Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (9 Novels from Bestselling Authors, plus Bonus Christmas Novella from NY Times Bestselling Author Rebecca York) Page 19

  Chapter Sixteen

  Youssef paused in the midst of yanking a handful of shirts from the shelf in his tiny closet to wipe the back of one wrist across his sweaty face. Lord, he was soaked. He dragged a small duffel bag from the closet floor and shoved the clothes inside. No matter how he tried to control it, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He hadn’t been lying when he’d called in sick to work earlier. He was sick. He’d already thrown up once and his stomach still churned as if it might bring up the light breakfast he’d eaten just before sunrise. That sick feeling in his gut was why he’d decided to run. The authorities were closing in on him, he felt it. Whether it was the Americans or Pakistanis who eventually took him out was irrelevant at this point. Youssef had no intention of suffering torture or imprisonment for his part in this operation. He’d already fulfilled his obligation to the organization behind all this and now he wanted out. But how could he do that?

  You can’t. You know you can’t.

  Ignoring the shiver that raced up his spine, he grabbed an extra pair of shoes and stuffed them into the bag for good measure. Once he left this apartment, he could never come back.

  He now knew for certain that the TTP cell he’d been in contact with were merely chess pieces in this game. Whoever the man in that warehouse was the other night, he was no lowly militant warlord. Youssef had done everything they’d asked of him, had led the Patterson woman to Peshawar and so far managed to avoid detection. Now his only chance was to flee while he still could.

  He yanked the zipper on the bag closed and headed for the door. Behind him, his smashed computer lay in pieces across the desk and floor, along with its pulverized hard drive and SIM card from his old phone. A new burner phone now rested in his jeans front pocket. He took one last glance around the apartment and out the window above the kitchen sink. The sun was almost up; his time to escape was dwindling by the second.

  He was halfway down the block in the coolness of the morning air, on his way to a bus station when the muted bleat of a ringtone went off. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized it was the phone in his pocket. No one had the number. No one.

  There in the middle of the sidewalk as the city came to life with the call to prayer rising from the minarets at the local mosque, he cast a frantic glance around. They had eyes on him even now. He felt it.

  The damned phone continued to ring in his pocket, the quiet note sounding as loud as an air raid siren to his panicked ears. For a second he considered not answering it, thought about throwing it in the nearest trash can or grinding it to pieces beneath his heel and making a run for it.

  But he knew it was far too late for that. If they already had his new number, they were close. He wouldn’t make it as far as the other side of the city before they found and killed him. For all he knew, a sniper could have him in his sights at that very moment.

  As his heartbeat drummed in his ears, he dragged the phone from his pocket and answered with a gruff, “Yes?” Frustration and anger pulsed through him. What did he have to do to get out of this mess?

  “Youssef,” that familiar chilling voice said. “I’m disappointed that you think so little of my intelligence. Almost as disappointed as I am to discover you thought you could run from me.” It was the man from the warehouse, and his tone was all the more sinister for its chiding edge.

  Fresh beads of perspiration bloomed across Youssef’s forehead and beneath his arms. A cold, sticky sweat borne of fear. “I did what you asked,” he argued.

  “You did, but unfortunately last night did not go as planned.”

  Youssef didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. He’d seen the footage of the bomb’s aftermath on the news last night and had wrongly assumed it meant everything had gone smoothly. His hand tightened around the phone. “What do you want?”

  “Walk one block up and turn right. There’s a black SUV parked at the curb, waiting to pick you up.”

  He couldn’t help but shoot a glance over his shoulder, back the way he’d come. But no, there was no telling how many eyes they had on him. He’d waited too long to make his escape and now he was little more than a five dollar poker chip in a million dollar game. Utterly expendable. The thought made his bowels churn. “What do you want,” he repeated, anxiety making his voice sharp.

  “Another meeting. What happens after that is up to you.”

  The line went dead. Youssef stood trembling for a moment, his mind whirling for a solution to the problem, a way out. He found none, save darting into an alley and bolting to the nearest mosque for sanctuary. But he knew they’d find him eventually.

  The walk to the SUV was agonizing, and when he got there he found a big man dressed in khakis and a polo shirt standing beside the vehicle. His head turned toward Youssef, eyes concealed by black wraparound shades. Though he half expected to be gunned down with every step, Youssef approached and climbed in the back of the SUV when the man opened the door for him. He jolted when the door slammed shut behind him. No one said a word to him on the drive across town, this time to a different industrial area. They parked in front of what appeared to be a series of deserted warehouses. Given how early it was, it didn’t surprise him that no one was around.

  They escorted him into one of the buildings, flanking him on either side in a show of intimidation, and through it to a dark room at the back that smelled of dust and musty carpeting. A lamp came to life on the edge of a desk and once again he found himself face to face with the powerful, goateed Pakistani man at the center of all this.

  “Sit,” the man told him without preamble from behind the stainless steel desk, jerking his chin at a plastic chair on the opposite side. The two guards left the room, and the sound of the door shutting echoed off the walls like a gunshot. Youssef’s knees gave out. He dropped into the uncomfortable seat and waited, barely daring to breathe in the tense stillness. The man regarded him with black, unblinking eyes that seemed to gleam in the dim lamplight.

  He didn’t make Youssef wait long to find out why he was here.

  “Ms. Patterson escaped both the bombing and Peshawar last night,” the man told him. “And because the local authorities acted rashly, some of them were killed in the blast along with our men guarding the hostage.”

  Youssef swallowed and didn’t reply. This was bad. Very bad.

  A faint smile curved one side of the man’s mouth in the midst of his neatly trimmed facial hair. “So. You’ve proven very useful to us with your abilities so far. Now we need something else from you.”

  Youssef managed a weak shake of his head, his insides trembling. “I’m an engineer, good with numbers—”

  “And very good with computers,” the man added. “Though not as good as some of my people are.” He straightened at the desk and regarded Youssef with a curious expression. “You realize at this point that we can’t let you go, yes?”

  Youssef felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him dizzy and sick. Hearing the words aloud set off a burst of denial and panic.

  “How this plays out is your choice.” The man reached down to open a drawer with a shrill squeal of metal on metal. Youssef’s skin crawled as the man withdrew something and set it on top of the desk. A soft black case made of material, rolled up to conceal whatever lay inside. The man let his hand pass over the top of it, almost a caress. One edge of the material fell away to expose something silver and shiny in the lamplight. It glinted against the black cloth, the sight of the stainless steel surgical instrument making Youssef’s heart rise into his throat.

  The man smiled faintly, as though he enjoyed Youssef’s obvious fear. “I can force your cooperation if I must,” he continued in that deadly, silky tone. “However, I’d prefer you continue to work with us by choice. If not…” He left the sentence dangling, the threat already overt.

  “What is it I have to do?” Youssef managed through bloodless lips.

  “Find the woman. She’s somewhere in Islamabad, and you will locate her for us.” He removed his
hand from the case of instruments, the glint of steel still visible. “You will also find their location for us. There is a team assembled and ready to launch the attack. But we need her position first.”

  Those eyes hardened to shards of obsidian. “We think she’ll be at a higher end hotel in the city because of the added security. Her bodyguards will be scrambling to get her out of the country as soon as possible, and we want to avoid having to make an attack at the airport because of all the extra security measures there. You have only a few hours to complete the job, otherwise it will be too late. Either lead us to her, or you are of no further use to me.” He drew a finger along the line of exposed steel, and in that moment Youssef knew he’d do whatever it took to avoid death at this man’s hands.

  “Now.” He rolled the instruments up and placed the case back into the drawer. Again the screech and grind of metal as he closed it, and Youssef couldn’t help but draw back as the man rounded the desk. “You’ll need a ride back into Rawalpindi.” He gestured for Youssef to precede him out the door.

  Youssef wasn’t sure how he got to the SUV, because his legs were like rubber. The man slid in beside him in the back seat and lounged there with one arm stretched across the back of it as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Back to his place,” he told the driver.

  Youssef didn’t dare tell him there was no point, that he had no way of starting his search there because he’d already destroyed his computer and smart phone. What was he going to do? They’d be watching his every move. If he left, they’d assume he was running and kill him.

  The minutes ticked past with agonizing slowness. As they reached the outskirts of Youssef’s neighborhood, the man next to him stopped scrolling through something on his phone and spoke. “Your mother looked very tired this morning,” he remarked. “Is she unwell? Maybe her houseguests have kept her from getting enough rest.”

  Youssef’s heart stopped beating as the man held out the phone and showed a picture of Youssef’s mother. The shot was so clear it must have been taken with a powerful telephoto lens. She was standing in the kitchen of the house where Youssef had grown up, cooking something for all the family members who had stayed with his parents last night. From the timing of the guests’ arrival and the darkness outside the kitchen window, the photo had been taken before sunrise this morning.

  Youssef swallowed back the grief and guilt that threatened to choke him. The threat was clear. If he didn’t comply with their every demand, they’d kill his family.

  “Please. Don’t hurt her. She knows nothing of this. Nothing.” And she would be devastated if she found out. His father would disown him for the shame it would bring upon their family.

  The man made a tsking noise. “I would only harm an innocent woman as a last resort. You’re the one who determines her fate, Youssef, not I.”

  A hot rush of tears blurred his eyes. He blinked them back and took a steadying breath. “My office,” he blurted. “I need to go to my office to get what you need.”

  “Why?”

  “The computer. I…my computer isn’t working.” Because it’s in pieces on my apartment floor. “I need to use their system to do a thorough search.”

  “If you think you can find help there, you’re mistaken.”

  Youssef shook his head adamantly. “No. I wouldn’t.” Not with his mother’s life on the line as well.

  The man searched his eyes for one long moment and Youssef was sure he was going to say no. Then he turned and spoke to the driver. “You know where to go.” The driver immediately turned right and took them toward Islamabad, where the engineering firm was.

  Youssef buried his face in his hands and prayed he’d be able to find Khalia Patterson before she left Pakistan.

  * * *

  Outside the engineering firm, Gage shifted against the SUV’s leather seat and attempted to stretch out some of the tightness in the middle of his back. He’d been parked in the firm’s lot for over an hour now, and as it was early only a few people had come into work yet. Ellis and Dunphy had called to say Youssef’s apartment was empty, and from the damage he’d done to the computer, it looked like he had no intention of returning. At least they now knew what the fucker looked like. Dunphy had sent over a few pictures he’d snapped of the framed photos he and Ellis had found in Youssef’s place. A young Pakistani, early twenties, clean cut family guy from all outward appearances.

  Except it seemed he was actually aiding and abetting the TTP in his spare time.

  Stifling a yawn, Gage checked his watch and settled the digital camera in his lap. Almost five in the morning. He was strategically positioned to be able to see everyone who came in and out of the secure high rise, and he’d been using the telephoto lens to zoom in on anyone remotely resembling Youssef Khan.

  He’d just decided to give it ten more minutes when a black SUV pulled into the lot and parked in front of the building. Its windows were tinted dark enough that Gage couldn’t see inside. He leaned down in the seat, brought the camera up into position and aimed it at the passenger side in time to snap a few shots as the back door swung open. Bingo.

  Youssef Khan.

  Gage took a few high speed frames as Youssef exited the vehicle. The guy looked like shit, pale and sweaty as hell. He turned and said something to whoever else was in the back. Who was he with? There was just enough room when Youssef eased back for Gage to zoom in on the other passenger in the back seat and take a few shots. A middle aged man wearing a button down Oxford-style shirt and dress pants. His goateed face was half hidden in shadow, but the bad angle was better than nothing. Youssef shut the door and started for the front entrance while the SUV drove away.

  Gage took a couple shots of the plate and memorized it, then watched Youssef hurry toward the building. When the front doors closed behind him, Gage got hold of Dunphy to have him run the number and the photos, then texted Hunter to let him know they had a lead on Khan.

  Gage sincerely hoped Khan was their guy. He’d be more than happy to go in there and frog march the bastard out of the building in front of his coworkers before he turned him over to the Paks. Right after he scared him so badly he made Youssef shit his pants.

  His phone rang a few minutes later. Dunphy. Gage’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “Got some news?”

  “Vehicle’s registered with a government agency, but I can’t find out which branch.”

  “What about the other guy in the back?”

  “Got a few possible hits in our system, but I can’t verify him with my software. I need Claire to look at it.”

  The mention of her name would probably always make his gut tighten, but he knew they needed help on this. “Do it.”

  “Already done.”

  Gage tamped down the irrational surge of possessiveness he felt toward her. She wasn’t his anymore—when the fuck was his heart going to get that? “Let me know if she turns up anything.”

  “Will do. You want us to stay here just in case?”

  “For now. I’m staying put for the time being, until we can figure out what he’s up to.”

  “Roger that.”

  He hung up and sighed as he sank down into the seat to get comfortable. Surveillance sucked at the best of times because it was boring as shit, but especially when he was alone and had too much time to think about things best forgotten. Plus there was nothing to eat. Man, Ramadan really made you appreciate simple things like food and water when you were deprived of it all day long. The thirst was absolutely the worst part. He had a to-go cup of tea in the cup holder but it had gone cold well over an hour ago. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee, hot, black and strong enough to float a Glock in.

  Eventually the sun’s first rays finally peeked out around the edges of the engineering firm. Cars were starting to arrive more frequently now, all the employees filing into the building. None of them tripped his radar. Two minutes later, his phone rang.

  Gage grabbed it from the center console, his heart giving a hard thud when he saw the
text message from Claire.

  Call me on my cell, ASAP. Urgent.

  He frowned. Whatever it was, she didn’t want anyone else knowing about it, and that worried him. Shit, what the hell had she found?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Claire put on her screensaver—a picture of her, her brother and father—to cover up what she’d just found, though the image of the man was now permanently burned into her brain.

  Malik Hassani.

  She sat back and ran an unsteady hand through her hair. Her heart was racing double time because of what she’d just discovered on file. Holy shit, Gage and the others had no idea what they were up against. She had to warn them.

  Claire prayed Gage would respond to her text. Things were about to get critical for everyone involved and she didn’t want him or the others to walk into the situation unawares. And that wasn’t the only thing that made her stomach twist. By poking around in the system and coming up with Malik Hassani’s name, she’d just flagged her activities to the entire NSA network, and probably a few more three letter agencies as well.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  She stood and rubbed a hand over her face, took a deep breath and headed for her boss’s office. Better to lay it on the line before they came to her, rather than have it look like she was trying to hide something. As it was, her ass might be put on probation for this, or worse. Hoping she was wrong about that, she knocked on Alex’s door and waited for permission to enter.

  As always he was on the phone, and waved her in while he finished up. He was former Special Forces—ironically a trait the majority of the men in her life shared—and still very fit for being in his early fifties. He wore his usual pale blue dress shirt and black slacks, and his gray streaked dark hair was short and neat. His silver eyes met hers as she sank into the chair in front of his desk and waited for him to finish up, which he did a few moments later.

  Alex set the receiver back in its cradle and leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee in a picture of relaxed poise. “What’s up?”