Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(30)
“No. You don’t speak Mandarin.” She leaned her head back against the headrest, not quite at peace with her decision. He was right, though. She could hide all she wanted, do nothing, and still become a target. At least this way, she was fighting back.
“Ideally, we’ll be holed up in a surveillance suite listening to them, and if we’re lucky, find out where the case is. Hopefully we hear what we need to that way. But if we need to actively follow them, we can claim we’re lovers having a whirlwind weekend together before you go back to work. You’re a D.C. local, so it shouldn’t be a surprise if you run into anyone you know.”
It sounded as solid as a thrown-together plan could be. If Rand didn’t have another option for understanding the Chinese delegation, it made sense why she needed to be there. She didn’t have to like it, though.
She’d trusted him, and he’d been there for her, but she couldn’t allow herself to fall into blindly following after him again. Yes, he was her Rand. Yes, things between them were complicated. And, yes, she’d work with him. But history was reminding her that when it came to him, she had to be careful how much of her heart she entrusted to his care.
…
Zhang Wei picked up the silver briefcase from the final TSA screening booth and exited customs. The Dulles International Airport was a hub of activity first thing in the morning. Wei proceeded to the baggage check, snagged his single piece of luggage, and hailed a cab at the curb. There was a tight timetable to keep, and he wouldn’t be the one that let everyone down.
Americans had no pride. No sense of loyalty. The informant proved that.
Wei hated this whole circus. From beginning to end, it was a disgrace to those participating and those pulled into the quagmire. He had to agree—it was worth wading through muck to identify those responsible for it in the first place.
Forty-five minutes later, Wei got out of the cab at one of the dozen or so coffee shops and paid the driver. He checked the time.
Five minutes to spare.
He was cutting this far too close. Then again, loitering too long and risking getting caught with government secrets wasn’t an option, either.
At precisely sixty seconds to the appointed time, he entered the coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino to go. He turned, surveying the people waiting for a drink, sitting at tables or in line to order.
One of them was the informant. Could he pick out which one?
The cluster of young women nearest the counter were out. They were too buried in their phones to notice life happening around them. The businessman at the check counter was too arrogant to realize the world didn’t march according to his plan. A petite black woman waiting to order was tense. The dirt on her shoes and the ill-fitting suit placed her at a lower income bracket than the diamond necklace around her throat. But the man in front of her…he had a cold, calculating manner and a shrewd eye.
Wei picked up his drink and casually perused his phone.
He wasn’t actually supposed to speak to the informant. He didn’t even know the gender or identity of the person, just that they wanted proof Wei had the briefcase before continuing.
The alarm vibrated his phone.
Time to go.
He picked up the briefcase and his drink, and rolled the suitcase after him out onto the street.
One way or another, they were going to get the names of the traitors selling Chinese secrets. The informant could sell them, or Wei could extract them with some of his favorite methods. It was all up to them, but Wei knew which way he’d choose.
He hailed a cab and settled in for the ride, the briefcase of secrets in his lap. Soon, very soon, he’d have a new list to whittle away at. He almost hoped it was a long one, so he could make them all pay.
…
Rand held the door for Sarah. She rolled her suitcase into the suite and stopped on the marble entry.
“They really spared no expense on this.” She stepped forward, her hips swaying left and right.
“Probably someone’s hotel points.” He followed her in, his gaze snagging on the bed covered in rose petals. A bucket of ice held a bottle of wine at the foot of the bed. “I could get used to digs like this. Usually I’m lucky if I get a toilet.”
“You and me both.” Sarah collapsed onto one of the high-backed chairs flanking a polished wooden table. There were dark circles under her eyes and her lids drooped. A lot of that was his fault.
She was right; he should have listened to her. Stopped assuming and listened. But when it came to Sarah…she made him all sorts of crazy. And then there was the guilt. Eight years, and it might as well have been yesterday for all the difference it made.
He paced to the window and stared out over the main street in front of their swanky hotel.
Seeing her again totally blindsided him. For years he’d shoved the past deep down. He didn’t go there. But he couldn’t look at Sarah. Guilt and desire warred against each other.
She didn’t look much like her brother, until she smiled. They had the same devil-may-care grin. The one that always meant they were going to get in trouble—and it would be awesome. How many times had his ass gotten grounded because Matt had said those magical words, Hey, I’ve got an idea…
And then there was Sarah.
Sarah cared about people. She’d always had this big, amazing heart that pulled people into her orbit and kept them close. What she’d accomplished—and was still doing—was impressive. She was doing a hell of a lot more good than he’d ever managed to do.