss the delis though,” she confided. Michael burst out laughing. “Seriously! There is not a decent deli to be had for miles!” Alina exclaimed, pulling her sunglasses off her head and settling them on her face.

  “And cheesesteak?” Michael asked teasingly.

  Alina held up a hand and shook her head.

  “Let's not even discuss,” she retorted.

  With her hand up and her sunglasses on, Alina looked every inch the Jersey girl that she used to be and Michael felt a rush of affection roll through him. This was the Alina he had heard so much about from her brother all those years ago. This was the Alina he had been expecting at the restaurant...was it only two nights ago? But in an instant, the hand was lowered and the Jersey girl was gone.

  “I'll definitely keep in touch. You have my email.”

  “Of course.” Michael stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a loose hug. Alina caught the whiff of a fresh scent that reminded her of the ocean before he pulled away and looked down at her with a lopsided smile. “I promised Dave I would look out for you. I plan to keep that promise,” he informed her.

  Alina chuckled and pulled away.

  “Well, you don't have much to do,” she told him, turning away. “I can take care of myself.”

  “So I saw last night.”

  The words were out before Michael could stop them and he instantly regretted them. She glanced over her shoulder, her lips smiling faintly.

  “Military intelligence isn't just code on a computer screen,” Alina murmured. There was a slight pause, and then her lips curved into a smile. Michael didn't have to see behind the dark shades to know that the smile didn't reach her eyes. He'd seen that smile from her before. “But I do hope we can keep in touch. I miss talking to someone who knew my brother.”

  “You don't talk to your folks?” Michael asked, following her to the back door. Alina shook her head.

  “Not for about five years now,” she answered. She didn't add that it had been her choice and it was made for their safety.

  “I'm sorry.” Michael opened the back door and they went down the steps into the hot humid sun.

  “It is what it is.” Alina turned to face him, that smile firmly in place. “It has definitely been interesting, Michael O'Reilly.”

  Michael laughed, squinting in the sun.

  “That it has, Alina Maschik.”

  He watched as she flashed a grin and a wave before disappearing around the corner of the house. Michael turned to go back into the kitchen for his sunglasses feeling melancholy and not quite knowing why.

  Damon stared at John calmly across the room while Stephanie watched warily from the recliner, her legs crossed and the iPad laying forgotten on her lap. John was standing with legs braced and arms crossed over his chest, facing Damon, who stood behind the couch with his hands resting lightly on the back. Stephanie could cut the testosterone in the air with a knife, and she wondered which one would start peeing on the furniture first.

  “What the hell do you want my access codes for?!” John was about one octave away from a yell.

  “I just told you,” Damon replied patiently, his quiet voice a direct contrast to John's belligerence. “If Alina's government file is going to get released, I need to know who receives copies.”

  “If you guys work for our government, don't you have your own access codes?” John demanded. Damon's lips twitched.

  “I wish it was that simple,” he murmured. John snorted.

  “Nothing with you two is simple,” he shot back.

  “John, don't be an ass,” Stephanie interjected when she saw the glint of amusement leap into Damon's eyes. Laughter right now would start an all-out brawl with John and, while she suspected that was exactly what both men secretly wanted, she had no desire to start mopping blood up off the floor. “Of course he can't use his own. Damon's explained everything clearly. Just give him the access codes so he can do what he needs to do to keep Alina safe.”

  “If you suddenly trust him so much, give him your access codes,” John retorted. Stephanie rolled her eyes.

  “Mine have definitely been disabled by now,” she answered calmly. “Yours are probably still active.” Stephanie glanced at Damon. “Mind you, as soon as you log in, they'll have you tagged...but you knew that already.”

  Damon smiled faintly and nodded, his blue eyes sparkling.

  “Don't you worry about me.”

  Stephanie grinned despite herself, sucked in by the deep blue eyes and the easy mid-western drawl.

  “Oh, I don't,” she informed him easily.

  “Does Alina know you're doing any of this?” John asked after a long moment of silence. His pale blue eyes met Damon's deep blue ones and he chuckled reluctantly. “Of course not,” he murmured. Damon glanced at his watch.

  “The access codes?” he prompted, lifting his eyes up from his watch. John sighed.

  “I'll type them in,” he agreed ungraciously.

  Damon nodded once and turned to go into the dining area. He pulled a laptop out of his bag and powered it on, keying in several passcodes to get through the security layers he had built into the unit. Once he was in, he motioned for John to come over.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” John muttered, joining him at the table.

  “Don't think of it as betraying your agency's trust,” Damon told him. “Think of it as justifying hers...in you.”

  John glared at him and silently brought up the FBI portal, entering in his codes.

  “You're a bastard,” he informed Damon, straightening up. Damon's only response was a short laugh before he settled down in front of the laptop. John watched him, trying to keep up with the swift key strokes before finally giving
up. “Ok. What the hell are you doing?”

  “I'm depositing a worm into the routing table,” Damon said briefly. “It will attach to all files outgoing to the CIA and, once it's in their network, it will attach to any file with the tags I tell it to.” He glanced up at John. “If Viper's file goes anywhere, this will be attached to it and I'll know exactly where it goes.”

  “So, essentially, you just hacked your own agency,” John said. Damon grinned.

  “Essentially,” he agreed.

  “And you used my access codes to do it,” John added. Damon struggled to keep from laughing.

  “Yep.”

  “You SON OF A——”

  “John!” Stephanie yelled from the living room and John's mouth snapped shut.

  “What?!”

  “Knock it off!” Stephanie appeared behind them. “Do you really think he's going to let it be traced back to your access? Really??” she demanded furiously “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  John looked at Damon.

  “Can they track it back to me?” he demanded.

  Damon chuckled, severed the connection with the government databases, and closed the laptop.

  “Spoil sport,” he said to Stephanie as he stood up.

  “I have to live with him for the foreseeable future,” she pointed out and Damon grinned.

  “Good point,” he agreed. “No. They won't be able to track it anywhere. They won't even know it's there. Stop worrying.” Damon slid the laptop into his bag. “You guys need anything? Food? Beer?”

  “Entertainment?” Stephanie suggested with a grin. Damon smiled.

  “Sorry,” he replied. “All out of the entertainment package.”

  He swung the bag over his shoulder and turned to head out of the apartment.

  “What's Alina's plan?” John called after him and Damon paused, turning around.

  “I have no idea,” he answered truthfully.

  “Aren't you her partner in this?” John asked with a frown.

  “It's not that...”

  “Simple,” John finished for him disgustedly.

  “She's protecting me,” Damon explained. “Plausible deniability. If I don't know what she's doing, I can't be held as an accomplice.”

  “Don't they already have you pegged as an accomplice?” Stephanie asked.

  Damon shook his head slightly.

  “Not yet.” He grinned. “No one knows I'm here. As far as my handlers know, I'm in Peru.”

  “Someone must know you're here,” Stephanie said with a frown.

  Damon turned back to the door.

  “The only people who know who and where I am, I trust with my life.” He paused. “Which is a good thing, given that it is my life at stake here,” he added thoughtfully. He glanced back at them. “And then, of course, there's you two. Don't be offended when I say that I don't trust either of you. If anything leaks out about either me or Alina, I'll know exactly who's to blame. And trust me, you won't even know I came for you until you're staring at the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  Hawk gave the warning as a statement of fact, his voice void of any emotion. The blue eyes, normally twinkling, were suddenly arctic and filled with deadly promise. Stephanie shivered as a chill shot down her spine and she glanced at John involuntarily. His face was unreadable.

  “You just take care of Lina,” John retorted, his voice even. Damon's eyes glinted briefly.

  “Oh, I will,” he promised softly.

  And then he was gone, the door closing silently behind him. Stephanie stared at the closed door, her heart beating a hard tattoo against her chest.

  “I don't ever want to get on the wrong side of him,” she said fervently, breaking the silence as soon as her heart rate slowed. “Did you see his eyes?” she demanded.

  John glanced at her, his own slightly amused. He went over to lock the door.

  “He's a trained killer,” John said, turning and going toward the kitchen. “What did you expect?”

  “I don't know.” Stephanie rubbed her arms as if she could ward off the chill that still lingered at the memory of those eyes. They had been so completely foreign from the twinkling blue eyes she was used to. “It was like Jekyll and Hyde.”

  She turned to follow him into the kitchen and watched as he opened the fridge and pulled out a tray filled with bags of deli meat and cheese.

  “That's what you get for falling for a pair of blue eyes,” John retorted, waggling his eyebrows at her before he turned from the fridge to the counter. Stephanie wrinkled her nose and pulled a bag of rolls off the top of the fridge, joining him at the counter.

  “I suppose Alina must have that lurking inside her, too,” she said thoughtfully after a moment. “Do you think she's that intense when she's working?”

  John glanced at her as he pulled plates out of a cabinet.

  “Intense?” he repeated, his lips twitching. “Is that what you call it?”

  “I don't know what to call it,” Stephanie frowned, “besides creepy and scary and dangerous, all at the same time.”

  “That's how you were supposed to feel,” John told her. “It's called intimidation.”

  Stephanie shook her head and took out a roll, tearing it open and reaching for one of the bags of cheese.

  “No. I saw something more than that,” she muttered. “Something dark.”

  John grinned and pulled a roll out of the bag.

  “Something dark?” he demanded. “Steph, we gotta get you out of here. You're starting to get weird on me. What kinds of books are you reading on that iPad, anyway?”

  Stephanie handed him the cheese and pulled out a bag of ham.

  “Oh, shut up,” she retorted good-naturedly. “You saw it too. You know what I mean.”

  “I'll tell you what I saw,” John said after a minute. “I saw a trained killer warning us that, whatever our past with Alina may be, we don't have any ties to him. He'll have no qualms about getting rid of us to protect her or himself. In light of that, we'd better hope and pray nothing happens to make him think we're in any way involved in anything.”

  “Exactly,” Stephanie agreed, setting her finished sandwich on a plate and turning away from the counter.

  “But nothing is going to happen to make him think that,” John added. “How can it? We're locked up here until it's all over. We can't do anything. Lina made sure of that.”

  Stephanie paused in the act of opening a bag of potato chips. The thought crossed her mind that maybe Alina wasn't just protecting them from a traitor.

  Intentionally or not, she was protecting them from Damon as well.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Billy Conners' apartment was on the fourteenth floor in a building where the thirteenth floor did not exist, giving him the dubious pleasure of living on what, in another building, would have been an unlucky floor. Alina never really understood the superstitious custom of skipping the number thirteen in a high-rise. Didn't the truly superstitious realize that they were still thirteen floors up? If the Boogie-Man was coming for you, she was pretty sure he would know how to count.

  The SUV from last night was in the parking garage downstairs, the engine cold. Alina glanced around the empty hallway and set her ear briefly to Billy's door, listening. There was no sound on the other side. Glancing at her watch, Viper shot another look around the deserted hallway. The building didn't have a security system once you got past the front door, so there were no cameras to distract her. She turned her back to the hall, bent over the door handle, and disappeared into the apartment a moment later.

  Closing the door silently behind her, Alina glanced around the living room. The seating consisted of a leather couch and a navy recliner that looked as if it had seen better days. A fifty-two inch flat screen TV took up most of the far wall, and an entertainment center below it was packed with high-end electronics and game systems. Across the room, in front of a bay window, was a desk with a laptop and two twenty-two inch monitors. Alina looked to her left and saw the door to an
eat-in kitchen and a short hallway that led to two additional doors. One was open and led to a bathroom. The other was partially closed.

  Viper moved away from the door and peeked into the empty kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink and the small kitchen table was littered with empty beer bottles and take-out containers. She grimaced slightly, imagining roaches lurking in the mess, and moved into the short hallway. She paused for just a moment outside the bedroom door, glanced into the empty bathroom, and then pushed open the bedroom door.

  Billy never heard a thing. Viper moved swiftly and silently to the side of the full-sized bed, looking down at her prey with detached curiosity. He was sprawled on his back on top of the covers, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He was wearing only a pair of boxers, giving her an unimpeded view of the tattoos covering his arms and torso. Viper studied the king cobra etched across his chest thoughtfully. The work was good and she took a moment to admire it before pulling out her gun. Billy had clearly paid top dollar for all the artwork on his body. Viper smiled coldly. Now she knew what was important to him.

  Casting an experienced eye over him dispassionately, she estimated that he was about five foot ten and maybe a buck ninety in weight. He was wiry, but he clearly lifted weights and his shoulders and biceps were well-defined. His stomach, however, was turning pudgy and Alina guessed the culprit to be too many beers and not enough cardio. She could see him landing maybe one hit before she could put him down. Bracing herself, Viper reached over with one hand and squeezed his nose closed, putting an abrupt end to the loud and God-awful snoring.

  He came awake with a choke and a start, his eyes popped open wildly, and Alina was confronted with bloodshot brown eyes in a lean and scraggy face. An old scar ran alongside his nose, giving his face a mean twist, and his thin lips parted as he sucked in air. When he saw Viper standing over him, Billy started to sit up but never got the chance. Pressing the barrel of her gun to his temple, she pushed him back down, staring at him silently as his lips curled into a snarl. She liked him better snoring, she decided, as he swung his arm to knock the gun away. Blocking the blow easily, she cracked him on the temple with the handle of her pistol. His eyes rolled up into his head and Billy sank back down onto the bed, out cold.