Claimed by the Secret Agent (11 page)

“And the money is for arms, right?”

Shapur nodded. “Hezbollah.”

“They want a bigger foothold on the West Bank, Gaza Strip. You know we can’t allow him to fund that, Shapur,” Grant said. “Not even to save your daughter.”

“I’m sorry about your child,” Marie murmured, laying her hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Who is a grown woman, at least thirty-or forty-something,” Grant declared. “The shah was ousted in seventy-nine, Marie. This man is responsible for the death of at least one American woman who was a lot younger than his daughter.”

“No! Not murder!” Shapur’s shout ended in a gurgle as blood flowed from his mouth. “And not Claude. The other…”

“His name?” Grant prompted.

“De Lange. Jarig De Lange,” Shapur gasped.

“Dutch like Onders? You hired them here?”

Shapur coughed, fought for breath and lost the battle.

Marie’s fingertips pressed the doctor’s carotid. “He’s gone.” She sat flat on the ground and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

Grant laid his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze of comfort. “Don’t waste your grief on him. He wasn’t worth it. He sent Onders and De Lange after us to kill us. And he set off that explosion to get rid of them when he thought they had come back. Look how he’s dressed.”

Shapur had changed clothes. He wore slacks, a shirt, jacket and dress shoes. Grant searched the body and found keys along with a wallet full of Euros and a passport. He handed those to Marie and kept the key ring.
“When the cops get here, do not turn those items over to anyone,” he warned.

“He was leaving,” Marie said, staring at the passport. “There must be another vehicle in one of the outbuildings.”

“He’d have made it, too, if that sliver of board from the explosion hadn’t impaled him.” Grant had the keys clutched tightly, feeling the energy trapped in them. “He was going to kill this Bahktar he mentioned.” He began searching the garden around them for a travel bag.

“There it is,” he muttered, hurrying over to a small weekend bag. He flipped it open and found nothing but a change of clothes and toiletries.

No weapon apparent, but the doctor would use something subtle and easily concealed like drugs or poison. Grant clutched the shaving kit and could feel further determination, hatred and absolute conviction that it could be done.
Shapur’s energy, captured in the planning phase of a killing.
He would probably get more from the wallet if he had the time, but this would get them started.

“He planned to off this Mamud Bahktar when he met him in Paris. With Onders and De Lange out of the way and Bahktar dead, all his problems would go away. He could keep the money he’d amassed from the ransoms, and no one would have been the wiser.”

Marie looked up from the body. “He was trying to save his daughter’s life, Grant. Wouldn’t you have done almost anything if you were him?”

“Maybe,” Grant admitted with a shrug. “Yeah, probably. But greed played a part. He planned to keep the money.”

“Maybe he would have used it to get his daughter out
of Iran. I hate that he died.” She shifted position, moving as if she were suddenly weary of everything. “Even if he was as evil as Satan, he was our best hope of finding Cynthia Rivers.”

“We’re not giving up,” Grant stated, tossing the keys up and catching them in his fist. “Let’s go look for her. She must be here somewhere.”

He heard the singsong of sirens. “Here comes the cavalry. I guess we’ll be tied up for a while answering questions, but at least we’ll have plenty of help looking for Cynthia.”

“Then what?” Marie asked. “We aren’t done, are we?”

Grant slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Do you want to be?”

“No,” she said with a sigh, relaxing against him and then easing out of his grasp. “What I want to do is find our victim and then go to Paris after that terrorist. What did you get from handling Shapur’s things?”

“Enough.” Grant smiled. She was acting skittish, but that few seconds hesitation before she had pulled away told him she’d had to think about doing it. It hadn’t been an automatic withdrawal. She needed him but didn’t want to seem weak. Or too easily had. Maybe she was stronger in a lot of ways than he was.

“Y
ou ever been to Paris?” Grant asked Marie, hoping to lighten the situation and give her a chance to regroup before the cops got there. The last couple of hours had been pretty intense.

“No. Have you?”

“First trip. You’ll have to memo another map.”

“Not a problem,” she said, sounding distracted. “But first we have to help find Cynthia.”

She stood and turned as the sirens grew loud. The police cars and an ambulance were rolling up the drive from the main road with lights flashing.

The interrogations were lengthy and tedious, first taking place on-site and then again at the police station. The search, delayed by the necessity of removing rub
ble, lasted well into the next afternoon. And not a trace of Cynthia Rivers was anywhere to be found, either inside the clinic or on the estate.

To further complicate matters, Grant and Marie were ordered not to leave Gouda until the investigation was complete. The authorities were keeping the incident out of the papers, but it was only a matter of time before it broke.

“When this hits the airwaves, Bahktar will disappear while we hang around here doing nothing,” Marie said when they were back in their hotel room.

“You still have the wallet and passport?”

She reached inside her jacket pocket and handed them over. There had been no moment of privacy to examine them once the police had arrived.

Grant carefully removed and studied every paper enclosed in the wallet. “Pay dirt!” he whispered as he grinned at Marie and handed her a slip of paper with a seven-digit number and an abbreviation. The partial name of a bank and a numbered account.

Grant whipped out his phone. “Bahktar can’t get his ransom money without the number of the account that Shapur put it in. And we have that.”

“What sort of feeling do you get about this Bahktar guy?” She glanced at the wallet. “From handling that.”

“Nothing more than Shapur told us. He was straight about that.” Grant felt a further connection to Marie now. She was fully on board with the trust thing, at least when it came to business matters. Personal trust would come soon if he could make himself be patient.

He reached over and kissed her on the cheek as he
waited for Mercier to answer his call. She didn’t seem to mind, even giving him a little half smile that almost showed dimples. But the reticence was still there.

“Tyndal?” Mercier snapped out his name first thing, probably wondering why he’d gotten only the basic, readily obtainable facts pertaining to the incident. He’d be wanting impressions, whatever details weren’t supported by the available evidence, Marie’s actions and reactions. And definitely Grant’s next plan of action. The locals had been ever present and had kept Grant too busy to give a full report.

“Hi, boss,” Grant said. “You want to get us permission to leave Holland or wait a few days and ask forgiveness? We’re about to defy the powers that be.”

“What else is new?” Mercier asked.

“Hey, I’ve been as cooperative as I could be under the circumstances. Right by the rule book. Your book, anyway.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mercier said, impatience obvious. “I mean, literally, what else is
new?
”

“Oh, well, we’re off to Paris. Driving. I have the account number, and there’s an Iranian there waiting to get the funds. Name’s Mamud Bahktar. Look him up, please, all sources, and give us whatever you find before we set up a meeting. It’s a real long shot, but I’m hoping Shapur mentioned to him where the girl was being held. Because of that, we’ll go in soft and see what we can get before we nail him.”

“I’ll get everybody on it right away and see what we can find. Stay at the safe house.” He gave an address. “Anything else you need?”

“I need phone records for the clinic if you could get those. I think the doctor only had the landline, since Onders phoned to one when he called Shapur from Amsterdam, but check for a cell. Bahktar’s number would be helpful. His is almost surely a cell. Also we need an empath to help find Rivers.”

“Vinland’s already on his way to Amsterdam. He’s the best we’ve got. How’s our new prospect working out?”

“Marie? She’s been a godsend. Sharp as a tack. Perfect choice for the team.”

“Why am I sensing a decided lack of objectivity, Tyndal? That’s pretty flowery praise coming from a man who prefers to work alone. You’re not—”

“Shutting her out? Tried that, but she wouldn’t let me. She’s very involved in the case, sir. Huge help. Give us a buzz when you get that info on Bahktar. Thanks.” Grant clicked off before Mercier could ask anything else.

There were probably rules somewhere in Mercier’s book about intimate fraternization among the troops, especially highly prized, would-be troops. Couldn’t be helped in this case.

Grant wanted a solid commitment from Marie before they hit the States. Then, if it came down to the job or the relationship, Grant figured he would find something else to do. His priorities were pretty much set in concrete at this point, and she was right up there at the top.

“Thanks for the buildup,” she said. “You really want me to go for it, don’t you?”

“Perfect for you, just like I said, and the pay’s a lot better.”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head, looking
at him through those long, gold-tipped lashes. “And the benefits?”

“Definitely better,” he said with a wink.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “We’ll see about that.”

Maybe she was coming around. If she were averse to continuing what they had started, she would have said so, wouldn’t she?

“We’ll have to keep it platonic, the way we first planned. The way you promised,” she said as she began to pack her things in her bag.

“Hey, wait a minute…”

“I know, I know. I was the instigator, but it was a mistake. We both know that.”

Well, damn. Grant hid his frustration as well as he could. “If you say so. Personally, I don’t see it that way and I don’t regret it at all.”

“I guess that’s your stab at a compliment,” she replied, “so I’ll take it as one.”

“You are pretty fantastic, just so you know.”

“Drop it. We don’t have time for this,” she snapped.

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

He didn’t need to remind her that she was the one who initiated things and released him from his promise. She had just taken full responsibility for that, even though he certainly hadn’t discouraged her in any way. He should accept half the blame for it at least, but he had a feeling that would be the wrong thing to say at this point.

Marie
did
want him; he knew that. But she didn’t want to want him. She surely wouldn’t want to love him or hear again that he loved her. It was just too soon.

The woman had some heavy baggage to unload. Maybe he did, too. It seemed to him he was having to constantly reevaluate where they were going and how they were going to get there. Or if they were.

Their physical destination was a given, though, and it was time they got on the road to Paris.

As for their emotional direction, he had no available map. Unless Marie had a map of her own in that amazing brain of hers and was just leading him on a merry chase for the hell of it, they were both wandering around in the dark.

“We should have flown,” Marie grumbled. Road trips were not her favorite thing, especially at night, when she couldn’t see any sights, and when somebody else was behind the wheel and in complete charge of the excursion.

“Lighten up,” Grant said. “It’s not a long way. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

The last border crossing from Belgium into France had been a test of patience. They had encountered two new guards who were obviously out to justify their jobs. She’d been afraid the Dutch police would have issued an All Points Bulletin on them already.

With Pieter’s help, they had sneaked out the back exit of the hotel and borrowed his car, a vintage Passat that reminded her of the old Volvo Grant had driven to Holland.

“Trust me, we’ll probably save time going by car if you count the wait at the airports, time spent renting a car and everything,” Grant said. “Less than three hundred klicks to go now. What’s the matter? Don’t you like Pieter’s car?”

She groaned. “You have a real thing for antiques, don’t you?”

“It’s only twelve years old,” he stated. “I get that you like sporty and small, but this one’s solid. Heavy and well balanced.” He bumped the heel of his hand on the steering wheel.

“Clunky and ugly,” she declared. “Just like that thing you rented in Germany.”

“Sorry, this is the only vehicle we could take that wouldn’t be missed by the cops and Pieter was still eager to help. Vicarious thrill for him, I guess.”

“Pity he didn’t have a Porsche.”

“You’ll get your little ‘roller skate’ back soon, don’t worry. You can have it shipped home and wow all your friends.”

“Assuming I go back to the States.”

He didn’t reply. Marie supposed he was giving her space to make up her own mind about COMPASS. Nothing he’d said since mentioning the
benefits
had anything to do with persuading her.

She found herself wanting to go, maybe see him often and see what developed. Ha. Developments so far had done nothing but shake up all her preconceptions and addle her already wobbly composure. She had blown her cover where he was concerned. He knew her all too well, and that made her wary.

“I’m not good being myself,” she muttered, shocked that she’d actually said it out loud.

“That must have been hard to admit. Have I met the real you yet?” He smiled over at her; she returned the smile in spite of herself.

She liked him so much. Too much. What a problem to have. “What you see is what you get, I guess. I’m too exhausted to role-play.”

“Then I like who I see. Unpretentious, comfortable with casual, honest and open. Smart. Yeah, I noticed that.” He cocked his head to one side. Was he baring his jugular, daring her to strike? “You don’t pretend much with me anymore, do you?”

“Not much. You did take me for a victim at first. I played that up and let you. But I’m not, and I hope you know that now.”

“You made it pretty clear,” he agreed with a nod. “How about when we went to the consulate about Rivers? That a role?”

“Docile agent. That’s my biggest stretch.”

“Worked well,” he said. “So what about when we…?”

Marie couldn’t lie. “All me, unfortunately.”

“No pretense at all?” he insisted.

“I had checked my brain at the front door—what can I say?”

Grant laughed. “You sure hate losing control, don’t you?”

“Hey, I
was
in control! Maybe I wasn’t thinking too straight, but I was—”

“Physically on top of the situation,” he finished for her. “Guess I’m not macho enough to mind that. Kind of loved it, if you want the truth.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned down at her knees. “Don’t talk about it.”

“Why not? Does it make you nervous? Don’t tell me you’re a prude!”

“It sounds as if you’re discussing what we had for lunch or something.”

“Did it mean more to you than that? It did to me,” he confessed. “I’m not making light of it, but it did happen and I’m not about to forget it.”

“And let me guess, you’d like for it to happen again,” she said with a mirthless laugh.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. Don’t back me into a corner, Tyndal.”

He fanned his fingers above the steering wheel. “Sorry. I said anything you want and I meant that. You know you can trust me.”

Could she? Marie wondered. He had proved trustworthy so far. She could actually sleep in the same room with him without keeping one eye open. He had saved her life at the clinic. Why not admit how secure he made her feel, even though she knew she could take care of herself?

“What is it that bothers you about me?” he asked. When she merely shot him a quelling look, he insisted. “Really, I’m interested to know, and I’ll change it if I can.”

“You hover,” she said honestly. “It gives me the feeling that you think I’m incompetent.”

His brow furrowed while he digested that.

“I’m not a china doll that chips or breaks at the least little stress, Grant. You need to give me some credit. And telling your boss how great I am doesn’t count. For all I know, you just want me to get the job so it will be convenient for us to hook up occasionally.”

“Oh,” he said finally. That shut him up, which she thought had been her intention. Oddly though, she felt
disappointed that he didn’t protest and try to talk his way around the accusation. Was it true?

They rode in silence for a good ten minutes before he cleared his throat and shifted a little in his seat. Marie readied herself for the argument to come.

“I’d kill for a cup of coffee. Want to stop?”

She had to realign her thoughts and it took a second. “All right.”

“Then you can drive the rest of the way. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than drive in Paris.”

“I thought you’d never been there.”

“I haven’t, but I’ve heard horror tales from everyone who has. You handle it.”

“Oh, great, a sop to my ego. Just what I wanted.”

“You’re a hard woman to please,” he said with a grin. “I guess I need more practice.”

Marie wondered how long he would keep trying. He would never really change. No matter what he said, he’d never see her any other way than as the weak little woman who needed a big strong man to stand guard and fight all her battles. She had given him that false first impression on purpose, but he should have seen past that by now.

Unless he saw
all
women that way.