Stolen Heat Part 18

She stood stock still as he picked up her backpack from the floor and headed for the back stairwell at the end of the hall. He was going to act like nothing had happened? Part of her was shocked. Another part was weary. Weary from fighting the emotions brewing inside her. One minute he was the man she remembered, holding her close, kissing her with a burning pa.s.sion she'd never felt from anyone else, saving her life when he could have easily looked the other way. And the next he was like a stranger, cold and calculating and brushing her off like she meant nothing to him.

She struggled to put the two together, had no idea if she ever would. And couldn't help questioning why he'd come back for her in the first place.

As she watched him walk away, she knew she was back at square one with no one to turn to, wondering who she could trust.

So what do you do now, Kat? What have you always done?

She reached up to grip the St. Jude medal at her chest and thought back over her life. Her goals had always saved her. As long as she'd had something to work toward, she'd been able to get through anything.

When she'd been an orphan, flitting from foster home to foster home, she'd paid attention and learned as much as she could so that one day she could make her own choices. When she'd been working on her doctorate and professors had told her she didn't have what it took to be an Egyptologist, she'd muscled in and studied harder. And when she'd gone into hiding, decided to give up her entire life in one heart-wrenching moment, she'd taken it one day at a time, knowing that by staying in the shadows, she would keep the people she loved safe.

Goals. That was what she turned to when she needed strength. That was what she'd turn to now.

Her mother was gone. Marty wasn't an option any longer because he was compromised. And her head screamed she couldn't trust Pete either, no matter how much her heart wanted to.

"Pick up your pace, Kat," he said from the end of the hall. "We need to make tracks. That goon's probably still hanging around."

Make tracks.

Suddenly, she knew just what she had to do next. Yeah, it would tick Pete off, but they'd both be better off in the long run.

The only question was finding the right time to do it.

Pete sensed something was up with Kat the moment they stepped out onto the street.

An ordinary person probably wouldn't see it, but he'd known this woman better than anyone in his life.

At first he thought her shift in mood was related to what had happened in the strip club. Then he'd revamped his thinking and decided it was what had happened in the hallway in the hallway of the strip club that had obviously thrown her so off kilter. h.e.l.l, it had certainly thrown him for a loop. Especially her little revelation that she hadn't of the strip club that had obviously thrown her so off kilter. h.e.l.l, it had certainly thrown him for a loop. Especially her little revelation that she hadn't planned planned to jump his bones, it'd just... to jump his bones, it'd just...happened.

Talk about an ego crusher. Ever since he'd first seen her, his body had been lit up like a roman candle anytime he looked her way, and here she was telling him she didn't really want want him, she'd just simply been responding to her environment? Christ, this whole situation just got c.r.a.ppier by the minute. him, she'd just simply been responding to her environment? Christ, this whole situation just got c.r.a.ppier by the minute.

He darted a look her way as they put distance between them and the strip club and noticed the change in her demeanor. It was subtle. A squaring of her shoulders, a lifting of her chin, a hardening of her eyes. She didn't look worried or concerned about his or anyone else's safety. She seemed determined, like she was in the midst of a major att.i.tude adjustment.

Or she was planning something.

That didn't sit well with him. Her planning something on her own had bad news written all over it as far as he could see. The last time she'd planned something, his life had hit the skids and stayed there for a long-a.s.s time.

They walked four blocks in silence, sticking to the shadows as much as possible in the rundown neighborhood before they finally hailed a cab that took them over the Delaware River and into Camden, New Jersey. Thinking they were far enough away from Minyawi's muscle and confident they weren't sporting a tail, Pete signaled the driver and had them dropped off at some podunk diner off I-676 that served breakfast twenty-four hours a day. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last, and his stomach was growling.

There were only a handful of patrons in the diner when they stepped inside. A bell on the door chimed, and a darkhaired waitress looked up from the lunch counter where she'd been talking to a man in a 76ers cap. She nodded their direction. "Seat yourself," she said. "I'll be there in a minute."

Pete scanned the room, with its Formica tabletops and cracked plastic red booths. Darkness pressed in through the wide, streaked windows, but a neon green motel sign across the street with its flashing vacancy notice made it through the grime. A couple who looked to be in their eighties sat near the window, forks in hand, watching them as if they'd never seen strangers before. A middleaged man was reading the sports page at a table in the middle of the floor and eating french fries doused in ketchup. He, at least, didn't bother to look up.

Figuring the place looked relatively harmless, Pete gestured to a booth in the far corner where he could keep a close eye on the front door, just in case, and where they had instant access to the emergency exit in the event they might need it.

Kat slid onto the bench seat, the plastic creaking as she moved. She shrugged out of her parka and reached for a menu propped between the sugar dispenser and the salt and pepper shakers at the end of the table. "I'm starving," she said with way too much enthusiasm.

Pete frowned as he sat, dropped the backpack at his feet and reached for his own menu. Just what the heck was up with her? She'd gone from being scared s.h.i.tless in the park to insanely aroused at the club to perky Paula here, all within a matter of hours? He wasn't buying it.

"What'll it be?" the waitress asked, stopping at their table with a pen and pad in hand. She eyed them with a bored look.

Pete glanced at his watch. 9:52 p.m. The sign on the door stated the diner was open until ten thirty, which meant the waitress's shift was coming to a close.

"Coffee," Pete said and smiled, though it did little good. The waitress lifted her brows and regarded him over the top of her gla.s.ses. "Two." He held up two fingers.

"I'll have to brew it." She glanced at Kat and sighed. "Anything else?"

Kat scanned the menu with ravenous eyes. "Let's see. You're still serving breakfast, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Kat said, "I'll have two eggs, sunny side up. With wheat toast, hash browns and sausage links." While she continued looking at the menu, the waitress rolled her eyes and glanced Pete's way, ready for his order, but Kat stopped him before he could open his mouth. "Do you have those silver-dollar-size pancakes?"

The waitress nodded, glanced at her watch and heaved out a sigh that blew her too-long bangs out of her face. Suddenly amused, Pete slung one arm over the back of the booth and watched with familiar interest.

Kat still had a hefty appet.i.te. That obviously hadn't changed in six years.

"Great," Kat went on. "I'll have those with blackberry syrup. Oh, and a bowl of fresh fruit if you have it. A tall gla.s.s of milk, too." She looked toward Pete.

The waitress's pen paused on the paper as she looked up. "Instead of the eggs?"

"No, with the eggs."

The waitress glanced between them. "Is that for both of you?"

Pete fought back a smile and closed his menu. "Cheeseburger and fries for me."

The waitress looked back at Kat with wide eyes, almost as if she a.s.sumed there'd be more, and when Kat only smiled and closed her own menu, the woman shook her head in dismay and finally headed for the kitchen.

It was a scene he'd witnessed before. He didn't know where Kat put all that food on her slim five-foot-seven frame, but he figured she had to have some superhuman metabolism to burn off all those calories because it definitely didn't show on that compact body of hers.

And yeah, now he knew exactly what her body felt like thanks to that little foray in the strip club's back hall. How firm her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were, how tight her a.s.s was, how hot she was between her thighs.

He shifted on the bench seat to release the sudden pressure in his jeans at just the memory. He'd had his hands on her back at Slade's garage, but then he'd been too drugged up to notice the difference he'd clearly felt only a few minutes ago.

What else was different about her now?

He watched her carefully across the table. She sat still, her hands folded on the Formica, staring out the window across the room. She wasn't looking at him, but she hadn't been avoiding eye contact either, which was another major tip-off something was up. In the park she'd barely been able to look him in the eye.

He waited until the waitress brought their waters and two steaming cups of black coffee and then walked back into the kitchen before he leaned forward and placed his forearms on the table.

"That guy in the park wasn't FBI."

She looked his way with clear eyes. Clear and very focused dark brown eyes. "I know."

"You see him before?"

She shook her head, lifted her water and took a sip. "No, but he knew plenty about you and me. CIA maybe?"

Pete reached for the cream. "I don't know, but one thing's for sure. Whoever he was, he definitely knew this guy Minyawi."

Kat pursed her lips. "Yeah, but how did Busir and Minyawi know we were in Philadelphia? That was fast, even for Busir."

Pete shrugged, stirred his coffee. "Maybe the guy in the park called him after you talked to Slade."

Kat's brow lowered. "Marty would not have turned me in. I refuse to believe that. Somehow the guy in the park knew Marty, which leads me to think he's somehow connected through the government. But I'm sure Marty didn't know what he was up to."

Pete sat back with a frown, hating the way a quick stab of jealousy shot through his chest anytime she mentioned Martin Slade. Jesus, why did it bother him so much?

"I don't think you can a.s.sume anything at this point," he said. "Busir has obviously stayed under the radar all these years because he has high-powered contacts. You said yourself the SCA didn't or wouldn't get involved back when your supervisor went to talk to them. We slowed their guy down with the explosion at the garage, but they never lost our trail."

He hesitated, then added, "The other guy, Minyawi. You recognize him?"

Kat shook her head. "I never got a good look at him. But there was something about his voice. I don't know. It was familiar."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. I'm pretty sure I've seen him before, I just can't place where."

Kat's cup hesitated halfway to her mouth as she glanced at him. The waitress came back with ketchup and Tabasco. She set the bottles on the table and moved away again.

"Why did you come back to the park?" Kat asked in a quiet voice as she set her cup on the table.

Pete bit the inside of his lip as he mulled over her question. He'd been asking himself that same thing since he'd jumped on that bike and raced through the trees looking for her. And he still didn't have an answer he liked. Because the only one that came to mind went against his better judgment.

"It was the right thing to do," was all he said.

Their eyes held in the silence that followed, and then she said in an achingly soft voice, "For whatever reason, thank you. You saved my life."

His heart thudded in his chest, a reaction that both confused and ticked him off. "Thank you for saving mine back in New York. I'm still not entirely sure what went on there, but I have a feeling if you hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't be sitting here right now."

Emotions he couldn't read rushed across Kat's face, and she opened her mouth to speak, but the waitress returned with an armful of plates, interrupting her. It took the woman two more trips before Pete had his burger and the rest of Kat's order was overflowing the table.

Kat picked up her fork and looked down at her food. "It was no big deal. Really. I just...surprised them."

She didn't look like she wanted to give details, so he didn't press. She dove into the food like a woman starved, and Pete almost chuckled as he reached for the bottle of ketchup. Same old Kat. The first few times he'd taken her to dinner in Cairo he'd been shocked by how much she could put away. Then he'd been pleasantly thrilled when she'd spent the remainder of the night working the calories off with him between the sheets of his bed.

d.a.m.n. He shifted again on the bench seat in discomfort. Clenched his jaw at what the memory did to his pants and the little bit of gray matter left between his ears.

"So Minyawi," he said as he picked up a fry and tried to forget about his raging libido. "If we go by what this Halloway said in the park, he's the mastermind, not Busir. And he knows we're together. It's possible he's tracking us with my credit card."

Kat swallowed around a mouthful of food. "I hadn't thought of that, but I guess it's possible."

"Not likely, though," Pete went on as he picked up his burger. "The more likely scenario is he's got someone on the inside who's connected to Slade, but we'll use cash from here on out just to be safe."

Kat set her fork down, lifted her coffee and took a long sip. Something in her eyes said she wanted to ask him a question but didn't know how to broach the topic.

"What?" he finally asked when his curiosity got the best of him.

She reached up to run her fingers over the medal at her chest. "What happened in Afghanistan?"

Ah, so that was what the mood was about.

Pete leaned back and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. As he did, he glanced around the restaurant. The cook had come out from the kitchen and was now deep in conversation with the waitress and the man still seated at the lunch counter. The elderly couple who'd watched them with curious eyes earlier was standing to leave. No one was listening to their conversation or paying one iota of attention to them anymore.

Which was a good thing. Except it left way too many opportunities for intimate questions such as this.

How much should he tell her? How much did she already know? She'd once accused him of buying and selling on the black market, which he knew wasn't too far off the mark. So what did it matter if he told her the truth now?

It mattered, he realized, for the same reason it had mattered back then. Because somewhere inside he didn't want her to know the whole truth about him.

"I got delayed," he said, figuring that was the safest answer he could come up with.

"What were you doing in Afghanistan in the first place?" She lifted her fork again and resumed eating, but he could tell by the set of her chin she was curious and she wasn't about to let this conversation drop.

He went back to his burger and shrugged. "You know I trade in antiquities. Cairo wasn't the only place I went looking for a deal."

"In Afghanistan? I thought the Taliban cracked down on foreign trade after the war on terror heated up."

"They did. Doesn't mean you couldn't get in."

He knew he was giving her the bare bones and that she was growing increasingly frustrated, and out of some strange sense of guilt he heard himself adding, "Look, there was nothing shady about it. I had a contact there who told me of a collector who wanted to sell a few of his pieces. I went to meet with him. It was all on the up and up."

Which it had been. That time, at least.

"So why wouldn't they let you leave?"

He lifted his water and took a long swallow. Oh, maybe it was because he had had dealt with some pretty slimy characters in the past who dealt with some pretty slimy characters in the past who had had traded on the black market. Or maybe it was because he traded on the black market. Or maybe it was because he had had turned a blind eye a few times when he'd known the provenance on a piece had been faked. Obviously INTERPOL knew that as well, or else he wouldn't have been stuck in that Afghani armpit to begin with. Or it could have been because this time-though he'd done it all the right way-he hadn't been quite as careful about who he told he was headed to Afghanistan in the first place. turned a blind eye a few times when he'd known the provenance on a piece had been faked. Obviously INTERPOL knew that as well, or else he wouldn't have been stuck in that Afghani armpit to begin with. Or it could have been because this time-though he'd done it all the right way-he hadn't been quite as careful about who he told he was headed to Afghanistan in the first place.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Halloway knew about the blue notice."

She looked up, brow creasing because he'd changed the subject so abruptly. "What's a blue notice?"

"It's a color-coded lookout INTERPOL sends to its member countries to a.s.sist law enforcement in their investigations. A green notice means they're looking for some kind of dangerous career criminal, a yellow notice is sent out when they want to locate missing persons, red's issued when they're seeking the arrest of fugitives, and blue goes out on the wire when they want to locate people in certain criminal investigations."

"You seem to know a lot about how INTERPOL works."

"When you run with some of the people I have, you keep your ear to the ground and pay attention."

Her brow lowered, and she studied him as if looking at a stranger. Then her eyes grew wide, and she held up her hand as she made obvious connections. "Wait. You were involved in a criminal investigation with the International Crime Police?"

He grimaced at the suspicion he heard in her voice and told himself it didn't matter, though it stung to know she now thought her original a.s.sumptions of him in Cairo hadn't been too far off the mark. Stung a lot. But what mattered most here was the fact Halloway knew about the notice.

"No," he said emphatically. "The blue notice was a watch. It meant the Afghan government could keep me in one place while they checked me out. It meant I couldn't leave and the U.S. couldn't do anything to get me out until the notice went down." He eyed her. "And it did go down, Kat, obviously, because I'm here now. I'll admit in the past I've worked with some people I probably shouldn't have, but on that trip I didn't do anything wrong. They knew it, which is why they finally had to let me go."

She touched the medal again, and he saw the flash of doubt in her eyes as she thought about what he'd said, coupled with questions she wasn't sure she should ask. "So why are you surprised Halloway knew that? If he worked for the FBI, wouldn't he be privy to blue and green notices or whatever you called them? The U.S. has to be a part of INTERPOL, right?"

"Yeah, they are. There are something like one hundred eighty-six member countries, and the U.S. is definitely a part of that. And if this guy really worked for the FBI, then yes, he'd know. But he said he worked for the Art Theft Crime Team and that they were watching me then."

"So? Isn't that part of the FBI?"

"Yeah, but the Art Crime Team wasn't established until after after I was in Kabul." I was in Kabul."

Kat glanced around the empty restaurant while she ingested that information. "So he definitely wasn't FBI."