No Law (Law #3) (14 page)

Chapter 26

Carey stretched out beside Dmitry on the floor. They had never made it into the bedroom, and she was surprised he wasn’t exhausted. They had certainly gotten their average up, and now she was tired.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her gently into him, not that she could get any closer without being on top of him. If only she had the energy. Throughout the night, there wasn’t one moment they hadn’t been touching each other somewhere. Even while they’d slept, their legs had been intertwined as they’d spooned, her body fitting with his as if she’d been made for him.

She was amazed at herself, not one for taking such leaps, sleeping with him so soon. She barely knew him, had only met him two days ago but it was as if they’d known each other for years. He was the only man she’d ever met who could turn her on with one look and it didn’t even have to be a sexy look. She’d thought she knew her body but it had surprised her more than once last night, practically vibrating, and every time she inhaled she could smell Dmitry and the scent of their lovemaking. She could certainly get used to waking up beside him. Hopefully, next time, it would be in a bed and not the hard floor. Her body felt stiff but whether that was from the floor or the night’s activities, she wasn’t sure.

They’d acted on their basic urges except sometime during the night she’d stopped thinking with her libido and started feeling with her heart. Now she was halfway in love with him and it probably wouldn’t take much to fall over the edge. Not when he was such a decent, kind, compassionate man with strong morals and a protective streak a mile long. He would be easy to love.

She trembled.
She had been so careful over the past few years, never letting anyone close. She had been hurt once before, not by betrayal but from her own heart. Alan had died before her eyes, a result of her actions and she’d never forgiven herself. She never wanted to be in the position of losing another person she loved which was why she hadn’t dated.

It had been a freak incident, but that didn’t relieve her responsibility in Alan’s death. Detective Harrington had been right when he had implied she’d killed her husband. She had, only remotely. While she knew there hadn’t been anything she could’ve done to stop Alan from dying, emotions were rarely reasonable and guilt ate at her. She’d lost count of all the times she’d dreamed they’d left town instead of going back to their apartment.

How different would her life have been? Would she still be the same woman she was back then, innocent and slightly naïve, or would she have grown into something more? She doubted that. Alan had been a great man as well as a brilliant one—a man who would’ve overshadowed her academic future even as he tried to launch her into the antiquities world. She had loved him so much. He had been so strong, a provider, and while she would’ve had a wonderful and easy life, Carey knew she would never have reached her potential.

His death had allowed her to grow up. She knew it hadn’t been Alan’s intention to hold her back, he’d just wanted to love her and make her happy. He had been wonderful by allowing her to have actual input in Russia. He had acknowledged her own brilliance and talent by making her a partner and not just his wife. She would’ve never made it without him, and she knew she owed him everything.

Thoughts of Alan saddened and angered her, but there were also good memories, happy ones that warmed her heart. She would never forgive herself but the pain she felt at playing a part would lessen, as it already had over the years. He hadn’t blamed her, not even at the end.

One thing came from the experience: she’d become a hell of a lot smarter about the choices she made, thinking them all the way through before making a decision. She had become comfortable in her own life and her own achievements, only now she felt an ache she had no idea how to fill.

Alan had been a generous man, and would’ve wanted her to move on, to find someone else and fall in love. She was cautious, worried about what would happen the next time she let her heart lead her. Alan’s death had left her alone and empty.

She wondered if she could get over her fears enough to love Dmitry. Hell, hadn’t she already admitted being half in love with him? Right this moment she couldn’t imagine being away from him for a second. His warm body brought her own to life. All these years she’d believed she’d been living but she’d barely skimmed the surface.

She leaned over and kissed the stubble on his jaw as a melody sounded through the apartment, the sound oddly familiar. She ignored it, concentrating completely on Dmitry.

“Are you going to get that?” he asked, his eyes still closed.

The melody was a ringtone, her cell phone. Still naked, she stood and went to the dining table where she had left her bag the day before. After what she and Dmitry had shared, she didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious. He’d already seen every inch of her.

She could feel his stare as he watched her bare ass. She found her phone and peered at the caller I.D.: Unknown.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Madigan, I presume. I trust you recognize my voice, but if you need me to reacquaint you, I can,” the caller said in Russian.

“No. That’s not necessary. I remember,” she replied in English, goosebumps breaking out on her skin despite the warmth of the apartment.

“Yes, and you understand my language. I was wondering if you were going to admit that.”

“Well, now you know. What do you want, Mikhail?” She caught Dmitry’s gaze as she said his name. His body stilled, his stance alert. Carey moved towards him, putting on his discarded shirt as she did so, no longer comfortable, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“I understand you have something of mine. I want it returned. When you do so, I will return something of yours.”

“Disregarding your assumption of ownership, what exactly do you have of mine?”

Dmitry met her halfway, and she put her phone on speaker.

“I am currently holding twenty-two hostages in your office.”

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. The stakes had gone higher, over what she was willing to pay. She felt cold inside and panic was overriding her senses.

“A few guards, museum staff,” Mikhail continued. “People you know well, Ms. Madigan. Tell your friend Mr. Ivanov he is not the only one who knows how to use a computer.”

She sucked in her breath.

“Yes,” he said, “I know all about you. I had you thoroughly investigated and I know all about your friends in high places. Think of this before you do something stupid. I am monitoring
all
external communiqués. I also have people watching you. So don’t try to inform your CIA comrades or contact the authorities.

“If you don’t wish for these poor friends of yours to die, you will meet me here at Hamilton’s in half an hour with my property. If I find out that the police have been notified, I will shoot the hostages. If you are as good as you’re supposed to be, I assume you know the piece I am talking about.”

“I do,” she said, any fight she had left leaving her body.

“See you soon.”

“I don’t suppose you have a gun at all?” Dmitry asked as she hung up.

She shook her head. “No. Not that it’ll do any good. Hamilton’s have metal detectors at every entrance. Which was probably why he took the hostages there. I don’t know how he keeps bypassing the equipment, though. What do we do?”

She nibbled on her lip as Dmitry ran his fingers through his dark hair in frustration, a frown creasing his forehead. “You get the egg. I have an idea.”

She nodded, then looked in the kitchen for something to put the egg in, since the crate it had come in was too inconvenient and cumbersome. She hadn’t even had coffee yet, her mind barely functioning.

Yeah, and you might want to put some clothes on too.

She put the egg in a box along with some stuffing so it wouldn’t break, and grabbed her bra and jeans from the floor as she hurried down the hall into the bedroom and threw on a clean pair of panties and another shirt. She came back into the dining room, combing her hair with her fingers, to find Dmitry also fully dressed in the pants he’d worn yesterday, along with a black polo. He held a small Netbook laptop in his hands.

“What are you doing with that? You heard Mikhail.”

He nodded. “I did.” He grabbed his keys and handed them to her as she picked up her museum I.D. She didn’t bother with her cell or purse. Dmitry picked up the dinner set box, containing the egg and put the laptop between himself and the box, making it invisible to the eye.

They didn’t talk at all in the elevator down. She hit the lock on the keychain and the indicator lights on his Ford Taurus flashed. She readjusted the driver’s seat as he climbed in beside her.

“You think you can get us there in twenty-five minutes?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

She knew every possible way in and out of Hamilton Museum. She had spent the past few years exploring each and every avenue, which came in handy whenever there was an accident or traffic jam. As she drove, she kept an eye out for someone tailing them. Either no one was there, or they were extremely good at not being seen. Dmitry placed the box in the foot well on the passenger side between his feet and opened up the laptop.

“What do you—”

He raised his hand for silence, then reached over and turned on the radio, fiddling with the dials until he found a heavy metal station.

“Relax, Carey, I know what I’m doing. He may have bugged the car so I didn’t want you to say anything until we were safe. Monitoring emails is extremely hard to do but it can be done, if given enough time to set it up. So I’m going to create a dummy account to send Lucas an email. The email filter will be watching my accounts, not a new one,” he added, already plugging in a small antenna he’d produced from his glove box as he talked.

“So why not use your cell? I thought you said it was possible.”

She remembered him saying something along those lines the day before, but she couldn’t be sure. Her mind was in a muddle, the events blurring together, and only one image remained. That one, pleasurable as it had been, wouldn’t help them right now.

“This is the age of technology,
malyshka
, anything can be done,” he said. “But more than likely Mikhail has tagged my cell number and IP address so any communications I make will notify him of what I’m doing. Which was why I left the cell at home. This way I’m not using my wireless, but instead I’ll bounce off the satellite as we drive.”

She nodded, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Dmitry tapping away at the keyboard. She was scared and wasn’t afraid to admit it. All she kept seeing was her husband’s dead body. She pushed the image aside and focused on the hostages. Were they still alive or would she find the corpses of her colleagues when she arrived?

The memory of Alan’s body appeared in her head. She spared a glance at the monitor and noticed Dmitry was already well on his way to creating the false email account.

“Hack Man?” she asked, looking at the first and last name he had given for the account.

Dmitry shrugged. “Had to write something.”

Navigating through the early morning commuters, she continued to keep an eye out for anyone following them. Was it her imagination, or did that black vehicle a few cars behind seem interested in her?

“So, do we have a plan?” she asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

He turned in his seat to face her. “On if I’m wasting my time here or not.”

***

Dmitry had already brought up a new message. He quickly began typing, revealing the pertinent information without spelling it out in detail. He had to be careful, not knowing what keywords might be flagged or even if Mikhail had set up a program to monitor messages. It was better safe than sorry. Elena’s and Lucas’s CIA email addresses went into the
to
field.

“How do we even know Elena and Lucas are going to get their emails within the next few minutes?” Carey asked. “We’re kind of on a time crunch here.”

“I thought of that.” He quickly typed a code into the body of the email and hit
send.
“Luckily for us, I’m a computer genius who has spent more hours than I can count at the CIA writing codes for this type of situation.”

“What does the code do?”

“It’s basically a priority code, overriding all over emails on the server and will be pushed right through the CIA central mainframe and will sound out an alert on their cells.”

Carey reached the road that led to the Hamilton Museum, and in short time she was driving through the gates. She slowed down as she made her way up the pebble drive like she had all the time in the world, giving him the last few seconds he needed, and parked the white Taurus in the staff parking section of Hamilton Museum. By the time she had applied the emergency brake, he had stored the Netbook under his seat and out of sight. He lifted up the box and exited the car, just seconds after her.

“So, what exactly is our plan?” she asked again as he neared her.