The attacker had said he was the new game in town, but Mitch believed this would ultimately end at Schaeffer. Just because the man was lying in a military hospital in Washington, DC, in a coma didn’t mean he hadn’t put this plan into action before his accident.
After retrieving directions from his phone for the storage unit, Mitch set a safe and sane pace through the mostly sleeping neighborhood to avoid notice.
He was completely off balance now and needed a million answers to as many questions. Stopping at the red light marking the intersection of the main road, he rubbed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath to get himself back on track.
His lungs filled with . . . Halina—a unique musky sweetness beneath the gentle scent of perfume. One Mitch had given her so long ago. The very first perfume she’d ever owned.
Why that memory hit him like a fist in the solar plexus, he didn’t know. But the gentle floral scent of jasmine and roses, laced with a hint of leather, ambushed him. His nostrils flared. Fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Gut squeezed a hot line toward his groin.
The realization of how easily he reacted to her clashed with the memory of how quickly she’d taken him down at the hotel and then run, whipping up anger. “Why did he call you Beloi?”
“Because it’s my name.”
“Which name? You went by Sintrovsky when I met you. Same name as your ambassador husband, who you originally claimed as your cousin. Schaeffer referred to you as Dubrovsky. You go by Raiden now.” He slanted her a glance and found her eyes open, but distant. “Interesting choice, by the way. Now, this guy is calling you Beloi. How many freaking names do you have? You’ve probably got a split personality to match every one.”
She rubbed her forehead near the injury and winced. “You’re not helping this headache.”
“Why did you tell that guy to let me and the dog go?”
Halina let out a long, heavy sigh. “I was hoping you’d run so he’d have a reason to shoot you.”
His gaze shot to her face again. The little curve of her lips spiked his irritation. “Halina.”
“What happened to your sense of humor?”
“What research was that guy talking about?”
“So many damn questions,” she said. “Do you not see the blood gushing from my head?”
“You’re not even bleeding anymore.”
“Do I need blood pooling beneath my body before you take pity?”
“You may be in that exact situation if we don’t figure out their next move before they make it. What research?”
“The genetic research I was doing at DARPA before I left.” She snapped the words, her voice harsh, nudging Mitch’s temper.
“Why did you tell that guy you’d get the research from the house if it’s not there?”
“Because I could fight him easier inside. And I knew Dex would be out of danger that way.”
Mitch jerked his head back in surprise. “Dex?”
She rubbed her face against the dog’s fur. It reminded Mitch of the way she used to cuddle deep into her pillow. The way he used to watch her sleep, study the beautiful lines of her face, the curves of her lips, the texture of her skin, the contrast of her dark lashes on blushed cheekbones. All the time thinking what a lucky bastard he was.
Now all he could think of was what a damn fool he’d been.
“Mitch, this is Dex,” Halina said. “Dex, Mitch.”
The dog looked at Mitch as if he understood Halina’s words and whined.
The light flipped green and Mitch turned onto the main road headed toward the freeway. “Dex is a dog?”
“What did you think . . . ?” Her voice trailed off, followed by a soft, throaty laugh that drifted over his body like a touch. “Oh, okay, that’s funny. You thought he was a boyfriend, didn’t you? You must be letting your paralegals do your research again.”
No, worse. A freaking clairaudient, who wasn’t exactly wrong—Halina obviously cared deeply for Dex—but who’d led Mitch in a totally different direction. He couldn’t fault Keira, really. This situation hardly met optimum conditions, and according to Keira, Halina was the worst possible subject—totally shut down and blocking Keira’s ability to hear.
Two cops and an ambulance passed, headed the opposite direction, all lights and sirens.
“What I’m sure your paralegals didn’t tell you,” Halina said, “since they couldn’t even get his species right, and what you might have already figured out, is that Dex is not just a dog. Dex is an attack-trained German shepherd from a line of champions.”
“Oh. Excuse me.” He looked out the side window, feeling as competent as an armadillo. “A damn dog . . .”
Sonofabitch. He’d spent weeks turning himself inside out with jealousy—which in itself was completely irrational—because of a freaking dog. Mitch sighed, propped his elbow on the windowsill, and rubbed his forehead.
“Where’s the research?” he nearly yelled.
“I don’t have it. I destroyed it. I decided when they did come for me, if I couldn’t get away, having to re-create it would give me time to escape or make a deal.”
The utter chaos of this situation, the way every element spun out of his control, only made his fury mount.
“Where the hell is your husband?” Mitch would have smacked himself in the head for even mentioning the guy if Halina hadn’t been in the car. “You remember, the guy you left me for?”
“I’m not going there with you.”
Focus. Focus. He ground his teeth to hold his temper. That’s not what matters now.
“Not going there with me? Too late, sweetheart. You went there with me more times than I can count for nearly a damn year while you were married to him.”
Halina sat up, her glare like a laser. “Don’t be a bastard, Mitch.”
Way too late for that. “Did you dump him too? Or are you two on another hiatus? Planning on giving your marriage another go once you’ve got some other pathetic idiot snagged? Just FYI, baby, it ain’t gonna be me this time.”
She sighed, the sound heavy with disgust, looked away, and shook her head.
Doesn’t matter anymore. Was a long time ago. Been over it for years.
“Look, Halina, you may not want to deal with me, but that’s too damn bad. And guys like the one you jammed back there are following higher orders. He may have said he was on his own, but in my experience, Schaeffer doesn’t play that game. And whoever he was, whoever’s in this with him—because we both know it’s too big for one person—they won’t quit.
“And the guy was wrong about me coming to find you only after Rostov and Gorin were dead. It wasn’t until Gorin was dead that I discovered a promotional video of you with Schaeffer, Rostov, and Gorin, while I was collecting evidence against Schaeffer. It was taken right after you arrived in the U.S. and started working for the DoD. That’s how I discovered the beginning of your lies. Until then I had no reason not to believe everything you’d told me all those years ago. But since you’ve got so many identities, and because the history of those identities has been so carefully covered, I can’t get any answers. So here I am.”
When she didn’t reply, Mitch cut a glance toward her. She had a strange, distant, distracted look in her eyes.
“Evidence?” she said, her voice soft as if she were thinking of something else and only now coming back to the conversation. “What kind of evidence? Can you convict him of anything?”
“Sure I can,” he said. “Just enough to really piss him off. Just enough to complicate his life enough to send an assassin squad against the team and me. Not enough to shut him up. Not enough to shut him down. Shitty, pissant stuff—campaign fraud, bribery, misuse of public funds, all on a minor level that he’d get a slap on the hand and community service for. At worst, a few years at Club Fed,” he said, using the universal term lawyers and law enforcement used for federal prison.