Deep Breath by Alison Kent Read Free Book Online Page A

cleaned up, then go shopping for you.”
    Sending his suit to be pressed meant something other than Motel 6, and she was on a limited budget. Making the donation to attend tonight’s preview and buying shoes and a dress would pretty much wipe out the emergency fund stashed in the bottom of her backpack.
    “Don’t worry,” he said as if reading her mind, sliding the key into the ignition and turning it to start the car. “The room’s on me. I was headed here anyway, remember? I have a reservation.”
    “Oh. Okay,” she said, getting in and shutting her door. Sharing a room with a marble statue wouldn’t be that big of a deal since she had no plans to sleep until she was out of this mess. If she didn’t come away from tonight’s preview with the dossier, she’d need time to figure out her next step.
    As Harry pulled the car into traffic, she popped back a mouthful of peanuts and glanced at her watch, wondering if she was going to be sick before or after she swallowed. Her hours were growing short, her cash limited, her acquisition of the dossier hardly guaranteed.
    Altogether, her circumstances inspired absolutely no confidence that she’d get Finn out of Charlie Castro’s clutches before it was too late for whatever brutal thing he had planned.

 
     
     
    3:00 P.M.
     
    Once housekeeping arrived to pick up his suit, Harry left Georgia to stew and headed for the shower. She hadn’t said much of anything since they’d checked in. She hadn’t said much of anything since he’d gassed up the car, for that matter.
    He didn’t think it was the idea of sharing the one room that had her so quiet. More than likely the gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. For most, it took going through the denial, anger, and bargaining stages before that happened.
    She’d only had a few hours to deal, but maybe she’d hit the depression that came before acceptance. He didn’t like seeing her suffer when with a word or two he could have eased her mind.
    Problem was, he mused as he stripped down to bare skin, doing so would raise more questions than the revelation would answer. If he even hinted at what he did, she would no doubt demand he call in the cavalry right then and there, take-charge thing that she was.
    He couldn’t do that without blowing the mission, and her connections were still his best chance for success. He needed to convince her that he was with her all the way, in for a penny, in for a pound, that he was her best hope for freeing her brother.
    But he had to convince her of that as Harry van Zandt, a collector of military memorabilia and classic cars, not as the SG-5 operative who knew a few things about pulling tricks out of hats.
    Before he did anything, including shower, he needed to put the diner under surveillance, and do so without involving state or local authorities. Towel around his waist, he lifted the false bottom from his hard-sided shaving kit and retrieved the text messaging unit stored inside.
    He lowered the toilet lid and sat, extending the device’s antennae. Elbows braced on his knees, he used his thumbs to type in the password that would connect him to the comm desk at the Smithson Group’s ops center in Manhattan. Ten seconds kicked by before a response flashed on the screen.
    > Tripp Shaughnessey at your service.
    The man did not have a serious bone in his body, Harry thought, shaking his head.
    > Rabbit checking in.
    > What can we do you for?
    > Two things. Charlie Castro.
    > Any relation to Cuba?
    > You tell me. Start with antiquities theft.
    > Number two?
    Harry typed in the GPS coordinates to Waco Phil’s.
    > Monitor activity inside and out. No contact.
    > No burgers?
    Harry chuckled.
    > No contact. Including food.
    > Will send Simon. That it?
    Simon Baptiste was one of the two newest members recruited into SG-5.
    > For now. Oh. How’s the chair?
    > Slow as hell. Take care, dude.
    > Will do.
    Tripp Shaughnessey’s never-ending quest to roll his chair the width of