Catherine closed her eyes. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“A drink then?” Phillip suggested.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Lucy offered quickly.
“I was thinking something a little stronger.” Phillip smiled tiredly. He had a thick crop of ash-blond hair, and the blue of his irises was striking against his pale face. He was a world-renowned engineer who followed his wife wherever her job dictated, which wasn’t something many men would contemplate. He was both handsome and charming. The perfect spouse for a diplomat.
Lucy didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone anymore.
“Coffee is fine.” Ambassador Dickerson responded with a small wave. “The stronger the better. I need my wits when I talk to these people.”
Lucy went to the coffeemaker on a side table in the suite and made five cups of expresso, exactly how the ambassador, her husband, and Miranda took it. She delivered each cup, including one for the RSO and another for the FBI agent sitting quietly in the corner.
There was a knock on the huge doors that led into the apartment, and the ambassador stood, clearly fearing whatever news was about to arrive. She gave Lucy a nod, and Lucy leapt forward to open the door, mentally rolling her eyes at herself for acting like a puppy eager to please its master.
Through the thin crack, she spied a white shirt and dark suit. She raised her gaze and met a pair of the darkest, prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a grown man—save one.
“Supervisory Special Agent Max Hawthorne to see Ambassador Dickerson.” His smooth voice was complete with a glorious British accent that slid over her skin like a sensory overload. “I’m the FBI negotiator,” he added when she made no move to let him in.
Lucy averted her gaze and opened the door, using it as a shield between the intense heat of his gaze and her almost-forgotten role as a nobody.
“The negotiator is here,” she said so quietly she wasn’t sure the others heard her. Miranda was already striding across the thick carpet to shake the guy’s hand. Lucy closed the door after Brian Powell, the FBI Legat and all-round asshat, stepped inside the room. He didn’t spare her a glance as she took up her space against the wall.
Her eyes were drawn back to Max Hawthorne.
“Have you found her?” the ambassador demanded immediately after the introductions were finished.
The Legat answered. “Not yet, ma’am. We are currently concentrating every resource we have in the region on your daughter’s abduction but also asking for additional agents to assist with other ongoing cases that cannot be delayed.”
“Surely Kristen’s kidnapping takes priority over any other matters?” Miranda spoke firmly. Lucy’s boss was beautiful and compelling and rarely raised her voice.
Powell glanced at Miranda, clearly unimpressed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss active cases. We’re working with local police agencies to gather as much information about the kidnapping as possible, and I’m sure DSS is pursuing every avenue they have looking for any connections to known terrorist groups.”
Iain Bartlett nodded.
“Do you have any new leads?” Catherine’s tone was sharp as a wasp’s sting.
“Not yet,” Powell admitted reluctantly.
“What can you tell me about your daughter’s movements yesterday?” Max Hawthorne asked, stepping in and breaking the tension.
The ambassador switched her full attention to the negotiator. Catherine was a smart, dedicated professional who knew her way around politics in a male-dominated world. Lucy admired the woman greatly.
“Kristen had arranged to go Christmas shopping with some of her friends. They’d been planning it for weeks.”
“Did many people know about this outing in advance?” Max Hawthorne asked.
Iain Bartlett opened his mouth to answer, but Catherine raised her hand in silent command.
The ambassador gave the Fed a look. “I have no idea how many people knew about it outside of the three girls who’d arranged to meet up. Their parents and boyfriends perhaps?”
“You didn’t call them all and ask them?”
The ambassador’s eyebrows shot up. Miranda, as always, took her lead from her boss and frowned at the newcomer. Lucy swallowed an amused laugh.
Kudos to the negotiator for figuring out the ambassador’s bulldog personality after only being in the room with her for thirty seconds. Catherine had called everyone she could think of in the hours after she was notified her daughter had been taken, demanding answers and interrogating everyone—from tearful teens to sweating generals. Phillip had barely been able to keep his wife from scouring the streets and going house-to-house knocking on doors. Had the woman been anything except the US Ambassador, Lucy didn’t think anyone would have been able to stop her taking things into her own hands.
The ambassador sipped her coffee, clearly gathering her thoughts and her temper. “I spoke to the parents of all Kristen’s friends briefly, especially to offer my condolences to Irene’s parents and to offer any help the US can provide. The British Embassy is presumably sending people to assist them. Everyone was shaken, naturally. Irene’s family is as devastated as we are. Aside from members of their household, the remaining girl didn’t recall telling anyone about their plans except two other girlfriends from school and her boyfriend.”
“So quite a few people knew Kristen would be in downtown Buenos Aires yesterday.” The negotiator held his hands loosely in front of him.
Lucy didn’t think she’d ever seen a more beautifully put together man. Even his hands looked sexy, capable and strong. Light brown skin, hair close shaven. It was his eyes that gave him the added edge. Intelligent but with a calm humor lurking beneath the surface. And that accent…feeding every 007 fantasy she’d ever had—and she’d had a few.
Definitely someone to avoid when possible.
“Did the girls post their movements on social media?” asked Hawthorne.
“Kristen knew better than to post her whereabouts online.” Iain Bartlett sounded pissed. He took his job seriously and didn’t have much of a sense of humor even on a good day.
“I checked all the girls’ social media feeds,” Phillip assured Hawthorne, “and didn’t see anything that could be used to pinpoint their location. They go to the International school and tend to be on guard regarding potential danger in the region. Irene Lomakin, the other girl who was kidnapped, posted a picture from a Starbucks, but there was no way anyone would know where in the world she was unless they have psychic abilities. Her father works for a big petrochemical company in the city.” He paused then asked hopefully, “Is it possible Irene was the intended victim, and Kristen was caught up accidentally?”
“Did you watch the surveillance video?” Max Hawthorne asked.
The ambassador and her husband nodded before turning their gazes to the thick carpet on the floor.
“It looks as if the kidnappers targeted Kristen but scooped up Irene when she tried to intervene.” Max’s tone was calm and soothing. “I currently believe Kristen was the primary target of the abduction, but the FBI will be examining Irene’s background also. Have either of your children mentioned anyone following them recently? Anyone asking questions that seemed inappropriate or probing?”