Page 89 of The Shadow Friends

“But you miss it.”

“I miss doing things that mattered. Plus, in those days, we were in Paris and we always had to be on our toes. When you’re in a situation where things can go wrong, badly wrong, life just seems more . . . vivid.”

“Not the way it is now.”

She smiled. “We’re older, Lloyd.”

“And now he walks back into your life. I have to admit, the man looks good. I can only imagine what kind of figure he cut thirty years ago.”

She looked toward the kitchen window, at the approaching dawn, and an image of a young Rodrigo flashed into her mind. Coal black hair, a cocky smile. An intense gaze that could catch a woman’s attention and hold it forever. “He did,” she admitted. “But he’s not why I got involved in this.”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s all about catching this mysterious fifth man.”

“We can do it discreetly. We don’t need a bureaucrat’s approval to take down the enemy.”

“The enemy?” He shook his head. “I can’t even tell you who that is anymore. Those dead Vory in Madrid, or the people who executed them? With so many bullets flying, it’s almost as if it doesn’t matter. Killed the wrong man? Too bad, so sad. But you could be the next mistake, and this is why it’s time for us to ask for help. The five of us may not be enough. We need someone to help us finish it.”

“Who would that be?”

“Rodrigo. I’ve already called him.”

“What?” She stared at him. “When?”

“Yesterday. I didn’t want to call him. In fact, I was hoping to never lay eyes on the man again. But I can’t let anything happen to you, Ingrid. That would kill me. If he can keep you safe, if he can put an end to this, then I say . . .” He took a breath. “Let’s all work together.” He glanced up at the kitchen clock. “He should be getting into town about now. I told him to come straight here.”

She looked her husband in the eye, and the gaze he returned was steady, unflinching. “Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly.

“I may regret this, but yes. I am sure.” He sighed. “We need the man.”

By the time Rodrigo walked into the house, the first streaks of dawn had appeared on the horizon. He brought with him the scent of leather and citrus and confidence, the confidence of a man who knew how to navigate the world. How does he do it? Ingrid wondered, eyeing Rodrigo’s bomber jacket and thick swoop of hair. How did he always manage to so effortlessly take command of a room? Rodrigo gave Lloyd a respectful nod, an indication that whatever rivalry existed between the men was, for the moment, set aside.

Then Rodrigo turned his full attention to Ingrid. “Everything under control?” he asked.

“So far,” she said. “Where’s your team?”

“I had to fly them in from another op. They’ll get into town tonight. And where are your friends?”

“They spent the night watching my house. They should be back any minute.”

Lloyd said, “I’ve been keeping an eye on things here.”

“Good for you,” said Rodrigo. In the kitchen, he poured himself a mug of coffee and leaned back against the counter, looking as comfortable as if he were in his own kitchen, his own house. It was classic Rodrigo; whatever the setting, he always seemed to take possession of it.

“How did this happen?” Lloyd asked. “How did Ingrid end up a target?”

“A very good question,” said Rodrigo.

“Is there an answer?”

“A partial one.” He turned to Ingrid. “After Lloyd called me, I did some digging, checked in with my sources. And it’s true, you do have a passing resemblance to Lilia Kuraskaya. Which could explain their mistake.”

“It’s an inexplicable mistake for Moscow,” said Lloyd.

“Unless they were deliberately fed false information. They just haven’t learned the truth about Lilia yet.”

“What truth?”

“Lilia Kuraskaya is dead.”