Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"I was. I will be."

"So I couldn't hate you…" She had a sudden thought. "Did I say anything that we can use?" "Yes, a couple things."

"Then it wasn't for nothing."

"No. I'd cut my throat if I thought it was." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Go to sleep."

She was already dozing off. "I'm sorry about your friend, Karif. I didn't tell you, did I?" she whispered. "I know how it is to lose-"

"I know you do. Go to sleep."

"I just wanted to tell you…"

EMILY'S BREATHING WAS DEEP and steady, and she was curled against him like a little girl with a teddy bear.

Only he wasn't a teddy bear, and Garrett had spent the last hour making her go through hell. It was no wonder that she had practically fallen unconscious when it was over.

You were part of it. Part of me.

She was right, he had been there. With every word she spoke, he had been drawn deeper into the ugly morass she had undergone. He had felt her fear and her rage and helplessness.

And her hatred for Staunton.

Only now it was his hatred.

GARRETT WAS STILL IN THE bed beside her when Emily woke up the next morning. He was lying on his back, his arm beneath his head, staring absently at the wall across the room.

He glanced sideways at her as she stirred. "Awake?" He rolled over on his side and looked down at her. "Are you okay?"

She had been a moment ago, but she was suddenly uncertain. He was too close. Dark eyes gazing down at her, the sensual curve of his lips, the high cheekbones that made her want to reach out and touch.

What was wrong with her? She felt as if she couldn't breathe. She could feel the warmth of his body, and her own body was tingling. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

"Oh, yes," he said softly. His eyes were narrowed on her face. "You're more than okay." He reached out and lightly touched the hol¬low of her throat with his fingers.

She felt her pulse leap beneath his touch. "I'm… fine."

He stared down at her for an instant. Then he took his hand away and glanced away from her. "Good. It's time we got moving. We have a plane to catch." He sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor. "We may not have time for breakfast here. We'll catch something at the airport."

His briskness robbed the moment of any hint of the former inti¬macy, she realized, with a bewildering mixture of relief and disappoint¬ment. "You said I had to be as incognito as I was able to be. Getting on a plane and flashing ID is hardly in line with that."

"It is, if the ID is right," he said. "I had Dardon working on getting you a phony passport from the day I took you to Irana. When all hell broke loose, I grabbed it before I went to get you. You're Sandra Mar¬tinez. The picture in it vaguely resembles you but the hair is dark, and so is the complexion. Pull your hair back from your face in a knot. We'll stop on the way to the airport at a theatrical supply stote and pick up a dark wig and makeup."

"Did you have to get a phony passport, too?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I have a few I keep on hand." He headed for the door. "Even though I'm retired, old habits die hard."

"Garrett."

He stopped to look back at her.

She moistened her lips. "Thank you," she said awkwardly. "I would have been all right. You didn't have to stay with me last night."

"Yes, I did." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "I'd like to say it was my pleasure, but it wasn't. I'm not used to sleeping with women without the usual sexual gratification. It's damn hard for me." He chuckled.

"Literally." Then his smile faded. "But it was worth it. I needed to do something positive, to give you something, to make up for last night. So I watched over you and kept the monsters at bay. I didn't slay the dragon, but that will come." He opened the door. "Can you be ready in forty minutes?" "Yes."

"I'll see you then."

She got out of bed as soon as the door closed behind him. She had thought that she would feel nervous and distraught after last night, but it wasn't happening. The memories had been agonizingly painful, but she had gotten through them and survived. They had gotten through them, and she felt stronger for it. She had been telling the truth when she had told Garrett that she had felt as if he had become part of her. It had been strange. First he'd been like a hovering shadow, then closer to her, then merging. Strange and… comforting.

Comforting wasn't a word that usually applied to Garrett. He was smart, sophisticated, dangerous, and complex. Yet there had been mo¬ments when she had felt safer with him than with anyone she had ever known.

And there were moments like the one when she had first opened her eyes this morning and felt as unsure and wide-eyed as she had been as a young girl. Well, she would have to accept both sides of her feelings for Garrett until she could come to terms with them.

She shrugged and moved toward the bathroom. All this soul-searching about Garrett wasn't doing her any good. It wasn't how she felt about him that was important. It was how he could help her find and kill Staunton.

And the man who hired that son of a bitch. She still had trouble focusing on anyone but Staunton. She needed a name, a face.

But she had another name now. Nicholas Zelov. The descendant of the man who had manipulated Rasputin and the royal family. Nicholas Zelov, who had visited Moscow only five months ago.

Nicholas Zelov, the man who might lead them to Staunton.

"VERY EXOTIC," GARRETT SAID, tilting his head to look at her as she came out of the theatrical supply house. "Amazing what a change of hair color can do."

Emily shook her head as she touched the short dark wig. "I don't think I look that much different."

"Enough. Dark complexion, dark hair, different style. Most people don't probe or analyze. They accept what's on the surface." He opened the door of the waiting cab for her. "It's the best we can do without getting a full disguise job. That would be uncomfortable as hell for you." He got into the cab. "Believe me."

"Have you ever had to use a disguise?" she asked curiously.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate. "It should do. I just wish we could avoid commercial transportation entirely. But there's not time to make other arrangements."

"I haven't been back to the U.S. for a long time. Is security that tight?"

"Tight enough, but I'm not worried about U.S. security. We have to make a stop first."

She looked at him in surprise. "What stop?" "Kabul."

She stiffened. "We're going back to Afghanistan?" He nodded. "There's something we have to follow up there before we go to New York. I need to talk to someone in Kabul." "Who?"

"Aman Nemid. You said that was the name of the government of¬ficial who diverted you from your assigned mission when you got to Afghanistan. He arranged for you to go up to the mountains and clear that museum. Is that right?"

She nodded. "He used to live in that area and had a special interest."

"I'm curious to know just how special. I want to talk to him."

"You think he may be involved in that raid on our team?"

"Maybe. I'm suspicious of anything out of the ordinary when it has extraordinary results."

"He's on the National Council, and evidently the U.N. respects him, or they wouldn't have given in to his request. He may not be involved."

"Good. We'll just ask a few questions."

"You do believe Nemid set up the trap with Staunton?"

"Or maybe he had his own agenda and sent you up there to bring him back the bacon with no risk to himself, if he knew that there were other parties interested in the contents of that museum."

Emily shook her head. "I can't believe he would have sent our team if he knew what was waiting for us."

He shrugged. "It's something we have to explore. Zelov can wait for a day or two." He grimaced. "As I said, I just wish we didn't have to go into Kabul's airport. That's Ferguson's territory, which makes it a double whammy. I'm calling Dardon and telling him to find a way to get us out of there, but I want to move now."