Page 177 of Summer Heat
It was too early in the night to step out of this party. She wanted to excuse herself and hit redial again and again until someone answered. She’d tried to call Cash a hundred times before this godforsaken gala. Each time, she got voicemail. She’d called Jackson and Jared. No one answered.
In the background, the orchestra struck up another slow number, and she glared off David’s invitation for a waltz.
Thinking about the unanswered calls made her pulse race. Something must have happened to Cash. What if Jackson didn’t get there in time? Or if the blast took them both out? And where the hell was Jared?
Since their arrival in Istanbul, Nicola had slipped several more listening devices onto David and his belongings. If he’d found any of them, the bastard hadn’t given it away. Maybe Cash was at home, listening to all their conversations, listening for dirt when she wasn’t in the room with David.
That had to be it.
Cash wasn’t going to die in a car bomb. He wasn’t. He played life too fast and furious to be taken out sitting on his ass outside some bar.
Life’s not fair. You should know that better than anyone.
His voice replayed in her head a thousand times, and her head spun. She threw down the rest of her bubbly, impatiently waiting for their assets to show up. Soon as this gig was done, she was pulling David out and flagging down the nearest Learjet back to the States.
“Sarah Beth, darling.” David’s voice had a serious ick factor. “I believe we’re on.”
The target couple stood dead ahead, living replicas of the pictures in Nicola’s briefing book. Wonderful timing. The assets greeted their marks, two men who looked up-to-their-mustaches in selling stolen third-world secrets. Everyone was in place. Showtime.
Nicola raised a bejeweled hand and called over in her haughtiest voice. “Frederick? Elizabeth? Is that you?” She walked gracefully toward the foursome with David in tow. He too murmured their cover names. “It is them. How delightful.”
Frederick and Elizabeth smiled. The woman waved hello. Emeralds glittered from her bouffant to her pedicure. “Oh, it’s the Penningtons. From New York.”
The man turned to their companions and started introductions. Something about how the Penningtons made their supposed loot in the chemical market. Something vague enough to be untraceable.
Elizabeth kissed her cheek. “Sarah Beth, I didn’t expect you!”
“We made an unanticipated stop. Mallory had a European qualifier in her show jumping competition, and since the jet was fueled and we were so close…” Nicola shrugged a silk-covered shoulder as elegantly as she could. That was the extent of her lines. Time for David to shine.
Nic glanced at him. He was on a roll. This was his type of work, hobnobbing and schmoozing. How boring, especially when real life waited for her thousands of miles away. At least she hoped it was life waiting and not a soul-wrenching obituary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Their minor assignment was a success. Nicola and David were back at the hotel, and her room was packed. Nothing left in her closet, designer or otherwise. The Louis Vuitton bags rested by the door, awaiting a bellhop. Having a jet on standby was convenient, but they both had to agree to leave. The bag brigade was nothing more than an effort to convince David they were leaving tonight, but he wasn’t budging.
At least she’d kicked him out of the bedroom to one of the smaller adjoining rooms. Nic swept the room for bugs, set up her signal jammer as a just-in-case backup, and thought about getting the hell out of Istanbul so that someone could give her some intel. All she needed to know was that everyone was alive and kicking. That Cash didn’t blow up in his truck.
Ring. She lunged across the room, catapulting across the king size bed to grab the phone. She didn’t look at the screen, only accepted the call and prayed for good news.
“Nic.” The sound of Cash’s voice hugged her tightly, making her believe in the power of desperate prayers.
“Thank you!” she cried, realizing that tears streamed down her face. “Cash, you’re okay. Oh God. You’re okay.”
Her breaths surfaced, rapid fire. All of the pent up emotions boiled into a fierce mess of wet tears, running down her cheeks. She sniffled and rambled without the slightest clue what she said.
“Slow down.” He paused. “I’m okay.”
The words didn’t work. Tears raced down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Her mind sped, swirling into an anxious frenzy. “I thought this is how we were going to end,” she whispered. “That you wouldn’t be there when I came home. That I left and lost you once. That you died tonight, and I lost you—”
“Who’s Jackson?” The sharp-tipped question sobered her from the nightmare of possible bomb blast causes and effects.
“What?” She shook her head, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Jackson? This morning seemed years ago. Had that really happened?
“Tell me a lie, and I swear to God, sweet girl. You will lose me. No explosive charge needed.”
It had really happened. Cash was alive and… angry. His voice scratched through the phone. The not knowing. The bomb scare. Everything else was trivial. Everything was trivial except him. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t imagine the words to make it better.
“Nic!”
