Page 85 of Ford
Then she and Scarlett walked through the lobby toward the bar. Deep red chairs and sofas created seating areas, and as she walked into the bar, the noise of the lobby dropped away.
“This is Alexandrovsky Bar,” Yanna said and pulled out a rounded chair next to a glass-topped table. They sat under the cover of a tall palm tree that rose out of a square planter.
A few moments later Ford walked into the room, heading for the bar. Poor man, he couldn’t look like a tourist if he wanted to. Bold, wide-shouldered, the man hadtry mewritten all over him.
They were so made.
Ford didn’t even look at her, and she realized her fatal flaw—she wasn’t positioned to watch him. But she could hear him as he came up to the bar, greeting the man there.
“David?”
“Ford.”
There might have been a handshake, and Scarlett noticed that Yanna had her eyes on the two. The woman took a deep breath and let it out as if she’d been nervous.
A waiter came over, and Yanna ordered an orange juice. Scarlett asked for coffee.
“I’m sorry for the secrecy,” David was saying, “but your sister is mixed up in a chess game of sorts within the CIA. One faction is naming her an assassin, the other calling her a victim—and until they figure it out, she isn’t safe with us. Or them. So I sent her away.”
“Away where? And with whom?” Ford asked. He had that low rumble to his voice she often heard on ops, and it sent a tremble through her, that familiar sense of him facing danger and bringing her along for the ride. It ignited a strange power inside her, and she realized with a start that this was exactly what she’d feared losing.
The sense that she was part of something bigger than herself, an important cog in the wheel. She mattered to Ford, mattered to his safety.
Which meant she mattered to the mission.
That’s all she wanted, really. She didn’t have to carry a gun or breach doors or even jump from a helicopter into frothing waves to rescue someone. She just wanted to know she was worth him sticking around. Showing up.
“With a colleague. York Newgate. They left this morning.”
The waiter came over and set their drinks on the table. “Breakfast?”
“Minutichka,” Yanna said and waved him away.
A couple men in black suits walked into the bar and sat at a far table. Sort of reminded Scarlett of Yanna’s men.
Her radar started to twitch, and she sat up, looked for exits.
David was talking about the shooting and what they knew. Something about another suspect.
“His name is Gustov, and your sister seems to think he might be working for General Arkady Petrov…”
Another man joined the two at a table. Blond hair, black glasses, a gray suit, and thick, clubbed ears, as if they’d been broken one too many times. He positioned himself facing the bar and lifted his glass, dark glassy eyes on the two men.
Scarlett spoke softly, her voice steady. “Ford, there’s a table of gentlemen on your six taking an interest in you two.”
Yanna was glancing beyond Scarlett, over her shoulder, and a glance that direction showed a window. Maybe she was looking at their reflection.
A waiter came over and the blond man ordered, his eyes locked on the men at the bar.
David was giving Ford a rundown of his contact in Vladivostok, where he’d sent RJ. “His name is Roman. He’s safe—married to an American doctor. He’ll have the contacts to get them out of the country.”
“And what about Scarlett and myself?”
“We can get you new visas, get you on a plane back to the US.”
“I’m not leaving Russia without my sister.”
“They’re on the train. I don’t even know where they are—”