Rogue

Grace-Chapter 5

Stockholm looked just as beautiful as she remembered it. Grace couldn't stop gawking like a tourist. No matter how many times she came to Europe, she was always dazzled by the beautiful setting. Her foot caught on a cobble stone and she stumbled slightly, catching herself on a bike rack.

"Oh, sugar!"

She bit her lip, a frown forming on her lips. She knew how to curse in three different languages, but she had been trying to reign in her sailor's mouth over the last few months. But somehow 'sugar' just wasn't as much fun to say. She really needed to pay better attention to where she was stepping.

Shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her tan trenchcoat, she lingered near the water, feeling the breeze lift the ends of her hair off her shoulders. Peter was supposed to be here any minute, hopefully he would have some information for her.

As she watched the boats pass by, she felt a hand on her shoulder and spun, twisting Peter's arm into position to dislocate his shoulder before she realized who it was.

"Ease up, Grace," Peter grimaced, his lilting accent coloring his English words in a way she had always thought was fun to listen to. "You're hurting me."

"Sorry," Grace replied, immediately dropping his arm. "I thought you were Isaac for a minute."

Peter shook his head, massaging his shoulder. "Nope, in fact I doubt you'll find him in Stockholm. Someone called the police about five hours ago and said they found Robert Kroon wandering in a basement somewhere. Isaac's probably long gone."

Grace bit her lip—she felt a little relieved to know that Isaac probably wasn't here and a little disappointed too. More than anything, she wanted answers. But the more she tried to find him, the more questions she had.

"I want to talk to Mr. Kroon," she said finally. "Can you take me to him?"

Peter nodded and started walking. Grace followed, trying to keep pace with his much longer stride. "I have to warn you, he's a little out of it. You might not get very much from him."

Grace nodded, wondering what Isaac could possibly have wanted from an eighty-year-old man with dementia. Did he get what he was looking for? He must have because according to Peter, Isaac had vanished without a trace. Just like he had after their one and only kiss.

She felt a flush creeping into her cheeks at the memory. It had been so long ago, she wasn't even really sure why he had kissed her. Probably an impulse since he had never tried to contact her again after that. But was it natural to remember exactly how his lips had felt against hers? So warm and inviting, she had felt like no one else existed.

"Grace?" Peter asked, bringing her back down to earth with a bump. "Did you hear what I said?"

Grace felt the flush in her cheeks becoming even more pronounced. Zoning out like that was a really bad idea if you were a CIA agent, she needed to focus. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"I said that it's entirely possible that Isaac left the country. He's smart and dangerous, it's going to be really hard to find him."

Grace bit her lip—she knew exactly what Isaac was capable of, she had seen him in action several times. Not only was he smart he was also strong and capable. Trying to find him felt like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

"What was his last known location?"

"The hospital for sure," Peter replied. "Possibly the house where the old man was found."

Grace nodded, her mind churning rapidly. "It feels like he's after something really specific, but I'm not sure what."

Peter shook his head as they walked through the front doors of the hospital. "Well whatever it is, knowing Isaac, he'll do it. Whatever the costs."

"Do you really think he's a traitor, Peter?"

Peter didn't answer right away and when he did, she knew he chose his words carefully. "If he is, then he's way too dangerous to be running around loose and we need to stop him."

Grace swallowed hard—she had a hard time reconciling the image of the Isaac she knew with the Isaac that would steal secrets he had worked so hard to protect.

They continued walking through the hospital toward Mr. Kroon's room. She studied the old man inside carefully, he didn't appear remarkable in any way, but she had to keep reminding herself that appearances didn't always matter.

"Mr. Kroon? My name is Grace Crowther," she said gently, crossing the room to crouch in front of his wheelchair. "Can you tell us about what happened to you the other night?"

Mr. Kroon looked at her—she could tell just by looking at him that he wasn't all there. "You look like my wife. She was a beautiful woman too."

Grace smiled gently. "I'll take that as a great compliment, Mr. Kroon. Can you tell me what happened to you?"

His eyes sharpened a little as he looked at her steadily. "My doctor told me there was a gas leak in the hospital. He asked a lot of questions."

"About what?" Grace prodded gently, but Mr. Kroon shook his head.

"I can't," he whispered fiercely. "They'll kill me if I tell you what happened in Estonia."

Grace could see the fear in his eyes as he looked around the room. She bit her lip, debating for a moment whether she should ask this. "What happened in Estonia, Mr. Kroon?"

But then it was as though a light had gone out and Mr. Kroon said, "Marianne had beautiful eyes like yours too."

Grace shook her head. Standing up, she put her hand on Mr. Kroon's. "Your wife sounds lovely."

As she walked away from the hospital with Peter, she couldn't help thinking about Isaac. She had felt so lost after he disappeared from her life—he had taken a piece of her heart with him. Where was he now?

Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced across the street. Her eyes met a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. A pair of eyes she knew. She blinked hard, wondering if she was imagining things because she was missing Isaac. But when she opened them again, he still stood there, larger than life. He flashed her one of his trademark grins, giving her a tiny wave.

"Grace?" Peter asked, coming to stand beside her. "What are you looking at?"

Grace looked over at Peter for a split second, but when she looked back, Isaac had disappeared. She frowned—had he really been there?

"Nothing," she said quietly. "I'm going to head back to my hotel for the night. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Peter said as she walked away. Grace took a few steps and then paused, her eyes flicking back to where she had seen Isaac. She felt certain he had been there, the question was what was she going to do about it.

A teenage boy who looked to be about sixteen stood on the street corner, smoking a cigarette. Grace suddenly had an idea. It was crazy, but it might just be crazy enough to work.

"Excuse me," she said in very broken Swedish, holding out the photograph she kept in her purse of Isaac with his arm around her. It made her heart hurt to give up that small piece of him, but she didn't have a lot of choices right now. "If I pay you one-hundred dollars in American money, can you plant a bug on this man? He was just over in that café a few minutes ago."

The kid shrugged. "Whatever, you're crazy to be paying this much money for that."

"He's my boyfriend," Grace said, inventing wildly. "I think he's sleeping with another woman. Can you help me or not?"

Sighing, the kid stubbed out his cigarette on the bridge railing. He held out his hand impatiently and Grace pressed the listening device and the cash into his hand. She crossed her fingers, jamming them into her jacket pocket. It had to work, she needed to talk to Isaac. It was time to get answers.