Ironclad Cover. Dana Marton

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      They passed kitchen staff huddled in groups some in the cover of refrigerators, others squatting behind the counter.

      “Is there a shooter in the restaurant?” one of the cooks, a lanky Chinese man, asked, gripping his white apron with one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. At first glance he seemed prepared to protect the staff, but when Anita looked closer, his darting eyes said he was ready to run.

      “Outside,” Brant said. “Stay in here. Call the cops. Where is the back door?”

      The man pointed with the cleaver, his arm jumping with nerves when a chair crashed behind them in the dining area.

      Brant moved forward. “Let’s get out of here.”

      Anita followed him down a narrow hall that led to cavernous storage rooms and stopped when he did at a door with peeling green paint on its wood panels. He paused a second then pushed the door open a few inches to survey the outside. Then he reached back to take her arm and pulled her behind him, into the deep shadows of the night.

      The back alley was empty save the Dumpsters. She held her breath at the sour stench. Hundred-degree heat did nasty things to garbage.

      “Come on.” He strode to the street and looked in both directions before stepping out from the alley. He walked to the nearest car and had the door open and the motor started in under a minute. “Get in.” The vehicle was in motion before she shut the door behind her.

      “Did you see who it was?” She kept her eyes on the street.

      “No. Are you hurt? Any of that glass hit you?”

      She didn’t feel any pain but looked down at her bare arms anyway. Other than being dirty from the crawling, they looked okay. “I’m fine.”

      “Call the others and put them on alert. Call Nick.”

      Nick Tarasov was special ops, the man who had trained the four-woman team at Quantico after their release from prison. He had come to the island with them right at the beginning to keep an eye on things.

      “Have you heard from him yet?”

      Brant shook his head. “He’s only been gone for a day.”

      Nick was off to look for Xiau Lin, one of their four remaining suspects who was believed to be on a business trip in China. Marquez and Cavanaugh were on Grand Cayman. They had not been able to locate Ian McGraw so far.

      Life at Savall, Ltd. had been relatively calm since Ettori had been shot—a revenge-obsessed hitman who had gone after Carly big-time because Savall had stolen a few of his boss’s clients. After that danger had been taken care of, they had all felt it was safe for Nick to leave them for a while.

      Obviously not.

      She made the calls, reaching Sam and Carly first. Gina had just gotten in. She had stayed at the party after Anita had left with Law, to see if she could make some useful connections. Nick didn’t pick up. He was probably stalking Lin. She left him a message.

      “You think it’s connected to Ettori?” she asked Brant when she was done with the calls and assured everyone that she was all right. She hadn’t fully known until now how Carly had felt for those weeks when she had been under attack. “Maybe he didn’t work alone.”

      “He had a driver that one time,” Law said. He was referring to the kidnapping attempt Nick had stopped.

      “Right. But that guy never entered the picture again. We assumed he was a one-time deal—a friend helping out.”

      “Don’t assume.” He pulled into the hotel parking garage and stopped the car as close to the elevators as possible. “Could be he took over Ettori’s assignment.”

      “But Ettori only targeted Carly.”

      “Maybe Ettori’s death upset the boss and now he wants all of you taken care of.”

      Not a happy thought. She got out and looked for anything suspicious, but the parking garage seemed deserted. Then she caught a glimpse of Brant and all she could do was stare. He was covering her, moving like she’d only seen people move in action flicks before: alert, gun drawn, ready for anything. Watchful energy and strength rolled off his body in waves. She could practically smell the testosterone.

      He looked dangerous and capable and more than a little sexy, not that she was prepared to dwell on that.

      The elevator dinged. She glanced down her dress, which was covered with food stains, and hoped they wouldn’t run into any other guests. They didn’t need any extra attention or questions from anyone.

      They lucked out. The elevator opened on his floor in less than a minute without any incidents.

      “This one.” He pulled a key card from his pocket and opened the door, went in first, made sure the place was secure. “Okay.” He locked the door behind them.

      The room was spacious, the bed and armchairs covered in tropical prints that matched the curtains. She walked to the window to put some space between them, could see their dark office building across the street. She could even find their offices on the fifth floor, a little lower than Brant’s room. Would he be able to see into her office during the day?

      She was too nervous to sit, shaken by the attack, wary of the man whose presence filled the room. All of a sudden she had the ominous feeling like she had just walked into the lion’s den. She looked around, feeling out of place. What am I doing here?

      It might have seemed on the surface that they were on the same team, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was using her to get to a dangerous criminal he wanted. She was using him and the resources he’d made available to clear her name. With little luck so far.

      “Would you like a drink?” He was opening the minibar.

      “Water would be fine.” If she ever needed a clear head, it was now. Somebody was trying to kill her. “This is crazy.”

      “Did you expect it to be easy?” He watched her as he handed her the plastic bottle.

      “I don’t know. There hasn’t been that much time to think about it. We’ve been going nonstop since we joined the team.”

      “And you’ve gotten some results.”

      She nodded. They had a list of possible links to Tsernyakov. That was something.

      Her gaze fell on the suitcase by the window, a small carry-on. No other cases in sight. Didn’t look like he’d planned on staying long. They hadn’t expected him, at all. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

      “Thought I’d check in, see how everything’s going. I’m a hands-on kind of guy. And, of course, I can never pass up a chance to go someplace where there’s even the remotest possibility of boating.”

      Naturalmente. And it was just a coincidence that he showed up the day Nick left.

      “How long are you staying?”

      “Until Nick gets back,” he СКАЧАТЬ