“I’m sorry.”
She whipped around. “Don’t.”
“Sabine—”
The elevator doors opened, and they both stayed silent while he walked her to her room. When the door didn’t close behind her, she whirled as fast as her ankle would let her. Doug stood there, scanning the room she’d reserved. Of course he’d waltzed in right behind her. Probably thought he was going to personally escort her all the way home.
She looked around at the budget accommodations. It was a far cry from Christophe’s suite, but she didn’t care what it looked like. This was the room that brought her within reach of the man who was the money behind Ben’s death—the man who likely knew who was responsible.
She had to know who’d fired the rifle from that rooftop. She had to know why Ben was gone. Otherwise, what was the point? But how could she find out what had happened when the biggest lead was dead? Not to mention that her retribution plan was now pointless.
She wanted to pray there was something on the hard drive that would point to who had killed Ben, but her emotions were too messed up to deal with the issue of faith just then.
There had to be evidence on there they could use, otherwise all of her investigation into classified government files, running down leads, the days of work she’d put in—everything leading up to this mission—would have been for nothing. And Sabine would be left with only the empty feeling of not being able to make sense of anything.
Doug closed the door with him on the wrong side of it. “We shouldn’t stay here too long. Christophe’s bodyguards might get lucky and figure out where you’re staying.”
“The two guys who chased us? Please. I’ve seen smarter sponges.”
Sabine dug through her suitcase for her first-aid kit. She located an elastic bandage, sat on the edge of the bed and started to wrap her ankle. Sharp pain sliced through her foot, and she ducked her head to blow out a breath through pursed lips.
Masculine fingers covered hers. The distinction between his almond-colored skin and her olive-toned flesh made it all the more clear to her that they had little common ground. The loving family he came from was worlds away from her dingy two-bedroom childhood home where everything had gone wrong.
“Let me.”
She looked up. The warmth of his fingers on hers registered, along with the look in his eye. Her throat thickened, and she forced herself to nod.
While he made quick work of the bandage, Sabine felt her heart stretch and come awake for the first time. That had never happened any of the other times she’d met Doug—MacArthur, as the guys called him. The simple name suited his steady and uncomplicated nature.
At the few backyard barbecues for the team and their families that she’d attended, Sabine had always felt like an outsider. She’d been attracted to Doug, but any time they had talked he steered the conversation through small talk and never lingered for long.
He clearly didn’t feel anything special for her. That was when she began to make excuses to her brother and say she had to work—which wasn’t a lie. Now that Ben was dead, she wished she hadn’t made him look at her that way or feel sorry for her.
Sabine cleared her throat. “So why are you guys here?”
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here first?”
“You tell me, and I’ll tell you. Otherwise I have nothing to say.” It was juvenile, but she wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart. Her ankle hurt like nobody’s business. Not to mention the weight of a man’s life was now on her shoulders.
She didn’t know what the recourse of all this would be. No doubt there’d be some kind of investigation into Christophe’s death. When her name came up, she hoped she had the strength to stand up for herself. Not to mention that there would be enough evidence to prove it wasn’t her who had murdered him.
Doug rubbed his eyes. Was he frustrated this wasn’t turning out like he had planned? Good. Immediately she wanted to take that thought back. Despite the imposing size of him, he did look sort of lost.
Sabine had enough to deal with without letting him distract her from her job, so she ignored him. She had the hard drive. It really was time to go before someone identified her. After dumping everything into the rolling carry-on she traveled with, she slipped her feet into silver flats, put her sunglasses on top of her head and turned to the door.
Doug grabbed her elbow, but she kept going. After a tug of war in which she lost her sunglasses and found herself sitting on the desk chair, she finally acknowledged him. He towered over her, his hands on the armrests.
Sabine lifted her chin. “Make this fast. I have a plane to catch.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Sabine almost swooned with the vulnerability in his tone. Almost. “I don’t think so.”
“Sabine, this is serious. Right now, where you go, I go. That’s how it has to be.”
“Why?”
“You’re seriously asking me that? We have to figure out what just happened. You want to find Ben’s killer? Well, so do I. If we pool our resources together, we have the best chance of that. So we’re going to meet up with my team, and you’re going to tell me what you’re doing here, what you want with that hard drive you hid in your purse and whatever else you know.”
She smirked. He thought she was going to spill everything just like that? Yep, amateurs. “Answers, answers. Let’s see. Life...the universe...and forty-seven.”
“Funny.” He wasn’t laughing. “I think you know something. Maybe it’s a small thing...or maybe you’re the key to all of this.”
She sighed. “Am I supposed to know what on earth you’re talking about?” He should know how it was. They both lived their lives under the radar. That was the whole point of being a spy. He was Special Forces. They only told the people closest to them what they did.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Sabine glared. “Even if I could help you, there’s no way I would give you even one second of my time. You were there when my brother died—”
“I can’t talk to you about that. It’s classified.”
“Look, MacArthur—”
“Doug.”
Sabine rolled her eyes. “The only thing I care about is bringing whoever killed Ben to justice. Whatever association you and I might’ve had has now ended. Unless you care to share what happened that night.”
The muscle at the corner of his eye twitched. “You need my help if you’re going to get out of this hotel without getting questioned for Christophe’s death.”
“You said yourself we don’t have much time before those two guys find us, or someone raises the alarm about Christophe being dead and the whole place swarms with cops.”
He held out his hand. “Let’s go then.”
She brushed it aside and stood. “This is where we part. It’s been an experience, really. But like I said, I have a plane to catch.”
“Look, I know how hard this must be for you.”
Was he serious? “You have no idea—”
“Let me finish.” He had the decency to look apologetic. “Please. I can help you put this to rest, but I have to know how you fit in.”
“You think I had something to do with Ben’s death?” She forced the words past a resurgence of the complete