He didn’t have much in his arsenal—a Mercedes, a 9 mm, and the two weapons he’d scooped off the dead guy. Along with his own cell phone and his BlackBerry. And of course his standard stash of currency and an alternative ID he carried with him when he traveled overseas.
“Hey, Ginger, before I start driving again and risk stopping somewhere for gas, you need to take off your shirt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your shirt. Or suit coat or whatever you call it. I’m not up on women’s fashion. We have to get rid of that listening device in case someone has activated it. I want to be careful who I speak to.”
“Yes, right. I should have thought of that myself.” She shrugged out of her large overcoat, then worked her fingers down the gold buttons on the red suit coat, inch by inch revealing the satin camisole again.
He might not be up on women’s clothing, but somehow the names for women’s lingerie stayed in his mind just fine.
Hank swallowed hard.
He’d noticed her looks before, but never had them gut-slam him like this. That, combined with his deep respect for her and a long-standing friendship, made for a heady combination. Out of respect—and a need to keep his sanity—he looked away at the snowy landscape of pine trees and bare limbs.
Didn’t help. His eyes saw tall trees laden with pillows of snow, but his mind filled in the blanks of the rustling going on beside him. Ginger sliding her hand down the front of her camisole as she worked free the listening device.
The world had gone crazy today.
She extended her hand, thin wires wadded up. He took the listening device from her and crushed the mechanism in his fist.
Once satisfied it had been completely destroyed, he nodded. “All right. Time to start making some calls.” His phone had the best encryption available. Still, he would keep the conversations short and move locations. “Hopefully this is just a single incident and we can head back in for a late supper.”
He offered up his best consoling smile.
“That sounds lovely.” She reached under the front seat and came back up with the velvet bag.
Phone gripped in his palm, he hesitated in mid-dial. “You managed to hold on to that through the whole shootout?”
“I must have done it through instinct. I don’t remember thinking about it, really. But I’m certainly not leaving a priceless heirloom behind now.”
Staring at the steely woman beside him, Hank figured she took the word priceless to a new level, a thought more dangerous than any threats lurking behind the icicle-laden landscape. He wouldn’t risk anything happening to Ginger tonight, but he couldn’t deny his own peace of mind would seriously be at risk if they remained isolated together much longer. He’d only just barely willed away his physical attraction before the shock of having her life in danger, followed by the jolt of awareness over having her sweet curves up close to his body while he was hepped up on adrenaline, took hold.
He definitely needed to get his head back in the game—because it was his job and because he couldn’t risk anything happening to the woman next to him.
Hank clutched his cell phone and brought his mind back to the important task at hand. Time to start making calls and hope they netted results. Otherwise he and Ginger would be stuck making use of the Bavarian hospitality undercover.
Chapter 3
Ginger eyed the potato soup in front of her—the price-wise special on the tavern menu—and tried to force herself to eat.
Hank’s three calls from their wooded haven had been fruitless so far. None of the people had responded appropriately to his code word, so he couldn’t risk giving away their locale.
At least they didn’t have to worry about the calls themselves. She knew his phone was encrypted well enough that he should be able to make quick, untraceable calls. With his job, he had the best technology available.
Still, making contact involved some level of risk, no matter how fabulous the equipment. So he didn’t want to call too often, which left them in the back corner of a smoky old tavern recharging and regrouping.
In spite of the roaring fire in the garland-strewn hearth, she kept her overcoat on to mask her bright-red suit. She didn’t expect people to recognize her, but she didn’t want to stand out. Hank had done the same with his coat, keeping it on, as certainly his American uniform with all its medals and stars would draw dangerous attention.
Christmas music from an accordion combated the television and slapdancers to make conversation anonymous, but he’d stayed silent while he ate his bratwurst and potatoes. Was he thinking? Moody? Or just plain hungry?
Ginger glanced around the smoky bar as best she could, taking in the back exit, the bathrooms, the bartender and a couple of patrons at the counter staring up at the television. She wanted to scout out the whole place, but Hank had taken the best seat for viewing. No matter where they went, he always kept his back to the wall. He said it made him feel less vulnerable.
She understood the feeling as well. She didn’t much like having her back to this room full of diners when somebody could come through the door, guns blazing, at any second. So why hadn’t she simply sat beside him in the booth rather than plopping in the seat across from him with her own back so very exposed, dependent on another for protection?
Because Hank had stand-back vibes right now.
Ginger swallowed a bite of her roll—more like a ball of lead. To hell with this silence. She would force him to talk. They were equal partners in this. “What do you make of the callers not responding to your duress word?”