Page 24 of An Epic Voyage (The Epic Beauty Salon Files #1)
G riffin’s eye throbbed , and that irritated him. He was pretty sure he’d have a shiner. Thank goodness Indigo had taken off her shoes. He should’ve anticipated her playing dirty and secured her feet. Hindsight, and all that.
He hadn’t wanted to blow his cover, but she’d given him no choice.
He’d have a helicopter here as soon as possible to whisk her away into federal custody until he could find what he was looking for.
She might not answer his questions, but the FBI had experts who would pry the information from her one way or another.
That wasn’t something he wanted to consider, so he shoved the thought to the back of his mind.
What was she after? Who had sent her? She was hiding something but was being frustratingly tight-lipped.
Griffin hated keeping the cuffs on her. He’d tried not to secure them too tightly, but she’d already proven she could get out of them easily.
Still, it would be cruel to keep them on her the entire time they rode out the hurricane.
He’d have to figure out another way to restrain her.
He needed sleep, but he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes around her if she were free.
No doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to smother him with a pillow.
Then he remembered she’d drugged him and thought maybe she could keep them on.
Griffin felt like a jackass when he woke up and realized what had happened. He’d let his attraction to her impede a case. He’d known better than to kiss her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Now he was paying the price.
Griffin glanced at the television. The storm was still on its way and was expected to hit sometime tomorrow. He had perhaps two days to search, so he needed to expedite the process.
“Who do you work for?”
“The owners of Epic Beauty Salon in Boston, Massachusetts, in the United States of America, on the planet Earth, inside the Milky Way Galaxy—”
“Stop with the sarcasm, Indigo. Don’t you get it? You are in significant trouble here. Now, answer my questions. Did your bosses give you the weaponized lip gloss?”
“In fact, they did.”
He walked over and picked up her makeup case, then set it on the table in front of her. “What else will I find when I open this? A brush that shoots bullets?”
“That would be the curling iron.”
Seriously? He picked it up. It looked innocuous enough.
She ducked. “Geez, be careful where you point it.”
He ignored her and studied it. Good Lord, it was a gun.
He rifled through the case and discovered a knife in the handle of a makeup brush and a comb with sharpened metal spikes.
She carried a bag of destruction around.
He should’ve found the weapons when he’d initially searched her things, but he’d seen what she wanted him to.
He’d bought them at face value like an amateur, and he was anything but.
Griffin closed the lid. “Who do you work for? Mossad? The Federal Security Service? The National Crime Agency? Bundeskriminalamt? The Direction Centrale du Renseignement et de la Sécurité? ”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Decker, but I’m not Israeli, Russian, English, French, or German.”
Well, well, well, she was familiar with law enforcement agencies in other countries. The average person wouldn’t have had any idea what he was talking about. Plus, she’d known where to look on his badge to find his real name. He’d barely flashed it at her.
Who the hell was Indigo Adair?
#
G riffin Dean—no, scratch that—Griffin Decker was a federal agent.
Wasn’t that a big old monkey wrench in her plans?
How was she going to get out of this mess?
She noticed he’d been thorough and intense, but she’d assumed it was because he was military.
Now she knew it was because they worked for the same boss: the United States government.
The only problem was that Indy’s department didn’t exist on paper. They were a shadow group. That’s why he hadn’t found her in the system. He’d never believe her if she tried to tell him who she really was.
She’d trained for a scenario such as this, but she didn’t think she’d ever have to implement it. She did now. “I’m a prisoner. Is that correct, Mr. Decker?”
“At the moment.”
“I believe I’m entitled to a phone call.”
“Sorry, they don’t work down here.”
“Oh, come on. A big, bad Fibbie doesn’t have a satellite phone?” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Grab mine.”
He eyed her suspiciously, then took his phone from his pocket. She hoped the screen had cracked while they were rolling around earlier, but no such luck. “Number?”
She recited the digits. He punched them in and activated the speakerphone.
“Who is this?”
She watched Griffin as she replied, “Indigo. Situation AFU number 2.”
“Name?”
“Griffin Decker.”
The dial tone sounded.
“Who the hell was that, and why did you give him my name?”
“My, my, you are full of questions, aren’t you?”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling when his chiseled jaw clenched. Hopefully, he didn’t crack any of those pearly whites.
“I could hit redial.”
“You could,” she agreed. “It would be fruitless.”
“What does Situation AFU mean . . . Ah, never mind. I figured it out.”
“Congratulations. And here we thought it was an unbreakable code.” It was a take on the military acronym SNAFU: Situation normal, all fouled up, only fouled wasn’t what the F stood for.
“You get off on being obstinate, don’t you?”
“It does have its appeal.”
“You know, I was starting to like you, Indigo—if that’s your real name. I thought you were intelligent and interesting.” She ignored the shiver that shot through her body. “Both times we had dinner together were pleasant.”
Was that a slam? Who described a fantastic meal with stellar company that way? “And now?”
“I think you are a pain in the ass, and I can’t wait to send you away and never see you again.”
Those words shouldn’t hurt so much, but it felt as if he’d taken a knife and sliced her torso in two. She glanced down to make sure her chest wasn’t bleeding. It wasn’t. Only on the inside. “Who uses the word pleasant to describe a situation, anyway?”
“It’s a perfectly suitable adjective.”
“Sure, for my grandmother, God rest her soul.”
“You’d prefer if I said amiable? Congenial? Cordial?”
“Why not engaging? Exhilarating? Titillating?” She’d thrown that last one in to get a reaction out of him since he’d turned into an expressionless robot. It worked because his eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to her chest for a nanosecond before snapping back to her face.
Before he could answer, Griffin’s phone buzzed. He studied it with a furrowed brow.
“That would be your boss. You’d better answer it.”
“How did you . . . never mind.” He pivoted away before answering.
He listened to what the man was saying and then slowly turned to face her.
“Say that again.” Pause. “You’ve got to be kidding me.
” Another pause. “It could be faked . . . no, I understand.” He nodded, not that the person on the other end could see him.
The conversation lasted a few more minutes.
Indigo studied her fingernails, which wasn’t easy with all the bindings. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”
He disconnected without taking his eyes off her. “It seems you have friends in high places, Ms. Adair.”
“Oh, you mean the president of the United States? Yeah, I do.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you worked for the government?”
“You didn’t tell me,” she challenged.
“I did.”
She scoffed. “Only because you were arresting me. You didn’t mention it at any point prior.”
“Why should I have blown my cover to you? You, however, should’ve said something after I cuffed you.”
“Which time?”
“Smartass.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me. We don’t exist on paper. You should know that from your background check.”
He shook his head. “You ignoring the warnings to get on the yacht makes sense now.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, but I thought I’d be here alone. You blew that by coming back for me.”
“I’d planned on staying here too, but I wanted you to be safe.”
He reached into his pocket. “Stand up and hold out your hands.”
She did, and he removed the metal cuffs before cutting off the two plastic ones. Her fingers tingled, so she shook them out.
“What do you know about the laptop?”
“What laptop?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
She slowly shook her head. “What’s on it?”
“Highly classified military information.”
Her jaw dropped. Benedict Van Houten was, without a doubt, a traitor to his country. “You’re joking.”
“I’m afraid not. If you didn’t know about it, what were you looking for?”
“A missing nuclear weapon.”