Page 199 of Dark Angel
“Did you tell anyone?” Halston asked.
“No one but you.”
Halston escorted Daria to her cubicle. As they passed Grigori’s empty one, Daria stopped. “He is never late.”
“I’ll handle this,” Halston said before she made her way toward the stairs.
Adrenaline pounded through her. She was sitting on a ticking time bomb. If Grigori had told anyone else or if Daria couldn’t handle the anxiety and went to HR?—
Halston needed to update Evangeline as soon as she could.
After dropping her laptop in her office, she beelined to the ambassador’s office. He was working at his desk.
“Sir, good morning. Let me get your coffee tray.”
“Thank you, Minka. I ordered breakfast. The chef just called.”
“I’ll pick that up for you.”
Halston’s shoulders were tense with anxiety. During her lunch break, she needed to get back to the hotel and contact Evangeline. Furthermore, by leaving her phone, she’d cut herself off from finding out if the agents at Dulles had found the packages. In that instant, she regretted her decision.
Things were simpler in Moscow. Scarier, but simpler.
In the busy cafeteria, Halston made her way to the cashier.
“Breakfast for the Ambassador,” she said.
The clerk left his post to check on the order. Seconds later, he returned with a tray of covered dishes and large orange juice. As she started to leave, she saw Natasha standing near the coffee station struggling to zip the top of her dress in the back.
Halston hurried over, set down the tray. “Hello, Natasha. Need help?”
Natasha’s attention had been glued to the wall of televisions, the morning newscasters reporting on the recent power outages across the country.
Natasha didn’t respond.
“Dobroye utro,” Halston said. “YA mogu vam pomoch'.”Good morning. I can help you.
Natasha startled. “Minka, good morning.”
“I have that problem with zippers too.” Halston offered a pleasant smile. “Can I help?”
“I cannot touch.” Natasha turned away so Halston could zip her.
And that’s when Halston spied the dragon tattoo on the back of her neck.
No way. It can’t be. Get a photo of it.
She tapped her spy glasses to record the large, red dragon outlined in black.
“Cool tat,” Halston said, while zipping Natasha’s dress. “I almost got one but chickened out.”
While furrowing her brows, Natasha asked, “Chickened out?”
That was too American.
“American slang for not brave.”
Natasha narrowed her gaze. “You know much English.”
