He was sipping a caffé freddo again and reading a guidebook. Except behind his sunglasses his eyes never left the staff entrance to the embassy. His fellow stake-out teams were watching the people using the public entrance. From his vantage point he could see both, but he guessed they had different priorities. No one who worked there would ever use the public entrance.

He took another sip and pretended to speak to someone on his switched-off phone. As he watched the two entrances, it occurred to him that the hotel room did not have any escape route except the stairs. What began as a slight concern started to worry at him. Maybe they needed an alternative plan. Maybe a bigger hotel in a more built-up area that would allow them to use the proximity of the roofs to make a getaway, like he and Mal had done.

He wondered what Molly was doing. God, just thinking about her made him hard. He visualized her on top of him, fucking him like she had this morning. His eyes closed for a second; he knew he shouldn’t think about sex right now but was completely unable to stop. He thought about the warmness that had filled him when she’d simply held his hand too. He was totally screwed. He knew that now. He just had to persuade her that he was worth taking a chance on.

Just when he’d come out the other end of his drinking and PTSD, she was fucking with his heart. Brain, he meant brain. Nah, he meant heart. And it was him doing the fucking. He sighed and checked his watch. It was late. He should call it a day and pick up food before heading back.

He finished his coffee and left some euros on the table, picked up his shopping and headed back to the hotel. About halfway there, he felt eyes on him. He stopped to look in a shop window and used the reflection to watch the people who passed him. He turned to go into the store, using it as camouflage while he checked out the street behind him. Nothing. He was becoming paranoid.

The feeling that someone was watching him was strong, but he’d already begun to doubt his instincts. He knew he wasn’t one hundred percent mentally cleared, and so did his boss, which is why he’d been on this easy protective detail to start with. He had to keep it together for Molly.

He was tempted to try to get out from the back of the store, but figured that might draw more attention than necessary, so he emerged and continued down the street.

The traffic was bumper to bumper, and within three minutes, he felt equal parts relief and adrenaline when he caught sight of his tail in the side mirrors of the stationary cars. He wasn’t losing his mind. Just because he was paranoid, didn’t mean they weren’t out to blow him up.

Jesus, it was a suit. No idea what nationality. Wait a minute. The mirrors gave him a slightly distorted view of the man, but with the brief glimpses he’d got, the guy could easily be Peterson.

He strode past the street that led to their hotel and continued toward the metro station they’d used the previous day. There was a bridge and a tunnel and a grassy park, all of which gave egress. He turned down an alley that led behind a Coffee Island shop and waited for his new friend to join him. He placed his bags carefully next to a Dumpster and stood with his back against the wall, right at the entrance to the passage. The suit walked a step or two across the mouth of the alley, but David gave him no time to react. He grabbed him by his lapels and head-butted him, then half dragged, half carried him into the shadows.

“Why are you following me?” he asked the man, as he struggled to get up. Under normal circumstances, he would have been sure not to allow him to get up, but he didn’t feel entirely on the up and up taking out someone without fully knowing who he was.

“Where is she?” the man said, holding his nose together with both hands.

“Why do you want to know?” So it was about Molly. “Are you Peterson? Are you the reason someone tried to blow us up?”

The man grunt-shouted and stamped his foot in pain. Guess he must have broken his nose. “Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head.

David was fast becoming sure he wasn’t a threat. No one prepared to do combat would cry over a hurt nose. He released a breath. “You are Peterson, right?”

“Of course I am. I’ve been in-country trying to stop this clusterfuck since Molly got here.” David didn’t entirely believe him. He remembered the BP on the pen.

“Who are you and what were you trying to do by sending a civilian into a shitstorm like this?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I need a hospital. You broke my nose.” He started staggering to the entrance of the alley.

“Not so fast, dude. If you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, I will leave you here for someone else to find.”

“I’m not telling you anything ‘dude.’ I don’t know who the fuck you are, and whoever you are, I doubt you have a sufficient level of clearance. All I’ve managed to get from your boss is that you’re on probation. So forgive me if that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

So Baston hadn’t fired him for not getting out of Greece, but he obviously wasn’t throwing all his faith behind him either.

David had no time for shit. The longer they were in this alleyway the more likely they were to draw attention to themselves. He sighed and as he stepped toward him, he looked away to the street. In his peripheral vision, he saw Peterson look in the same direction. David grabbed his left arm and twisted it up around his back, pressing his face into the wall behind the Dumpster.

“Tell me what I need to know to keep her safe. If I find out you lied to me, you will never be safe. Not here, not when you get back to your cushy apartment in DC. You see this?” He shoved his phone against the wall so Peterson could see it. “There are five people in here, one on speed dial, who can make you disappear forever. You get me? Anywhere in the world. Except for North Korea, I guess. So, you know, you might be safe there. Tell me what you know.” He pressed on the back of his head just enough to make him growl in pain.

“Okay, okay. Shit man, don’t be a pyscho.” David released pressure on him and easily dodged an unpracticed swing from Peterson’s fist. It was almost laughable. This desk dude was having a bad day already, and was probably wondering how to explain how he had broken his nose on a surveillance job.

“Really?” David said, raising an eyebrow.

Peterson’s shoulders slumped. “I had to…you know.”

Yup, David did know. Peterson had to at least try to put up a fight. Quite ballsy for a desk jockey.

“Just tell me what the hell is going on and we can walk away, no harm, no foul.” David crossed his arms.

“Maybe for you,” Peterson said, touching his fingers to his swollen nose. “I’m going to get you back for that.”

“The only way you’ll even have an opportunity to do that is if you tell me what. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.” He leveled his gaze at him, trying to impart strongly that his patience was already tissue thin. He took a step toward him, and he raised his hand.

“Okay. Okay. I heard from someone connected to the Russians that there was a big op going down here at the G20. The word was that the US was going to lift the Russian finance minister to get their hands on the Russian banking codes—not for money, but to see which Americans are on their payroll. I’m on the Russia desk, and let me tell you, it’s a fucking nightmare keeping diplomatic channels open. No way was I going to stand by and let someone fuck up years of my work with some half-assed mission to get their hands on the Kremlin’s banking codes. So I decided to run my own op. Make sure our friendlies in the Russian government were warned.”

“Are you a traitor?” David took a step toward him, trying to quell a need to wrap his fingers around the man’s throat and squeeze.

“No. It was an unsanctioned mission, no one—and I mean no one, Defense, State, Select Intelligence committee—no one knew anything about it. It was a rogue op, almost guaranteed to thrust us into a war with Russia.