look at the messages because of the phrasing. She spoke several languages, and she’d told Gage that the emails sounded like a foreigner had composed them.
He’d brushed her off like he always did, but she’d gotten her revenge by keeping those emails for herself.
Now she had someone stalking her.
Sighing, Martha straightened in her chair and shoved in her earbuds. She double-clicked on the file she’d been working on before lunch and began typing in the English words for the Russian ones that poured into her ears from one of the radio broadcasts the CIA monitored and recorded. After about an hour of translating, Martha plucked out the earbuds and stretched her arms over her head.
She swirled the coffee in the bottom of her cup and made a face. Then she slid open a desk drawer and grabbed a plastic bag with a toothbrush and toothpaste.
When she returned to her desk ten minutes later with a minty taste in her mouth and a bottle of water, she plopped in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ears, ready to tackle the remainder of the afternoon.
She glanced at the bottom of her computer screen, noticing a little yellow envelope on her email icon, indicating a new message. She double-clicked on it and froze. Her blood pounded in her ears as she stared at the skull and crossbones grinning at her from the computer screen, its teeth chattering.
Hunching forward, she resized the window and scrolled from the top to the bottom of it. No text accompanied the image. She scrutinized the unfamiliar email from a fake email account at the top of the window.
She glanced over her shoulder, and in a split second she forwarded the email to her home address. She deleted it and then wiped it clean from her deleted items. She knew it still existed somewhere in cyberspace, but not unless someone was looking for it. And why would anybody be checking her emails? She’d been the good little soldier she always was and turned over the others. The people up the chain of command had no reason to suspect her, and Gage thought she was a lifeless drone, so she didn’t need to worry about him.
If Gage cornered her right now and asked her why she didn’t tell anyone about the skull and crossbones, she wouldn’t have an answer for him. Maybe because she’d been dismissed so thoroughly after turning over the first batch. Not that this message had anything to do with the others—did it?
Of course it did. The same people had just sent her a warning, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything about those emails or what they meant—but she was determined to find out.
The rest of the afternoon passed by from one jumpy incident to the next. Her scattered focus had been worthless in her attempts to translate the recorded broadcast.
Fifteen minutes away from quitting time, Farah hung on the corner of Martha’s cubicle, her dark eyes shining. “I’m meeting my guy for a drink after work tonight. Do you want to come along?”
Martha crossed her arms. “And be a third wheel? No, thanks.”
“He might have a friend.” Farah made her voice go all singsongy on the last word as if to heighten the temptation.
“That’s even worse than being a tagalong. A blind date?”
“Oh my God, Martha. Get used to it. It’s the way of the world now.”
“Seems to me all online dating has gotten you is a couple of sneaky married men.”
Farah pouted. “It’s fun. Not every date has to be a lifetime commitment.”
“Go then and have fun for me.” Martha waved her hand.
Not that she’d have accepted Farah’s invitation under any circumstances, but after the day Martha had just had, she’d rather be home with a good book—and those emails.
She wrapped up her work and logged out of the computer, removing her access card and slipping it into her badge holder.
Waving to the security guard at the front desk, Martha pushed out the front doors and snuggled into her jacket. Winter in DC could be mild, but this November weather was already putting a chill in her bones.
She caught the next plain-wrap CIA van that shuttled employees from Langley to Rosslyn. When the van finally lurched to a stop, Martha stashed her book in her bag, rubbed her eyes and readjusted her glasses. She stepped out of the van and into the cold night, making her way to the Metro stop on the corner.
Descending into the bowels of the city with the rest of the worker bees, she welcomed the warmth from the pressing crowd as she turned the corner for her train. She jostled for position among the crush of people, gritting her teeth against the screech of the train’s wheels slowing its progress.
As the lights approached from the tunnel, a man crowded her from behind. Martha tried to take a step back, but found herself pitching forward instead as someone’s elbow drove into her back.
The train screeched once more, and Martha felt herself teetering on the edge of the platform. She thrust her arms in front of her as if to break a fall...but the only thing breaking this fall was that train barreling toward her.
Cam curled his arm around the waist of the woman floundering on the precipice of the platform and pulled her back against his chest. He jerked his head to the side, but the man who had been crowding Martha Drake from behind had wormed his way through the crowd, the black beanie on his head lost in a sea of commuters.
Martha’s back stiffened and she tried to turn in his arms, but he tightened his hold on her until the train came to a stop in front of them.
The doors whisked open, and Cam nudged her forward, whispering in her ear. “Go on.”
She squeezed into the train with a mass of other people, grabbed a pole and spun around, her eyebrows snapping over her nose. “Take your hand off me.”
Cam’s jaw dropped open and a rush of heat claimed his chest. He’d just saved the woman’s life, and this was the thanks he got?
He wrapped his fingers around the pole above her hand and twisted his lips. “You’re welcome.”
“I—I...” She shoved some wispy brown bangs out of her eyes, which blinked at him from behind a pair of glasses. “Yes, you’re the one who pulled me back. Thank you. But...”
Lifting his eyebrows, he asked, “Yes?”
“How do I know you’re not the one who was crowding me from behind in the first place?”
“I wasn’t. That guy took off.”
Martha’s eyes, a lighter brown than her hair, widened and her Adam’s apple bobbed in her delicate throat.
His statement had scared but not surprised her, and he dipped his head to study her face for his next question. “Any reason for somebody to push you into the path of an oncoming train?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together. “It was crowded. Everyone was moving forward. I don’t think that was an intentional push.”
“It’s always crowded. Commuters don’t generally fall onto the tracks.”
She shifted away from him, and the odor from the sweaty guy behind him immediately replaced the fresh scent that had clung to Martha, which had been the only thing making this tight squeeze bearable.
“Well, thank you.” She tilted her chin up, along with her nose, and dismissed him.
Looked like she’d perfected the art of dismissing obnoxious men, but Cam had a date with Miss Prissy-pants here, even if she didn’t know it.
He left her in peace for the remainder of the ride, although her sidelong glances at him didn’t go unnoticed, and the knuckles of her hand gripping the pole had turned a decided shade of white. He’d planted a seed of suspicion in fertile ground.
When