Blowback (10 page)

“After I left Iraq, I looked for you everywhere. I don't mean I looked for you online, or tried to find out where you live…I mean, you said you'd come find me, and I trusted that you would. I expected to find you on my doorstep every time I came home. When I wasn't at home, I thought I saw you a hundred times. But it was never you. You ruined my whole year.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as her eyes drooped closed. “That's why you're a bastard.”

Her breathing changed almost immediately, and she was asleep faster than a cat. He didn't even get the opportunity to apologize, or explain, or revel in the fact that she'd been saving herself for him to show up. That he'd wasted a year. He imagined for a moment what that year could have looked like. Sharing a bed, a home, a life. His last thought was of him and Molly on a sofa, just watching television. So mundane.

So fucking amazing.

S
he woke as the light came in through the window they'd left uncovered. She smiled as she remembered the sex last night. He blew her mind. She visualized for a second that someone had been watching him go down on her. Heat pooled between her legs again. What was
wrong
with her?

They were in trouble unless something happened, but all she could think about was David and his talented tongue, dick, and fingers. If she were going to prison, she'd at least have a lot of great memories to pull from while serving time.

David turned over, grabbing her and spooning her from behind. She moved, allowing him to get comfortable, and then settled back against him. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and her whole body was held against his.

He released the tightness around her waist and twisted his arm slightly, just so that it brushed her nipples. They sprang to life almost immediately. Was he even awake? His breathing was deep and steady. He had to still be asleep. He rolled his arm against her nipples again, causing her to bite back a whimper. He said nothing, but gently moved his hand so he could stroke the top of her breast, all the way to her nipple and back again.

She was torn. Should she stay still and let him drive her crazy in his freaking sleep, or wake him up?

He gently touched her again, and she strained for more contact. Her breasts felt flushed, and she was almost tempted to touch them herself. He seemed to love watching that yesterday.

Instead his fingers trailed down her belly, caressing the slight curve of her. He must be asleep. His touch was so lazy, so gentle. So unlike him. She moved a tiny bit, so that if his sleeping self wanted to go further he could. How brazen was she being, anyway?

His fingers slid down the top of her thigh, gently making patterns that were driving her crazy. He shifted against her so that she was almost lying on her stomach, her upper leg now bent to stop her rolling completely on her front.
Please. Touch me.
She could feel her own wetness without even touching herself.

He stroked her ass cheek, over and over until she wanted to scream.

Just when she couldn't take any more, he dipped his fingers, so lightly, first lightly circling her ass, then the side of her thighs, back to her ass, so lightly touching that she wondered if she was imagining it.

But no. He trailed down her leg, and when he brought his fingers up again, they stroked her outer lips, before delving farther in with his return stroke. He hesitated and felt her wetness again. A groan rumbled through his body, but he did nothing except play in the wetness, making her crazy. Then he used three fingers to lubricate her clit. She was so excited she was going to come any fucking moment.

Just when she thought he was going to let her come, his fingers pressed back to her ass, pushing gently for admittance. But just when she thought this was going to take a whole other turn, he went back to her clit. Circling it first with his wet fingers, he then used two fingers to play. He rubbed directly on it first, then slightly to one side, which brought a whole new sensation pulsing through her body, then he just used one finger. Lightly playing over it, until she felt herself rocking against his hand, teetering on the precipice before tumbling over in a wave of pleasure, heat, and wantonness.

As her orgasm subsided, she turned. His eyes were fully open, not even sleepy looking. “You were awake this whole time?” she asked.

“You think I do this kind of thing in my sleep? Not too wise when I spent nearly all my formative years sleeping in dorms with other guys.”

She laughed. When he put it like that…

“Well you never know,” she said. “You might have got this.”

She sprang up, sliding on top of him, straddling his thighs and pressing her still-wet clitoris against his hard dick lying flat against his stomach. He jumped. But not as much as when she slid his whole dick inside her.

She sat up, and raised and lowered herself on him. He clamped his teeth together breathing in tightly. “Jesus.”

She slipped a pillow under his head so he could see better, because she wanted him to see her. She wanted to be sure that if he left her, then he would have a lot of memories to torture himself with.

She leaned right back so he could see his dick disappearing inside her. With one hand she braced herself, and with the other she reached behind her and squeezed his balls. He groaned, and pumped faster inside her, gaze firmly at the place they were joined. Just when she thought he was going to come, she sat up and touched the base of his dick as it was thrusting into her.

He gripped her thighs as he came, shuddering into her, eyes closed. She was never going to forget him, that was for sure.

He wrapped his arm around her and brought her head to his chest. His heart was still racing. They lay there for a while—long enough for Molly to wonder what he was thinking about. Long enough to remember what they were running from, what had happened last night.

“My God. Someone tried to kill us last night,” she said.

“But they didn't,” David said. “And we've definitely done enough here to prove to ourselves that we're still alive, don't you think?”

She could hear a smile in his voice, but his words injected a thread of certainty. This amazing sex was because they were in danger. That's all it was. Their lives were so different, there was no way they could make this work. And despite his best efforts, they were on the run in a foreign country with a few hundred euros to their names. He seemed fine, but she was starting to believe it was because he was calling on his training, and concentrating on the job at hand. She wasn't sure how reliable he'd be if he didn't have a mission on his mind. How…
steady
. She sighed at herself. She shouldn't be thinking about this. She should only be thinking about stopping the death and destruction that had dogged her since she set foot in Athens.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“You're going to tell me about that message you were trying to give Doubrov,” he said.

She tried to sit up, get off the bed or something, but he held her tight until she relaxed against him. “I was sworn to secrecy,” she said.

“Sweetheart. I think that ship has sailed. I need to know what you got into so I can help fix it, okay?” He said, his voice rumbling through his chest.

She raised her head and examined his face for something she could trust. He'd been with the military, so she could trust that part of him, but then he'd gone all rogue with the mercenaries. She knew nothing about the company he was with now, but she guessed she needed to trust him with that part of the nightmare, at least. If he let her down, then shame on him.

She took a deep breath. “After Iraq last year, Henrietta and I were debriefed by people in the State Department. Brandon was a low-level guy who took notes and brought tea and coffee. He was nice, serious…solicitous even. He made sure we knew when the different hearings were and made sure we were where we were supposed to be, when we were supposed to be.

“I heard nothing from him since, until he called me last week. He asked to meet me before I caught my flight to Athens. He asked me if I would do one thing to help my country. Of course I said yes.”

David's mind ran at a hundred miles an hour. Who recruited a civilian to do anything involving the Russian government? His instinct was to beat some sense into the nitwit.

“He gave me the two envelopes and told me to wait for a text to tell me which message to pass to Dr. Doubrov at that cocktail party. And the rest you know. Except I haven't been able to get in contact with him since the professor was shot.”

David got up and took the notes from his pants pocket. Brandon Peterson. BP. The fucking pen that had been used as an improvised trigger. BP? But why? Why send someone on an errand and then try to make sure the person she was supposed to deliver a message to was killed? The only reason would be an aborted mission. But then why not just call Molly and tell her to flush the notes?

One thing he knew. He wanted to talk to Peterson. He seemed to be the only guy with the answers.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him, placing a light hand on his shoulder.

He told her about the explosives that he and Mal had found, and the monogrammed empty pen casing that they'd found as part of the device. “I need to speak to Brandon Peterson. And I suspect that he's here in Athens.”

She tucked some hair behind her ear, and suddenly all he wanted was to stay and absorb all the tiny movements she made. The scratching of an itch on the side of her nose, the little sniff she made of her coffee before sipping it, pushing her hair off her face. All the little details that made a memory real. That gave it depth. He closed his eyes against the thought that he was collecting memories. Preparing never to see her again.

“What can I do?” she asked, wrapping a sheet around her. It was the first time she'd hidden herself from him. Could she tell he was thinking about being without her? About only having memories to keep him warm?

“You can tell me what he looks like.”

“I can do better than that if you give me five minutes.” She grabbed the notepad and pen the hotel staff had left by the phone and began to draw.

“You're an artist too?” He was starting to feel decidedly like a one-trick pony next to her.

She looked up from her sketch. “Not even close. But when you're an archaeologist you spend your rookie year sketching what people dig up. I had to go from stick-figures to dimensional perspective in a few short months.” She went back to the notepad and smiled as she drew. “Here.”

She'd drawn a distinctive looking man. Which made his job easier. He memorized the face. “What does he wear?” he asked.

“I've only seen him a few times, and each time he was in a well-tailored slim-fitting suit.” She closed her eyes as if to visualize him. “A battered brown leather briefcase, like an heirloom or something. It doesn't match his dark gray suits and white shirts and dark ties. But he always has it with him.”

He lay back on the bed and tried to formulate a plan. Not much of a plan, but he figured if he staked out the embassy, Peterson would show sooner or later.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and bit back a groan. His back was still sore, and frankly his joints weren't what they used to be. Sometimes he felt like an old man when he got up. All the training and all the explosions during the past fifteen years had taken an unnatural toll on his body. Nothing a run wouldn't fix…which would be fine if he were on vacation.

“Let's see what the news says.” He clicked the TV on, pressing the
VOLUME
button quickly so it wouldn't disturb the quiet ambiance between them in the small room. He looked back at her. Why couldn't they just be simple? A couple who'd met at a grocery store, or through friends, or, fuck, even online. Finding someone like Molly was like finding a unicorn in a boot camp latrine.

“Try CNN,” she said. “I was wondering if Victoria might be on. You know how they plug into an affiliate's news feed. Her channel is small, I think, but she's on site, so this might be a much bigger story than fracking.”

He found the CNN World station at the end of what seemed like an endless stream of Greek and other European game show channels. His heart sank a little when he realized that the car bomb was in fact obviously the most interesting thing that had happened that day in Europe.

“Turn it up. I can't hear.” Molly shuffled forward and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

He obliged.

“This terror attack has sent uneasy ripples through the international diplomatic community. The G20 meetings are supposed to be a major show of cooperation and solidarity, but this year, in Athens, tensions between Russia and the US seem to be escalating in an out-of-control way. Here's Alex Bernard from the scene of last night's car bomb attack. What do you know, Alex?”

“Well, Kathy, as you say, tensions are high here. We don't know much. The Greek authorities are keeping most of the information to themselves. What I will say is that Russian law enforcement have been invited to participate in these investigations.”

“Isn't that unusual, Alex?” the anchor in the US asked.

“Under normal circumstances it would be strange. But with Greece in debt to the European Union, and with Russia offering, unofficially, to cover their debt, the relationship between the two countries has never been closer. Which is causing uneasy undercurrents with the other EU countries represented here. Also, of course, it was the assassination of the Russian minister earlier this week that started this campaign of terror.”

Molly grabbed his hand and he stroked his thumb over hers. They kept flashing to footage of the exploded SUV.

“Thank you, Alex,” the anchor continued. “And with only just over two weeks to go until the world leaders descend on Athens for the leadership meetings, authorities are looking to wrap up this investigation quickly and bring the terrorists to justice.”

David turned the sound down a little. “I'm going to go out for a while, see if I can find Peterson. Will you stay in the hotel and wait for me? I think breakfast is served up on the eighth floor. But you should stay inside.”

“Sure, I can do that. Nothing like an excuse to lounge around, I guess.”

“Do you need anything?” he asked, as he went into the bathroom.

“Toothbrush and toothpaste. That's all I need, I think. I have my phone, money, and passport in my purse. The only thing I left in my case was my fancy dress and shoes, toiletries and workout gear.” She shrugged. “Hopefully I'll get them back at some stage?”

“I'm sure,” he lied as he bent to kiss the top of her head. “Take the battery out of your phone, so they can't trace you. I'll be back soon.”