“I have no desire to poke Spenser Banks,” he grumbled, fitting his hand in mine and fingering the metal around my wrist. “Will you please take these off her? Every time I look at them I want to vomit.”
“Well, I think the feeling is mutual. Especially since you promised one hundred million dollars and the CIA only recovered ten from the dry pipe outside of Enugu.”
“I must have miscounted.”
I could almost see my husband’s shoulders shrug as he made this comment.
I listened as Marie approached, lifting my eyebrows in preparation for opening my eyes. My limbs felt sluggish and weighted, sore. She reached for the hand Greg wasn’t holding, and the cuff made a clicking sound as the lock was released.
I blinked once, finding my eyeballs scratchy, my eyelids heavy, and my vision blurred.
Greg’s hand tightened on mine. “Fe?”
“Hmm.”
“How much of that did you hear?”
“Just the end,” I croaked. My lips were dry. I tried to moisten them. “Where are we?”
Greg pushed shaking fingers into my hair. “We’re at the US consulate in Lagos.”
“What are we doing here?” I tried to blink again, but only managed to squint.
“The plan was always to return here after the hostages were secure. When you fainted, we decided it was the safest place to go. They have medical staff on call.”
“We didn’t expect them to arrest you,” Marie added, moving to Greg’s side and insinuating herself so she could release the cuff.
“Why was I arrested?”
“For treason, but it was just Agent Banks trying to throw his weight around. Let me get you some water.” Marie carried the cuffs away, placing them on a side counter with a thunk, and poured water from a pitcher.
“I thought Greg negotiated amnesty for me?” I could see better now, but my headache was returning, pounding between my temples.
“I did.”
I shifted my attention to him. He was leaning forward, his thumb brushing back and forth over my cheek, his fingers curled around my jaw and neck.
“I’ve taken care of everything. All charges have been dropped. But Banks tried to renege when we arrived.”
I blinked once, my mind slowly working through this information. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a dickless jackass?” Greg smirked, quoting my words from earlier.
“You heard that?”
“I heard every word.” He nodded once, his smirk growing into a warm, wonderful smile.
Marie cleared her throat meaningfully as she walked toward me, carrying the glass, and handed it to me. “Or . . .”
I took a sip of water, thankful for the cool, soothing liquid, and studied my friend. She was staring pointedly at Greg. I studied Greg. His wonderful smile grew crooked and mischievous, and his eyes fell to where he was holding my hand.
When no one spoke I asked, “Or?”
Marie tsked when Greg didn’t continue. “Do you want to tell her?”
He shrugged. “Nah.”
“Fine. I’ll tell her.” Marie didn’t sound angry, she sounded reluctantly amused, as though it were against her better judgment.
“Tell me what?” I took another sip of water and then rested the glass on my belly.
“The refinery exploded.”
Greg wasn’t looking at either of us, instead he was smirking at nothing as he said, “Big kaboom.”
“Oh dear Lord.” Marie huff-chuckled.
His unrepentant eyes bounced between us. “Technically, I had no way to stop the explosion. I told Banks that.”
“Yes. You did,” Marie agreed. “He just didn’t believe you until the big kaboom.”
“That’s on him,” my husband insisted. “His resultant demotion isn’t my problem.”
“What? Banks was demoted?” I was trying to keep up.
“Banks was demoted because he’s a gar-belching guttersnipe,” Greg muttered.
Marie ignored the odd insult and explained. “Yes, Banks was demoted. I suspect that’s why he tried to have you arrested, because he’s quite spiteful and irrational.”
I could only imagine Banks’ level of distress and dismay. The Agency was his life. He would not react well to a demotion.
“They demoted him because of the exploding refinery?” I asked.
“The exploding refinery was part of it.” Marie pursed her lips, then added flatly as she glared at my husband, “And the money was the other part.”
Greg grinned and refocused his attention on our linked fingers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Marie kept her eyes fastened to my husband but addressed her next comment to me. “Greg moved the money.”
It took me a moment to catch on, to remember what money she was referring to. “Wait, no he didn’t. He left it in a dry pipe.”
“Yes. That’s right. I left it in a dry pipe.” Greg nodded, still studying our joined hands.
“And yet, when the CIA went to retrieve the money it wasn’t in the dry pipe.”
Greg shrugged again. “Meh.”
Obviously unable to contain herself, she laughed tiredly, but with true amusement. “How did you manage to move ninety million dollars while you were being held captive?”
“Exactly. It’s not possible,” Greg said cheerfully.
Marie was about to challenge him further when a knock sounded on the door. She gave him a suspicious glare and moved to answer the door.
“Who is it?”