Double Agent. Lisa PhillipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
we’re back in the States, I’ll tell you whatever I know.”
Doug had a valid passport that was part of his government-issue cover identity and a credit card, so he could easily get a ticket on the same flight as Sabine. The problem was, he was suddenly in no hurry to rush back to the lengthy questioning sure to follow. And Sabine was hungry. If he fed her, maybe she would let him in now.
Doug tapped the driver on the shoulder. “We need food. Find us somewhere to eat.”
The driver, who looked like the sun had baked him on high for too long, jerked his head up and down. “I take you to my mama’s café. Best meal of your life.”
“Good.” Doug glanced at Sabine, who really shouldn’t look that surprised. He was a nice guy. He handed the driver more money. “Make it fast.”
Ten minutes later they pulled up outside a bleached building with a sign that read Mama’s Café. After some discussion and more money, Sabine convinced the driver they needed to take her bag inside with them.
The ceiling fans did nothing to cut through the cloud of heat. The seats were faded vinyl, the tabletops were cracked and the air was saturated with the combined scents of breakfast and salsa. Doug’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled.
Sabine swept past him, pulling her suitcase, and glanced back over her shoulder. “Order me a burrito. Extra hot sauce.” She disappeared into the women’s bathroom.
An older woman with wrinkles, a faded polyester uniform and two missing teeth took his order. Doug slumped into the chair. Rested his forearms on the worn table. Toyed with the salt shaker. All the while he watched the door to the restroom.
He was just about to go searching when Sabine emerged. At least, he thought it was her. The woman who exited the bathroom dragging Sabine’s suitcase looked completely different. She’d switched her dress for a white tank top adorned with two long necklaces and jeans tucked inside knee-high white leather boots. Big gold circular earrings hung down, and her hair had been swept up, wrapped in what looked suspiciously like a silk blouse he’d seen her pack in her suitcase.
She settled herself opposite him, pulled up the suitcase and put it on the seat beside her. Her whole demeanor was much more relaxed.
“Nice disguise.”
She smirked. “Maybe the six-hundred-dollar dress was the disguise.”
She frowned at him, and he noticed the gold watch bracelet was gone.
“It’s a shame you don’t have any other clothes with you,” Sabine said.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
She grinned. “No offense, but you sort of stick out. Even though that outfit screams ‘average-joe tourist.’”
He opened his mouth to object and realized she was probably right. He couldn’t answer anyway because the waitress chose that moment to place their food in front of them.
“You could take off the hat,” Sabine suggested.
He rubbed his shaved head and tugged the ball cap back on. “The hat stays.”
“You don’t have enough hair to have a bad hair day.”
She picked up her silverware and cut a massive bite of burrito. His eyes widened as she shoved it in and chewed with gusto, then swiped up the bottle of hot sauce and shook a few drops onto her next forkful.
She realized he was staring and straightened. “What?”
He picked up his silverware. “Enjoy your food, don’t you?”
“What’s it to you?”
Doug shrugged. “It’s just...refreshing is all. Women who look like you don’t usually eat like, uh...that.”
“I’ll suffer working it off tomorrow, don’t you worry. But it’ll be worth the miles. Take a bite and see for yourself. It’s really good.”
Doug took a bite. She was right, though it was almost too spicy for him. He ate fast, one eye on the time. It would be simplest if they arrived at the airport with enough time for him to get a ticket on the same plane.
“So what’s the real reason you don’t want to take off your hat?”
He hesitated, unsure how to say it without dredging up a whole bunch of grief neither of them could handle. “It’s—”
Sabine’s knife stilled and sadness washed over her face. “That’s Ben’s hat.”
Doug nodded.
“He gave it to you?”
“Wanted me to have it.”
Sabine swallowed. “And here I only got the joy of cleaning out his musty, cluttered bedroom.” She drew in a long breath, and he saw the quiver in her lower lip. “Not that I’ve done it yet. I mean, really, you’d think a grown man would be able to keep his room tidy. Especially someone in the military.”
“You’d think that, what with all the spot inspections during basic training. Some guys pick up a tendency for order and bring it home with them. Others see their private living space as somewhere else to blow off steam.”
“So what are you? A neat freak? Or does your place look like a tornado the way Ben’s always did?”
“Does it matter?”
Sabine pulled away, any rapport they might have had now shut down by his tone. Doug had no intention of moving into personal territory with this woman. No matter how much he wanted to.
It was for the best.
He stood. “I’m going to make a pit stop, and then we should get going.”
The bathroom looked about as good as it smelled. Doug held his breath and took care of business as fast as possible. What would his superiors say when he turned up with Sabine in tow? CIA operatives and the army didn’t exactly mix. Talk about a clash of cultures.
He pushed open the door and glanced around the restaurant. His stomach sank. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He rushed out the front door. The cab was gone, too.
She’d ditched him.
Seattle, WA
Friday, 23:00
Windshield wipers valiantly swiped the rain away, but more drops continued to pound on the car. Sabine parked her baby—a paid-in-full black Cadillac CTS—in the garage of her Seattle home. Only when the garage door lowered fully did she get out and pull her suitcase from the trunk.
It was late, and every muscle in her body ached, which was good because it distracted her from the throb in her ankle. Sabine had never been able to sleep on planes, and today was no exception. She tried to tell herself it was because she had felt bad for having ditched Doug. His tears had been genuine, the grief he had felt over Ben’s death right there in his eyes. He clearly wanted to know what had happened as badly as she did—even if his professional manner left something to be desired.
There was still no way she was going to let him question her. She would need clearance from her handler before she could give him any of the details of her mission or tell him what she knew about Christophe Parelli.
The utter disaster the mission had turned out to be weighed on her. Apart from the fact she had the hard drive, everything that could have gone wrong had. Hiding the hard drive from Doug had been necessary, though apparently pointless since he’d known what she was after.
Now she needed to go through the contents before anything else went awry—like being hauled in for questioning by the army.
Christophe’s death played like a movie reel through