nice then.”
“I’m trying, but I can’t help feeling this is a waste of time. I’m not convinced that second guy’s trying to buy arms.”
“And I’m beginning to think you’re right. The intel must have been dodgy.” She trailed a finger along his arm. “But look on the bright side—that new guy at the NSA owes us a favour now.”
The waiter brought over dessert as Nick made a real effort to look besotted with his dining companion, but all he could think of was the curvy brunette waiting for him at home.
Emmy giggled, smiling at the waiter. “Ooh, sweetheart, look! Two spoons, isn’t that lovely?”
“Yeah, sure is, my little pumpkin.”
Nick gave Emmy a soppy smile and carefully fed her a spoonful of chocolate cake. The Russians at the next table glanced over, and one of them said something in his mother tongue.
“Aw, how sweet. Asshole one just told asshole two he wishes his wife would look at him the way I’m looking at you,” Emmy told Nick. “Maybe he’s a romantic at heart.”
“Not sure about that.”
Emmy tilted her head and listened to the first asshole again. “Actually, you’re right. He reckons it’s time for a new one, and he’ll get shot of the old suka when he gets home. Oh, and I think he’s talking literally about the ‘shot’ part.”
“Heartless bastard.”
“He’s an arms dealer. They’re not exactly famed for their compassion.”
One last spoonful of cake, and Nick and Emmy settled back to listen while the arms dealer and his companion discussed Spartak Moscow’s chances in the Russian Premier League over a bottle of vodka. They weren’t good, apparently.
“I hate soccer,” Nick said, stifling a yawn as asshole one clicked his fingers at the waitress and ordered another drink.
In many ways, soccer players were worse than arms dealers. Blackwood had been hired to provide close protection for a highly paid pussy in France’s Ligue 1 recently, and it was like babysitting an oversized toddler—tantrums, messes, and a complete refusal to take responsibility for his own actions.
“Keeping you up?” Emmy asked.
Nick’s yawn turned into a smile. He couldn’t help it, not with Lara’s naked body front and centre in his mind. Soft, curvy, and spread out underneath him.
“That’s Lara’s job now.”
“Well, these dicks look like they’re almost done. You’ll be back in your little love nest before you know it.”
Nick hadn’t told Emmy that things had progressed with Lara, but she’d guessed the second she saw him. Not surprising when his face ached from smiling so much. He felt different inside too. Lighter. He’d even go so far as to say happy. And he hadn’t felt that way in years. Not since...since Jana.
His phone vibrated against his thigh, snapping him out of his reverie. He’d only brought his emergency phone with him, designated R for red because if somebody called him on it, there was a good chance blood was being spilled. Like seven years ago when it rang for his fiancée.
Dammit, his fingers shook as he answered. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
Nick recognised the voice of Matt, the control room supervisor at Blackwood and a man who could stay calm through a nuclear blast.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because your Ferrari just went from sixty to zero in less than a second?”
His Ferrari? The Ferrari he’d left safely tucked up in his garage at home?
“I’m sitting in a restaurant. Who the hell is in my car?”
“An excellent question.”
“Check the camera in my garage.”
“Give me a minute.”
Even as he waited for Matt to call up the video feed, the serpent of fear coiling through Nick’s gut told him who must have been driving.
“Don’t bother with the camera. Tell me where the car is.”
Matt read out the coordinates, and Nick scribbled them onto a napkin then repeated them back.
Matt confirmed. “Want me to call the emergency services?”
“Get an ambulance on its way.”
When Nick hung up, Emmy already had her jacket on. She raised an eyebrow as she dropped three hundred-dollar bills onto the table.
Nick didn’t answer her unasked question. He didn’t need to. They’d worked together for long enough that words weren’t necessary. His palm was clammy against hers as he grabbed the hand she held out and led her from the restaurant, plastering on a smile for the benefit of their Russian friends.
Emmy had illegally parked her Dodge Viper half a block away, and Nick broke into a jog as soon as they got out of Levante. Emmy kept up, looking remarkably comfortable in pumps.
“You think Lara took your car?”
“Nobody else had access.”
“Did she say anything about