Charade

“Maybe so. But in my experience,” Sasha told her carefully, “Mafia types don’t like that kind of splash. They prefer to keep their lavish parties under the radar.”

“I agree. It’s likely that many of the crime lords won’t attend the actual ball. But still, it’s part of the conference, intended as a signal that Kestonia has become a major world player.”

Sasha rubbed her eyes, suddenly weary. “And in the middle of all this, poor Teal sits in some hideous cell, scared to death?”

“According to her psychic messages, her kidnappers have been careful not to injure her. Still, we can’t rely on that.”

“I agree.” Sasha felt a surge of renewed excitement. “Will Teal be able to send me messages?”

“I’m afraid not. One has to have psychic ability for it to work well. And she is apparently out of range, or perhaps drugged, because our contact hasn’t heard from her since a few days after the last rescue attempt.”

“So she won’t be expecting me. But she’ll be expecting someone to show up, because she knows we won’t let a seventeen-year-old girl handle all this alone.” Sasha grimaced. “In addition to me, how many rescuers are you sending?”

“We sent one already. She failed.” Allison flashed a sheepish smile. “This time it will just be you.”

Sasha drew back in surprise. “I’m pretty sure Dad can wrangle me some sort of entrée into Kestonia. But once I get there—”

“Once you get there, you will use your natural ingenuity and creativity—the things that make you so unique and amazing. You will also use your Athena training. I’m told you’ve kept up with your karate?”

Sasha nodded.

“Zelasko is so suspicious, it borders on paranoia. If he thought for one second that U.S. government agents had infiltrated his domain, he might do something extreme. Maybe even hurt Teal.”

Sasha nodded her agreement quickly. “I just hope I don’t let you down. For Teal’s sake.”

“We have enormous confidence in you, Sasha.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to Dad first thing in the morning. He’ll be so happy to hear from me, he’ll do whatever I ask. Let’s just hope he has the right connections to make this happen without raising Zelasko’s suspicions. Dad’s business is mostly legitimate these days,” she added pensively, “so the connection will have to be made through another family. The Martinos, maybe. They’re our closest friends.”

“Actually, the Martinos appear to be on the periphery for this particular syndicate. But your father’s connection is very direct according to reliable intel.”

Sasha winced. “I see.”

Unbelievable, Dad. What are you doing? Backsliding? Just when our family was really getting out of the crime business at last?

“According to our reports, your father isn’t attending the conference himself. But he’s sending a representative.”

“Probably my cousin Mark. He’s more or less the heir apparent, since Dad’s only child doesn’t want anything to do with the family business.”

Allison pursed her lips. “Would your father be willing to send you, too? Or would he worry about your safety in a strange country?”

“He’ll worry. But if I want to go, he’ll send me. That’s for sure.”

“It would be even better if you went alone—”

“No problem. Dad won’t come, because he can’t leave Illinois, thanks to a court order in a case where he’s a reluctant witness. And my cousin—well, I can handle him. I agree,” she added briskly, “it’s best if I go alone. And soon. Right?”

“Thank you, Sasha. I know you’ll do well.” Allison smiled. “I assume your father will make the transportation arrangements. We can supply you with information and a few toys that might come in handy. Unfortunately, that won’t include communication equipment. You’ll be out of contact with the rest of the world while you’re in Kestonia. And we can’t supply weapons, either—Zelasko’s men will search your luggage and purse, and frisk you, as well. You’ll have to arm yourself with whatever you can find once you get inside Kestonia.”

“The toys you mentioned aren’t weapons?”

Allison laughed. “No. They’re much, much better.”

Sasha bit her lip, wondering how she would get through so complex an operation without Summit’s voice whispering advice and encouragement in her ear. “I’ll need to tell my handler something. Otherwise, he’ll wonder what’s going on if he can’t contact me.”

“Tell him you’re going to spend some time with your father. A week or two. We understand that you just performed well for the Bureau under very stressful conditions. They won’t object to your taking a little time for yourself.”

Sasha frowned. “You’re saying I can’t tell Jeff the truth?”

“Is that a problem?” Allison was clearly surprised. “I had the impression you and he didn’t get along.”

“It’s been tense, but we’ve been making progress, trustwise. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

“To be frank, we’re controlling access to this information and being even more discreet than usual. We might have a leak.”

“You don’t have to worry about Jeff. He’s the most trustworthy person I’ve ever met. Like a rock, really.”

“Oh?”

“Check out his background. He was a star quarterback until he got a really bad concussion and the doctors warned him not to play anymore. Then the FBI recruited him and he’s been a star there, too. Completely obsessed with honor and justice—” She stopped herself, noting the flicker of concern in Allison’s brown eyes. “I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal about this. I guess because I’m used to having Jeff plan strategy with me. But you’re right—this has nothing to do with him. I’ll handle it the way you suggested.”

Allison eyed her for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m glad that’s settled. Luckily, I’ve planned an op or two myself along the way, so maybe I can be of assistance.”

“That sounds great.”

“Excellent.” Her new mentor’s tone turned brisk. “Let’s get down to details, shall we?”

It was almost 3:00 a.m. before Sasha returned home and crawled into bed for a few hours’ rest. She was sure that despite her exhaustion, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Not after the multiple stimuli that had assaulted her body and her brain that evening. The wedding and all the memories it had elicited; the encounter with Vincent the Butcher Martino; the kiss; the upcoming reunion with her father, to be followed by a daring rescue of a genetically enhanced child…

But to her surprise, she drifted into a deep sleep almost right away. As a result, when her alarm rang promptly at eight o’clock, she was more than ready to jump out of bed and take on the world.

Starting with Jeff Crossman.

She liked the idea of talking to her handler early in the morning. The air was crisp, almost biting, but clear of snow or rain. People were heading to church. There was a pure, homespun feel to the day. Nothing romantic about it, and definitely nothing sexy or obscene.

Still, it bothered her that he had sounded so good—downright rumbly, in fact—when she’d called him. And there was the complication that he had asked her to come to his private apartment, rather than the office he shared with his team members. Both locations were downtown, but Jeff had reminded her that the office building was closed, and any meeting there would seem suspicious. She had agreed, only questioning the arrangement after he had already broken off the connection.

Now she stood outside the door to his apartment and reviewed the cold hard facts, beginning with their first meeting.

She remembered that encounter vividly. She had been nervous, but also excited to embark on her lofty new project. It had meant so much to her that the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit might be able to make use of her, so that no one else had to suffer the fate of her mother and be killed by “the mob.” It was time for that brand of violence to end, once and for all.

Then she had braced herself and stepped into the office of SpecialAgent Jeff Crossman—the man who would be “handling” her. One look at him, and she had had only one thought: she had died and gone to informant heaven.

That’s how amazing he had looked to her that autumn afternoon. Like a god. Not one of the Roman deities, of course, but maybe one of the Celtic ones? She had no idea about them—her whole universe, until now, had revolved around Roman mythology, thanks to her father—but one look at Jeff Crossman’s broad shoulders, emerald eyes and lean muscles had made a Celt out of Sasha, at least for the moment.

A very short moment, as it turned out. Because once he opened his mouth, he had proven himself to be a first-class jerk.

Give the guy a break, she chided herself now. He apologized, didn’t he?

She gave a nervous laugh, remembering how hot that apology had been, and imagining what might have happened next had Allison’s roses not intervened.