“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. Andshoot,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.
EIGHT
She probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. But how could they keep their cover if they turned down a complimentary couple’s massage?
The fragrance of the warm oil mixed with the salt-tinged sea breeze that drifted through the open spa room. Sunlight filtered through bamboo screens, casting shifting patterns across polished teak floors. The distant crash of waves provided a rhythmic backdrop to the soft Thai instrumental music floating from hidden speakers.
And most important, the spa room gave them a view of the meeting room across the complex, where Volkov was meeting with his other bioterrorist henchmen.
Coco had hacked into the resort’s computer to get a list of names. Probably aliases.