Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(11)
He needed to put space between them. It was one thing to air their grievances about the past, it was another to hold her. Touch her. He was a special kind of fucked up, and she needed to be far away from him.
Rand cleared his throat and let go. “If you’re done eating, we should hit the road.” He checked the time. “I’d like to use the afternoon rush to make it across the city.”
“Good thing I didn’t take my shoes off, I guess.” She let go with him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Ready when you are.”
Her lips were full, slightly red, like she wore some sort of lip balm or something. Would she taste sweet? What did adult Sarah sound like when she kissed? He’d never forgotten catching her with a boyfriend under the bleachers, or the moan that’d nearly had him breaking the other kid’s nose.
“Great.” Rand stood and strode across the apartment. He shoved a few things in his bag and slung it over his shoulders. “I’ll go first. I want you to stay twenty yards or so behind me.”
The faster they reached the safe house, the sooner he could set up the meet across the border. Then he could get Sarah out. Home. Fuck the briefcase, and fuck her going back to China. He’d take her home and sit on her if he had to.
Someone had betrayed her. Twice. And he was going to do everything in his power to make her safe.
Chapter Three
“What did they find?” Kim Young-sik didn’t look up from the tablet.
“Pharmacy was broken into, cameras disabled, power cut. The blood at the scene is useless.”
“They were there.” Young-sik laid the tablet down. The signal was dead now. They’d have to find the girl the old-fashioned way.
“Sir?”
Young-sik glanced at the younger man. What else could go wrong?
“Intelligence says Zhang Wei just arrived.”
Young-sik pushed to his feet. This was bad. Very bad.
It only made sense that the Chinese would want the girl, too. He’d hoped they would hesitate making a grab for her now. That he might be able to snag her first. But he’d known that was a useless desire.
Wei was bad news.
“We need more people on the trail. Get everyone we can on the street. Someone must have seen the Americans. We will find them.”
…
Zhang Wei strolled down the busy thoroughfare of the Seoul airport. Two hours of nothing but exploring terminals and restaurants, and not once did it appear as though he were being followed.
It was time to get out of this hellhole.
He sidestepped the foot traffic and found an out of the way spot to pause. By appearances, he was just another businessman in for a meeting. Appearances worked in his favor here. He checked his phone, accessing the tracking app, and zoomed in on the signal.
No movement, just like his source had promised.
Wei changed his course and hopped a train to the next terminal, which put him within twenty yards of the signal, at best guess. Rows of luggage lockers sat back against the wall. Wei walked past them, studying the people closest.
His source was a mole. A rat. The scum of the earth. He wouldn’t trust the person to tell him the whole truth. It couldn’t be this simple, not with the CIA. However, it did not appear as though there was anyone on hand.
He zoomed in more, narrowing it down to a small block of lockers, and strolled toward the signal.
The keys were in all but two lockers.
Wei pocketed the phone and pulled out a small lock pick gun. He turned his back to the foot traffic and slid it in the first locked compartment. The tumblers moved, shifting with the device until the door swung open. A purse, a jacket, a duffel bag—but no briefcase.
He tossed a few coins in the locker and secured it. The internal mechanism released the lock pick.
The second one, then. He took a knee and again inserted the lock pick, holding his breath.
They could only speculate at the secrets the briefcase contained. Supposedly, he could learn the names and locations of spies within China’s borders, as well as traitors in their own ranks.
The lock gave way and the door swung open.
The silver briefcase was nothing extraordinary. The sides were dented, the metal scratched. There wasn’t even a logo. It was completely nondescript.
He used the last of his coins to retrieve the lock pick.
They had one up on the Americans. They’d never know what hit them.
…
Sarah stood in the dim basement apartment, listening to the silence. It was quiet enough she could almost hear her own heartbeat.
Judging by the dust on…everything, she doubted this was where Rand lived. It was another hideout. And this was where he’d left her while he went out to “procure supplies.” Whatever that meant.
Her arm hurt, her stomach was empty yet again, and she smelled. Like days-old sweat, dried blood, and rotting God-only-knew-what on her feet kind of smell.
She checked the door one more time and toed off her shoes, leaving them in a cubby near the entrance. If she couldn’t make contact with her handler, Irene, the only thing left to do while she waited for Rand was to shower.
She had problems to figure out, and a shower always helped her think.
Sarah closed herself in the small bathroom and stripped out of her clothing. As far as she was concerned, it was ruined. Besides, trying to pass through customs with bloodstains on her shirt would draw the wrong kind of attention. She peeled off the bandage, grimacing at the ugly wound. No wonder she’d passed out from the pain. The thing would need stitches, and she was not looking forward to that.