Burned (Vanessa Pierson series Book 2) by Valerie Plame, Sarah Lovett

exhaled sharply. “We both know this number is untraceable. If you try to record me, or if you lie to me, I will hang up. If you are truthful—well, either way we have little time.”
    Vanessa’s fingers gripped the phone. Was he watching her now? The cold rain had picked up again. She scanned the streets.
    “You’re stalling, we’re done—”
    “I’m alive!” she said quickly, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “Your bomb missed me.”
    Keep him talking. Memorize every word of this conversation.
    “If I had tried to kill you today, you’d be dead.”
    “Don’t deny it, you injured scores of innocent people and murdered three.”
    “Four,” he said. “The tally has risen. But that wasn’t my work. You should recognize that.”
    A fourth death
—but she couldn’t afford to go there, not now. “Why should I believe you?”
    “Believe the evidence.” Contempt bled through his words. “A pipe bomb carried by a boy? A dirty bomb—
a dud
—left in the Tuileries? A lurid Internet execution played for shock value? Does that really strike you as my style?”
    No—the internal admission instantly left her deflated. But maybe that was what he wanted—to stage an attack that defied his profile. Jesus, it was like searching for one true image in a house of mirrors.
    “How do you know about the RDD?” She felt eyes and saw the female officer who’d argued with Fournier staring at her from a distance. Vanessa turned away, cupping the phone tautly. “That information hasn’t been released.”
    “I don’t get my news from CNN,” he snapped derisively. “My sources are my own.”
    She thought instantly of the mole inside the Agency and felt a flicker of insight—but just then Bhoot’s voice snuffed the tiny flame.
    “One minute and we’re done.”
    “If you aren’t responsible for the bombing, who is True Jihad?”
    “If I knew we would not be having a conversation. I have only my suspicions.”
    “So you called me to—
what?
Gloat? Your Chechen killed good men. I worked with three of them—” She froze as anger locked up her throat. “You had them executed in cold blood.”
    Silence. Had she lost him?
    But then, in a harsh whisper, he said, “You took something from me. A trusted associate.”
    “What? Your psychopath for hire?”
    With the hard intake of his breath she realized too late—on some weird level Bhoot had cared about the man she’d just scorned.
    She felt his finger reaching to disconnect—
    “What do you want from me?” she asked desperately. “Don’t play games. Why are you calling?”
    “I want what is
mine
.” His rage surfaced, a fin slicing through cold seas. “Your government inflicted damage to my interests. And now someone has set me up—” He cut himself off.
    Was he referring to the nuclear device he’d smuggled out of Iran? “What are you talking about—was something taken from you? Was it a weapon?” she prompted. “We’ve heard rumors—”
    “True Jihad—I can’t help you there—” He cut himself off. “But the suicide bombing is a
diversion,
a
distraction
.” He let the silence hold for several seconds. “Can you afford to lie to yourself at this moment, Vanessa?
Think
—if I’m taking this risk, if I tell you I’ve been betrayed and what is mine has been stolen, think what might be set loose in the world.”
    She faltered, light-headed. She had to swallow twice, painfully, to find her voice again. “Then give me something to work with.”
    “You’ve got it wrong. First you give me something, Vanessa . . .”
    As he lingered on the last syllables of her name, he let her hear the faintest note of triumph.
    Her gut tightened. “If you think I would betray my country, you’re a fool.”
    “You’re right, I’d be a fool to think that. I know how patriotic and loyal you are—I know it runs deep in your family.”
    Violation punched through her like a fist. “What do you know about my family?”
    “I know your father