Page 53 of Afraid to Hope

Bane growled quietly.

“We just hope and pray that he recovers.” Matilda knocked once and opened the door into the director’s office. “They’re here, Emmet,” she said solemnly.

“Thank you.” Emmet looked up from sheaves of papers covering his desk and glanced at his watch, then removed his glasses and held them where the temples crossed. He looked exhausted. “Good morning. Nothing like the past twelve hours to drive home the seriousness of our mission. Please sit.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, then rose and walked to move between them, leaning against it, his hands clasped over his lower abdomen. His blue eyes swept back and forth between Natasha and Bane. “I appreciate your prompt arrival. Matilda told you that Rafiq came through surgery but there were complications after they got him back to his room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goddammit.”

Emmet regarded Bane then Natasha. “His surgeon shared that Rafiq would not have made it to surgery without your attention, so dismiss any thoughts you might have that you contributed to his current status. We have no idea why he was shot. Whether it was random or targeted. We know nothing. Rafiq never regained consciousness. I have our people watching the hospital around the clock and a team stationed outside his room to guarantee no one enters unless they have been cleared ahead of time by us.”

“Doctor, due to the attack and because Rafiq came to your residence, I am having security installed. He may have been watched. We feel it’s necessary to take this stepeven though you and Bane are leaving shortly. Simon will have it all in before you return today.”

Natasha studied her bright red toenails peeking out from her sandals as the images of last night and this morning replayed in her mind. The last thing she wanted was to be an exhibitionist.Christ.

Bane slumped back into his chair and crossed his leg over his knee. His elbows rested on the chair arms, fingers steepled under his nose. “Uh, Emmet. Where exactly are the plans for the installation? I believe I speak for both of us that we request a modicum of privacy.”

The director’s eyes moved shrewdly between them.He cleared his throat and Natasha looked up. “I believe we can stay to the perimeters, the entrance points, and passages for now. Will that be satisfactory?”

“It may not be, sir,” Natasha responded, lifting her tote to her lap and reaching in. “Allow me to explain.”

Natasha and Bane waited patiently as Emmet read and flipped through the paperwork she had shared with him. His hair resembled multiple roosters’ combs, spiking everywhere from the many times he had run his hands through the short, dense white hair while reading over the agreement and ledgers within the journal. After coming to the final entry, he closed the journal and pinched his nose, scowling and lost in thought. Natasha and Bane remained silent.

“I fully understand the urgency of moving our meeting back and your request of Simon’s appearance, Bane,” Emmet said, glancing at him. “Totally justified.”

He inhaled deeply, stood, and began pacing. “INTERPOL has been after the American for decades, but as soon as we felt we were closing in on him, and we referred to the American as such, he disappeared. We have dedicated countless hours of active intelligence and money since the Cultural Heritage Crime division was created in 1946 in response to the massive amount of missing and stolen art and cultural artifacts during World War II.”

“Sir…,” Natasha said, raising her hand, forefinger in the air.

The director ignored her and kept going. “For decades the trafficking of cultural heritage was relatively low risk, albeit lucrative, but recently there has been a significant uptick in associated violence as world conflicts have increased. The American is elusive and has long been suspected of the violence and murder. People have vanished in Africa, Europe, the Middle East, and”—he pursed his lips and gave Natasha a long look—“Central America.” Emmet picked up the journal and waved it in the air, pinning her with a cold look. His voice shook. “Bloody hell, Dr. Jordaan. Your family is right in the middle of—”

“Sir… sir…” Natasha jumped to her feet and raised her voice, trying to speak. Her face was contorted with a mixture of chagrin and anger.

Emmet rolled over Natasha. “Your grandfather’s signature is on the bloody covenant.” He picked up the agreement and snapped the papers at her. “Can you be trusted to carry out the mission? And remain objective?” His eyes flashed at Natasha, Bane, and then back at her. “To have your partner’s back?”

“That’s enough, Emmet,” Bane snapped, rocketing from his chair. “Cut the sanctimonious bullshit. Since when did you begin assuming? The analysts need to take a look at everything. This is an attack on Natasha’s character. You’re assuming she’s a guilty party in all this. She most definitely is not.”

The silence thickened until Natasha spoke. “Sir, if I may. That you even question my integrity, my loyalty to the mission, is disheartening. I have”—she spat out the next words—“nevergiven INTERPOL any reason to doubt me. I am a professional. I do my job beyond what is required.” Her eyes were the color of dark, stormy clouds, and she looked as if she were ready to unleash a torrential, deadly storm. Everything that had been building since the shocking discovery in her grandfather’s office, everything she had not had time to digest and process, was clearly coming to a head. Natasha’s voice was low and menacing. “Goddammit. I’m invested in this. It wasmewho apprehended Eric Schaus, and it will bemewho helps to lop another head off the American. I want the network expunged. And while I’m at it, it will bemewho does everything possible to clear my grandfather’s name, or to understand fully why he was involved in the inception of the American. The man I knew, the man who helped raise me after my family was murdered, was kind, loving, and good. Pépé’s possible involvement is not compatible with his character, with his ethics.” She simmered. “We all know things aren’t always what they appear to be. I would give my grandfather the benefit of the doubt even if he weren’t my relative. I ask the same of you.” Natasha marched toward the door. “I need some air. I’m going to walk this off.”

Bane dropped into his seat, totally blown away by what had transpired and full of admiration for how Natasha had stood her ground. She’d been strong, direct, and fierce. “Natasha is a fucking force to be reckoned with, Emmet.”

“I upset her,” he responded, appearing concerned.

“No. You did much worse. You questioned her principles and integrity. This is your fucking mess.”

“Bloody hell. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You realize you may never get her back? You may have to bring in another contractor.”

“There is no other person who can fill her shoes. You know that. She’s the best of the best, and the clock is ticking.”

Rapid knocks on the door interrupted them. Matilda came in, eyes blazing. “What just happened in here?”

“I made a misstep,” Emmet admitted.

Matilda parked her hands on her hips and stared hard at Emmet. “Is she coming back?”

Bane glanced at Emmet, then slouched in the chair and laced his fingers over the hard muscles of his stomach. “She might. If Emmet grovels.” He smirked.

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