through with the name of that final mole she was screwed.
Several hours later Rowan had managed to wade her way through most of her work for the day. Tomorrow’s schedule was in place, Sam was finishing up, and the only memo sheet left on her desk was the one regarding Jared’s impending travel arrangements.
He was booked to go via Warsaw with his first flight leaving at four-forty a.m. He was scheduled to return four days after he got there. Six days in total—not nearly long enough for him to pay his respects to two dead men’s families, check on a kid in the Netherlands, and go after the name of Antonov’s final mole. His arrangements were flawed from the beginning.
Not a good start.
‘Agent West wanted to know what time you usually leave the office,’ Sam said as she shut down her computer and secured her desk drawers with the thoroughness with which one might secure a safe.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘She said I should be able to catch you about now.’
The office door was open. How Jared had managed to appear framed in it without either her or Sam hearing him was a testament to how quietly he could move.
She nodded to him, eyeing the carry-bag draped over his shoulder and the white plastic shopping bag that dangled from one hand. The plastic bag smelled strongly of chilli, basil, lemongrass and curry.
‘You told her I’d be back with food, right?’ he asked Sam.
‘I was just about to mention it.’ Sam turned her blandest gaze on Rowan. ‘I didn’t say you’d eat it.’
‘Is this a variation on Will you have dinner with me?’ Rowan asked him.
‘Or I can eat and you can watch,’ he offered with a sinner’s smile. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Apparently you’re also very fragile—I’ve been hearing that all day. This had better not be your version of the Last Supper.’
‘If it was I’d have chosen the lobster instead of the duck.’
Not for a second did he let her see whether her words had got to him. And then his gaze skidded to her mouth and hers went to his for more than a count of three.
Damn. Rowan dragged her gaze back to the rest of his face and motioned him into her office.
‘See you in the morning, Sam.’
Sam nodded and left without another word. Jared walked past Rowan and headed straight over to the panelled bookcase that doubled as a door that led through to her private apartment. He knew how to open it and didn’t wait to be invited inside—just strode on through.
Perhaps he expected her to follow.
Warily, she did.
Rowan didn’t use the apartment often. She kept a few changes of clothes there, a few emergency toiletries in the bathroom cupboard. Sometimes she ate there. But not often.
‘You know the layout of my office and you know my favourite food. What else do you know?’ she asked as she leaned against the doorframe and watched him make himself at home.
‘Have you eaten since you ate my pancakes this morning?’
She hadn’t.
‘That’s what I thought.’
He found plates in the cupboard and cutlery in the drawer. He fished napkins from the bag and she let him, more focused on his economy of movement in such a small kitchenette space than on his words.
‘I bought a boat today.’
‘What kind of boat?’
‘An oceangoing yacht.’
‘Do you miss Antonov’s yacht?’
‘That was a floating fortress, not a yacht. I don’t miss it specifically. I do miss being at sea.’
‘You work in Canberra. How often are you going to use this yacht?’
‘Not as often as I’d like, but I won’t be the only one using it. Lena went halves on it with me.’
‘That must be nice.’
She didn’t mean for him to stop serving up the food—heaven forbid—but he paused long enough to slide her an enquiring glance.
‘Having siblings to share things with,’ she elaborated. ‘Do you have a favourite sibling?’
‘Lena’s closest to me in age. Closest to me overall.’
And Lena had just married Jared’s best friend.
‘Lena followed you and Adrian Sinclair into the service. You made a good, reliable team, the three of you. You led, and mostly they followed. And then Lena got shot while the three of you were checking out an abandoned biological weapons factory in East Timor.’
Jared’s lips tightened.
‘Adrian stayed to look after her. You, on the other hand, went rogue, trying to pin down who was responsible for hurting your sister.’
‘I had a handler. I didn’t go rogue. Serrin knew what I was doing.’
‘I’ve read Serrin’s notes,’ she countered mildly. ‘Frankly, they made me wonder who was running who.’
‘Still not rogue. I worked within the framework that was there.’
He handed her a plate piled high with red curry duck, plain rice and Asian greens.
‘Where’s the wine?’ she asked.
‘You don’t drink.’ He said it with utter confidence.
‘We really are going to have to stop letting your brother use our database as his personal information library.’
Jared smiled and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. Rowan looked at her plate and headed for the little table in the room. She walked over to it, pulled out a chair and kicked another one out for him. He joined her moments later.
Corbin’s words of warning slid insidiously through her mind. Don’t bury him. Don’t send this man to his death.
She didn’t want to. ‘What’s in Belarus?’
‘Churches, city squares, a fine fear of the Motherland and a man Antonov wanted to impress.’
‘A man Antonov wanted to impress?’ The only people she could think of who might fit that particular criteria would be hellishly hard to access. Rebel leaders and legitimate ones. People of power. ‘Does this man have a name?’
‘Ro, you haven’t even tried your duck. It’s really good.’
‘Do you know how to find him?’
‘Yes.’
