Chapter 7 #3
“Fine.” His voice came out rough. “You stay here. Don’t move. If anything goes wrong, you run back to our villa and call North. He’ll get ahold of Ham.”
“What exactly are you planning to—”
“I spotted Volkov at the terrace restaurant when we returned to our villa. And he’s still there. It’s now or never.”
“To do what?”
“Get into his computer. Upload files to Coco so she can work her magic.” He studied the villa’s layout, noting the security cameras that swept the main entrances.
Chloe followed his gaze. “How are you planning to get in?”
“Climb.” He pointed to the villa’s bamboo slats that formed a natural ladder up the exterior wall. “Those support beams will hold my weight.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s why you’re staying here.”
Before she could argue, he moved toward the villa’s base. The bamboo structure was impressive up close—each slat positioned to create both beauty and function. The gaps between them were just wide enough for handholds.
Skeet began to climb.
The first ten feet were easy—muscle memory from training exercises kicking in. But as he reached the villa’s midlevel, the bamboo began to creak. He paused, listening for any sound of cracking.
Nothing.
Down by the pool, the brunette lay, eyes closed, napping.
Through the windows, he could see the villa’s main living area—same rosewood furniture, a small wet bar. And a staircase spiraling up to the master bedroom.
He continued climbing until he reached the upper windows. Same sleek bedroom as his villa, but also a desk. And on it a laptop, with a few papers scattered nearby.
Bam. He loved it when a plan came together.
The sliding doors to the overhanging balcony were open, maybe for ventilation. Skeet worked his way over and climbed on.
The room smelled of perfume—probably from the woman. Skeet spotted a passport on a nightstand and picked it up. Hungarian. Interesting.
He shot a photo and memorized the name—Reka Gabor. Easy. Like Eva.
He set it back and turned to the laptop. It sat open, the screen dark but not shut down. Perfect for what Coco needed. He brought it to life, pulled out his phone, and sent another text.
Skeet
In position. Uploading now.
Coco
About time. Starting remote access.
The laptop screen flickered, and files began scrolling on the screen, faster than his eyes could follow. Coco’s programs were infiltrating Volkov’s system, copying everything useful.
While she worked, Skeet turned his attention to the physical documents. Shipping manifests, mostly in Thai, but he recognized enough to know Volkov was moving something through Bangkok’s port. And the itineraries . . .
His blood chilled.
Multiple flights from Bangkok to major cities around the world. London. New York. Tokyo. Sydney. All departing within the next forty-eight hours.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it out. A text from Chloe.
Chloe
Volkov inbound.
He ducked down behind the desk, and a noise from downstairs made him freeze. Footsteps on the villa’s deck, followed by voices. Volkov, talking with his companion.
Skeet’s phone buzzed with another text from Coco.
Coco
Upload 80% complete. Need one more minute.
One minute he might not have.
The voices grew louder as they entered the villa. Volkov and Reka, speaking in rapid-fire Russian. Skeet couldn’t understand most of it, but he caught fragments.
“Bangkok . . . Tomas . . .”
A name, maybe? Someone they were meeting?
Footsteps on the staircase.
Skeet grabbed the shipping manifests and travel itineraries. Shoved them into his pocket as he moved toward the closet on the far side of the room. The doors were louvered—offering both concealment and the ability to see out.
He slipped inside just as Volkov’s voice grew clear—he was speaking English now, probably on a phone call.
“Yes, we’re nearly ready. I’m headed to Bangkok in two days—yes, of course.”
Skeet pressed himself against the back wall of the closet. Through the louvered doors, he made out Volkov pacing the office, phone pressed to his ear. His companion had disappeared, probably into the bathroom.
“It will be there. I’m checking on the lab as soon as I’m done here.”
Skeet’s phone vibrated. He slapped a hand over it. A text from Coco.
Coco
Upload complete.
Followed by another from Chloe.
Chloe
Whatever you’re doing, get out now.
But Volkov was still talking. Still pacing. Still blocking the only exit.
So this was fun. Skeet hadn’t had a tussle in a while. It might help if he weren’t barefoot.
“No changes to the timeline,” Volkov continued. “Yes, we’ll start at the mall.”
Skeet stilled. A mall?
Wait . . . Bangkok had one of the most luxurious malls in the world. ICONSIAM.
Volkov ended his call and moved toward the desk.
Move, now—
But then the man sat at the laptop and began typing.
Skeet’s phone buzzed in his hand again. Chloe.
Chloe
Security patrol coming your way. Get out now.
Perfect.
Through the louvered doors, he watched Volkov pull out a manila folder and spread its contents across the desk. Even from his hiding spot, Skeet could see what looked like building schematics.
Another text from Chloe.
Chloe
What are you doing? Get out!
Calm down. He nearly texted it, but yeah—probably not a win there.
The window he’d climbed through was on the opposite side of the room from the closet. To reach it, he’d have to cross in front of Volkov’s desk.
But if he stayed here and security found him . . .
Volkov’s phone rang. He answered in Russian, growling, although that could have just been the Russian.
This might be his only chance.
Skeet eased the closet door open. Volkov had his back turned, facing the windows while he argued with whoever was on the phone. The laptop screen cast an eerie glow across the building plans.
Moving as quietly as possible, Skeet slipped out of the closet.
One step. Two. Three.
Volkov’s voice rose, still speaking Russian. Still facing away.
Four steps. Five.
Almost to the open door.
Volkov looked up right then, and yep, there Skeet was, illuminated in the window’s reflection.
Never mind the guy barefoot in your bedroom.
Volkov shouted.
Skeet dove toward the deck. Volkov lunged after him.
But Skeet was already grabbing the bamboo framework and swinging himself down toward the lower level.
Please don’t let him break anything. He landed on the deck, inches from the pool.
Above him, Volkov’s voice carried through the night air, calling for security.
Lights blazed on throughout the villa. Footsteps pounded on the walkways. Voices shouted in Thai and Russian.
Skeet leaped off the deck and ran toward the spot where he’d left Chloe.
Empty.
His heart hammered as he scanned the shadows between the trees. Where was she? Had security found her? Had she run when she spotted the guards approaching?
Then a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him into a cluster of dense foliage.
“This way,” Chloe whispered. “I found us a back route to our villa.”
Give him a heart attack. Sheesh.
They scrambled through the jungle in silence, staying low and avoiding the flashlight beams that swept the area behind them. When they reached their own villa’s deck, both were breathing hard and covered in leaves and dirt.
“Well,” Chloe said as they slipped inside and locked the door behind them. “That was fun.”
Skeet rounded on her. “For the love! You were supposed to stay put.”
“And you were supposed to not get caught.” She crossed her arms. “Looks like we both have room for improvement.”
His mouth opened. Despite everything—the near capture, the evidence of attacks planned for in the next forty-eight hours, the fact that they were both probably made and on an updated hit list—Skeet found himself fighting a smile.
“Did you at least get what we needed?” she asked, her mouth tight.
“I think so. And I got these.” He pulled the shipping manifests and travel itineraries from his pocket. “Chloe, this is bigger than we thought. I think they’re going to attack ICONSIAM mall.”
“What?” She sat on the end of the bed. “How? I mean—”
“I dunno. He mentioned a lab. Maybe in Bangkok.”
She took the documents, scanned them, and her face went pale. “Multiple cities. Multiple flights. What is this about?”
“I don’t know.”
“We have to warn someone. Call Hamilton, contact local authorities—”
“For sure, Ham, but what proof do we have for local authorities? Stolen documents and overheard phone conversations?” Skeet sank down next to her. “Not to mention, we’re foreigners here.”
Chloe sighed. “Then what do we do?”
He looked at her.
She still smelled of the salty water, with hints of the jungle, a few bits and pieces caught in her hair. A mess really. And shoot, but he liked it.
More than he should.
“We stop them ourselves.”
His phone buzzed with another message from Coco.
Coco
Got the files, but Ham says to stick around and keep eyes on Volkov. In other words, enjoy the honeymoon.
He showed Chloe the message.
“Is there nothing we can’t hide from her?”
He laughed. “We’re going to hear about this when we get home.”
The words just landed there, between them, and he drew in a breath. Like . . . they might be going home . . . together?
“Yeah,” she said quietly, a smile tipping her mouth. “That’ll be fun.”
His gaze went to her mouth, and for a moment he nearly—
She got up. “Listen. This bed is big enough for the two of us. I’ll make an unbreachable pillow barrier.” She winked, then headed to the bathroom. Stopped at the door. “Don’t do that again, Spider-Man.”
He frowned. “What? Leave you behind?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “That.”
Then she headed into the bathroom and shut the door.