The Black Sheep and the English Rose (23 page)

“Right. You forget, you're preaching to the choir here, friend. And boy will Rafe be relieved.”

“Why is that? If anything, he's the one who'd understand that not everyone's head is turned by—” Then he paused as Mac remained silent. “Don't tell me.”

“You'll meet her when you get back. It's like the greatest thing ever.” He chuckled again. “You just wait and see. Come in, by the way, the water's fine.”

“I'm not interested in the water right now,” he said, though that was a bald-faced lie and Mac well knew it. Not to mention it was killing him not to ask more questions about what the hell was going on with Rafe. He hadn't even been gone that long. “What I'm interested in is finding some kind of crack in this case that we can break open to—”

“There you go with that ‘we' again. So she's not just along for the ride—speaking metaphorically, of course—she's actually engaged in the mission. Interesting.”

Finn wisely remained silent. Better to let Mac have his fun than inadvertently give him so much as a speck of information to grab hold of. Mac liked to play the laid-back kidder of the group, but his mind was as ridiculously agile as his hands. The most evolved technology, along with mechanical objects of all sizes and complexity, bowed before his overly indulgent, God-given talents.

Not that Finn didn't want them to know about Felicity Jane. At some point, they would. Just not yet. Not now. If he told Mac anything, they'd do a complete check on her. And when—not if—he found out the rest of Felicity's story, it was going to be from Felicity herself. Not from one of Rafe's well-documented reports.

“Get back with me when you know something. And wipe that damn smug-ass grin off your face.”

“Will do. And you must be joking.” Then he clicked off.

“Good thing I love you guys like brothers,” he muttered, then slid the stylus out and started doing his own digging.

F
elicity rinsed the shampoo from her hair and told herself she had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. Finn trusted her, which was great. She trusted him, too. But she still had a job to do, and contacting her superiors to give them an update and ask a few questions was hardly a breach of that trust.

She knew he still had questions about her—in his position, he'd be a fool not to—but the fact that he'd given her any latitude with that impromptu shopping trip had been gratifying, to say the least. He'd wanted to balk, and that had given her a momentary pang, but despite whatever misgivings he was still harboring, he'd stood by his promise and let her go.

What was bothering her even more was the fact that while she'd used her time away from him to transmit a request for further information on Chesnokov, Julia, Talbot & Company, as well as John Reese, she hadn't taken the opportunity to inform them she was working with someone. Much less who that someone was.

She could tell herself all kinds of things about why she'd made that decision, and most of them would even be true. But she was having a very hard time ignoring the most important reason she hadn't mentioned her new partner, which was the fear that her immediate controller would issue a direct order to leave him and continue working solo. She'd never ignored or gone against a direct order. She didn't want to find out whether that fact would have changed.

She also could have used the time to not only notify them about Finn, but attempt to convince them that he should be taken into her confidence. She had rejected that plan as well. Her superiors knew she and Finn had crossed paths before. Although they weren't privy to the more intimate details—any of them—they did know that he'd made completing her mission a challenge once, and a failure the second time. She doubted that even if she'd had an extended period of time to communicate with them, she could have accomplished any amount of real convincing, much less during the few scant minutes she had while throwing clothes on the counter of the hotel boutique.

She finished rinsing off and stepped out of the shower, only to be assaulted by the heady fragrance of freshly prepared food. Even the smell of coffee had her stomach grumbling. She shoved aside her concerns about her superiors and Finn and quickly dressed. She ran a fast comb through her curls, squeezed out the extra water, then shook them as loose as possible. She still looked like a drowned poodle, but it would have to do. She did a quick check of her PDA, but nothing had been transmitted during the short time she was in the shower. She wasted a moment wondering what she'd do if her controller did send along useful information. How would she tell Finn without him wondering how she'd come upon such information?

Deciding she'd cross that bridge when and if she came to it, she stepped out of the bathroom to find the bedroom empty, but she could hear Finn talking in the main room of the suite. She wasn't sure which was more enticing, the sound of his deep voice, murmuring something to someone in the other room, or the intoxicating scent of the food, but fortunately she didn't have to choose and followed both.

There was a room service table set up in the middle of the room. Finn was standing over by the large picture window, talking on his cell phone. From the sounds of it, he was talking to one of his partners. She moved over to the table, confident he'd share any pertinent information with her when he'd concluded his call. She felt another little stab of guilt, knowing she couldn't be a hundred percent certain she'd do the same, but quashed it as she sat and spread a linen napkin across her lap.

“Go ahead and start,” Finn mouthed, motioning with his hand for her to eat.

Any other time, she'd have done the polite thing and waited, but just the smell of the bacon alone had her stomach growling so loudly, she selected a piece and crunched it merely to silence the unseemly noise. Finn ended his call and joined her a few moments later.

“News?” she asked, putting the bacon down as her stomach tightened a bit. Her own PDA hadn't vibrated in the pocket inside the short-waisted jacket she'd donned, which only meant she just felt partially guilty asking him to share all.

“The fire was arson. No leads on that, or the break-in, as it doesn't appear they've been able to locate the owner, either.”

Felicity let her hands drop to her lap. “Oh, my.”

Finn poured more coffee and nudged the teapot and sugar closer to her. “I know. No leads there, but I do think going to the gallery is imperative at this point, gauge how her employees are behaving, and what, if anything, they say when we ask about the owner.”

“And the shipping docks?”

“They stay on the list, too.”

“No word from the driver on Chesnokov?”

Finn shook his head. “I checked in with him before calling Rafe. No sign of him yet.”

Felicity looked at her watch. “It's been a little over an hour since he went in. Maybe we should go in, or one of us anyway. Pretend we're a client, see if we can figure out where in the building Chesnokov is. At the very least we might find out what his connection is, if he's not in the clientele area.”

“If the gallery and docks reveal nothing, and he hasn't budged, then we can give that a shot. He doesn't know either of us directly.” Finn paused with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. “Does he?”

Thankfully, she didn't have to make a decision on this one. “No, I've never met the man. Although, I can't guarantee he isn't aware of me. From my research, I know he spends a fair amount of time in the U.K., and, as you know, I tend to pop up in the papers there from time to time.”

“Then I'll go in if it comes to that. No point risking things unnecessarily.” He crunched his toast and helped himself to some eggs, so she did the same and bided her time, willing her phone to vibrate with information they could use…and praying it didn't, forcing her to go along with Finn's intel and saving her from making a choice.

They continued in silence for several surprisingly comfortable minutes. Comfortable enough that she actually ate a decent amount and drank some very lovely tea. But as she was dabbing her mouth with her linen, Finn said, “If I end up going after Chesnokov, I know you'll want to go after Reese. I also know you're going to call me on the trust thing, but I'm telling you, I don't want you to go off alone after him. And trust has nothing to do with it.”

“Meaning you don't think I can handle him? I realize our last one-on-one didn't end well for me, but I'd like to think I'm a fast learner.”

“I know better than anyone that you can handle yourself. It's just…I don't want anything happening to you.”

The way he'd said it, the look on his face, made her heart squeeze. She tried to ignore that and focus on business, even though she knew that wasn't at all what he meant. “But you just said you knew I could take care—”

“I didn't say it was logical, or even rational. It's…Neanderthal.” He smiled. “And, trust me, it's not something I'm entirely comfortable with, either.”

“Then don't,” she said, even as her insides were melting a little. No one had ever cared enough to be that concerned about her, not like that. “Worry about Julia. Worry about the sapphire.”

“I do. I am.” He reached across the small table and covered her hand with his. “But that doesn't stop me from not wanting you put in situations that we don't fully understand.”

“We don't,” she repeated. “You're right. So why am I any safer with you than without you?”

He lifted his hand away from hers.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said. “I'm aware you can handle things, and handle me as well.”

“I know what you meant.” He leaned back in his seat, his gaze on his plate, but she doubted he was seeing anything on it. “And you're right.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I can't guarantee anything, your safety included. I just feel that if we stick together, we have a better chance of dealing with whatever is going to come our way.” His smile returned, but there was something tender, almost vulnerable in it. “We make a good team, Felicity Jane. I like us together. On and off the playing field.”

She couldn't manage to look away, couldn't seem to find whatever it was she had left that would keep her head strictly on business. “I think we do, too,” she said, relieved to be honest with him. “But I don't think we're going to resolve this particular situation staying joined at the hip.” That mischievous glint surfaced in his eyes, and she couldn't help but smile. “Or wherever we're joined.”

He tossed his linen napkin on the table and finished off his coffee. “So, docks, then gallery.” He stood and reached his hand out to her. “Then we'll figure out what's next from there.”

She put her hand in his and wished things weren't as complicated as they were. Because, he was right, if the gallery and docks revealed nothing, and no other leads came in, then he would go after Chesnokov.

And, like it or not, she would go after John Reese.

As it turned out, neither scenario went into play as planned. They were halfway to the docks when the driver buzzed in to Finn…and not thirty seconds later, she felt her own phone vibrate in her pocket.

Finn listened to what the driver had to say, then said, “Follow him. We're not that far away; we'll cross paths at some point. Keep me informed on the direction he's heading.”

“He's not heading home, I take it?” Felicity asked as he hung up.

Finn shook his head. “He's actually heading in the same general direction we are.” He instructed their cabbie on what direction to go, then turned back to her. “We'll meet up with the driver, and I'll follow Chesnokov. You head to the gallery in the cab. I'll either come and get you there, or we'll make other arrangements.”

“What about the docks?” She stopped him before he could answer. “If you tell me it's too dangerous there for a woman, I'm—”

“I didn't say that.”

She folded her arms. “Didn't have to. So, let me tell you that—”

“Let's get through with the gallery and see what Chesnokov is up to before we plan further.” He looked out the window when the cabbie swung a left and started heading out toward the warehouses lining the docks along the harbor. He swore under his breath.

“What?” she asked.

“I just realized, how are we going to keep contact? You could use the gallery phone to contact me when you're done, but I really would rather you—”

Felicity's stomach cramped in a knot at the potential implications of what she was about to do, but she spoke before she could change her mind. “I have a phone.”

Finn's eyes widened.

Felicity shrugged, and tried to play it off as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, which, normally, it wouldn't be. If anything about this whole escapade could be considered normal. Which it most decidedly could not. “You never asked. And I haven't needed to use it since we teamed up.”

Finn held her gaze a beat longer, so she casually pulled it out of her jacket pocket. “I've had it on me the whole time. I'm not exactly hiding anything here.” Which wasn't entirely the truth, but not exactly a lie, either. She held it out to him, praying he didn't notice the fine trembling of her fingers.

“Okay,” he said a moment later. “Good.”

He didn't take it from her, and she tried not to breathe an obvious sigh of relief. If he'd even glanced at the screen, he'd have seen there was a message waiting to be read. “Good.”

He turned his PDA on. “Number?”

She rattled hers off and took his as well. “There,” she said, and pocketed the phone again as nonchalantly as she could manage. “Now, if we're heading toward the docks, then maybe we should just wait and see where Chesnokov is heading before splitting up. We can just follow the town car in the cab.”

Finn smiled then. “See? Teamwork. Good idea.”

Felicity smiled, and it was sincere, but it didn't lessen her anxiety one whit. She needed to read that message and couldn't until she was alone. She should have angled for them to separate as soon as possible, but her gut told her that any answers they were going to find weren't going to be at the gallery. Better for her, regardless of whatever intel was on her phone, to stick with the higher percentage plan for as long as she possibly could.

The fact that that plan kept her with Finn was secondary.
Right.
Fortunately she was saved from having to think about that any longer when Finn's phone buzzed again.

“It's Sean.” At her confused look, he added, “The limo driver.” Finn put it on speaker-phone. “What have you got? Where are you now?”

“He's on Graves. Warehouse district, off Advent. I'm one block west. Not enough traffic here to shadow him. One block closer to the bay and I'm going to lose him. He's got to be going to one of the warehouses back here. I can give you a grid, narrow it down.”

“He still in the Rolls?”

“Yes.”

“We'll find him.”