Page 45 of Ford
Through the comms, Ford drew in his breath.
“You leave that to us. We just need to know how to find her.”
“She’s not with York?”
Oh boy.Stay calm.“We haven’t heard from him.”
Roy looked away. “Fine. I’ll see if I can track him down. But he’s probably in one of his safe houses in Moscow—ifhe’s found her. And that’s a big if. Do you know what went wrong?”
She shook her head.
He leaned forward. “And what about the general? Is he alive? If he is, he’s still in danger. And so is your operative. Because if she did step in the middle of the hit, and if she saw the shooter, then she’s a target too.”
She nodded as if, of course. And then, because she just, well…okay it might have been a stupid question but, “How do you know that RJ wasn’t the assassin?”
The question lay there on the table, between them, and she could nearly feel Ford’s eyes burning into her.
Roy considered her. “Just how wide is this rogue arm? Seriously—you’re looking at your own operatives?”
She didn’t blink. “Always.”
He gave her a hard look. Finally, “Okay. Listen, like I said, I’ll reach out to York, see if he’s with her. Same number?”
Oh. “No. Burner phone.” She rattled off her cell number, making a mental note to delete her voicemail message.
He seemed to be committing it to memory. Then he reached across the table, took her beer, and swallowed a long draft. Set it down. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t make me wait too long.”
He nodded, then walked out.
The silence on the other end of the phone was nearly deafening. Finally, Ford got up and walked over to the table. Slid out the chair Roy had just vacated.
“You scare me a little.”
“Good.” She smiled at him. “I think I’m ready to try a hoof.”
5
If Damien Gustov had set RJ up, then he wasn’t finished with her.
Which meant that every moment she was in the country was a moment Gustov could run her down, grab her from a crowd, or simply walk up behind her and put a knife into her gut.
And then York would get to watch another woman he promised to protect die under his care.
“You don’t have to hold my hand,” RJ said as he pulled her up from the bowels of the metro out onto Novinsky Boulevard. The rush hour had appeased some as he’d crisscrossed them around town, this time using the crowd to hide her.
The sun had begun to settle beyond the skyline of western Moscow, a brilliant fire that sent streaks of pale orange and pink shooting across the horizon. The smog in the city sometimes combined with the low-lying clouds to create a bruised effect, but tonight it was all smoke and fire along the horizon.
Kat had done well. Put makeup on RJ, hid her hair in a beret, dressed her in a jean skirt, black tights, a pair of boots, and an oversized sweater. She looked downright European.
He liked the leather better, but he didn’t care what she wore as long as it got her safely to the American Center where his contact would be waiting.
York would get her into the embassy from there, arrange for her transport out of the country.
“What do you mean I shouldn’t trust you?”
She said it low, in English, and he glanced at her. But they were out of the crowd now, walking by storefronts and gated apartments. This part of town was rich with elegant Renaissance-style architecture, groomed sidewalks, and curbside greenery. They passed a newsstand, and he hustled her by.