Nicky reset the security bolt and leaned against the door, wondering if she should wait for Pamela to return, or wake Jason now and leave the next move up to him. As if on cue, Bourne rolled to his back and sighed almost contentedly. He opened his eyes and saw Nicky watching him. "Feels good to sleep."
"You probably need more that just those couple hours."
"I take what I can get." Bourne looked around, getting a better handle on the room. Nicky watched him assess his surroundings. He said nothing about hearing their recent visitor, so she chose to keep quiet about Landy's appearance, figuring it would be one less thing for him to deal with.
"You must be hungry," she commented.
"I recommend the chicken soup."
"Cure for everything?"
"Can't hurt." Nicky filled a cup with water in the kitchen area of the room, setting it to heat in the microwave oven. She opened a packet of instant soup mix, adding it to the hot water once the microwave beeped.
She stirred the contents and turned to find Bourne watching her. "It's instant. It's all I've got at the moment."
He shrugged, easing himself into a sitting position. Nicky was surprised at how quickly he seemed to be recovering. His color was a little better; his eyes, while still red-rimmed and bloodshot, were not quite so sunken. He moved gingerly but it was a vast improvement over not being able to move at all.
She handed him the cup. "It's a little thin. I would imagine it might be better with salt, maybe a few crackers, some flavor…"
"It'll be fine," he responded, concentrating on the steam rising from the cup, totally missing Nicky's attempt to make him smile.
Jason took an experimental sip of the soup, realizing that she was right – it was thin and only faintly reminded him of chicken soup. But it was hot and his body needed the nourishment. This was why he had returned to Berlin. To recuperate – and to talk with Nicky, to get some answers from the one person in his past who was still alive. He knew he'd treated her roughly when he'd confronted her a few days ago. He owed her a serious apology. He hoped she had a big enough heart to forgive, if not forget. But now that he had opportunity, the right words eluded him.
Nicky was the first to break the awkward silence. "I want to apologize for leaving the picture there – on the table."
"Hey, don't," he caught and held her gaze. "It's okay. I'm the one who should apologize," he looked down, adding quietly, "for a lot of things." He took another sip of the contents of the cup.
"Just don't ever hold a gun to my head again," she said with a smile that took some of the bite out of her words. Bourne accepted her chiding, nodding his agreement.
"I am sorry about Marie," Nicky felt a need to offer her sympathy. "You certainly looked – happy."
Bourne studied the cup in his hand. For a moment, Nicky wondered if he'd rather not discuss that chapter of his past.
He shook his head. "Fuck it. I owe you more than an apology, I owe you some explanation. Those were good days," he admitted. "She was – my anchor. She didn't have to, but she stuck with me, helped me through a lot of shit. Dreams – fucking nightmares, really. Bad moods. I couldn't – still can't – get a hold of everything."
Nicky sat down on the edge of the bed, letting Jason talk, figuring he would eventually get to the questions he needed to ask.
"We tried to stay low. We moved around a lot. That was hard on her. I – I couldn't shake the nightmares. She was getting worried, I could see it. God, she was so full of life! Everything should have been better for her. I was dragging her down."
Nicky shook her head as she thought about the smile on Bourne's face in the picture. "It couldn't have been all bad."
Jason finished the contents of the cup, glancing up at Nicky. "Yeah, there were good days." He paused. "I – I miss her," he whispered, turning away.
"I know," Nicky replied softly. There was nothing she could do, no words she could say, to help ease the pain of loss. She took the cup from Jason's hands. "You want more?"
Jason cleared his throat, shook his head. "What I want – what I would like – are some answers. Please."
Nicky set the cup on the table and pulled one of the chairs next to the bed. Taking a seat, she folded her hands in her lap as she considered how to answer Bourne's plea. "Asking like that is a lot better than the last time," she commented, absently rubbing the arm that Bourne had gripped so tightly only a few short days ago.
"Nicky, I do apologize." Jason's statement was heartfelt. "I won't blame you if you hold that against me. And I won't press you for anything else. I'll get out of your life as soon as I'm able."
"The information in your file is classified," she began, trying not to think about his inevitable departure. "You know, it's funny. Here I am, concerned about disclosing classified information to you – when you are the one who did the stuff that filled the file."
"Damn it!" Jason grimaced, hitting the mattress with a balled fist. "I can't piece the things together! What I did – everything – is so damned hazy. Fucking memory is swiss cheese!"
Nicky could sense his frustration. She felt compelled to share what she remembered, even if it only helped ease that frustration a bit. "You were – are – a highly trained assassin," she started with something familiar. "Your first mission was in Geneva, about six years ago. You had asked about Berlin. You never worked in Berlin. You mentioned Neski – have you figured out what that was all about?"
Jason seemed somewhat reluctant to confide what he had discovered. "It involved both Abbott and Conklin, the guys you worked for."
Nicky understood his reticence then, but was not surprised at the evidence of either Conklin's or Abbott's extra curricular activities.
"They were in on some secret deal with a Russian, Gretkov," Jason continued. "Profitable all around. Neski was going to blow the whistle. That's where I came in. Conklin had me kill Neski – and his wife got in the way. I made it look like a murder/suicide." He looked down at his hands. "I'm not proud of that. But it was my job."
Nicky was only too well aware of his job, and thought it best not to dwell on certain aspects of his past. "That was over seven years ago," she continued, hoping she was filling in some blanks for Bourne. "Pamela Landy found another source recently that linked Abbott with some stolen funds, oil leases, and the Neski murders." She thought for a moment, putting the pieces together. "Abbott set it all up – set you up, didn't he?"
Jason nodded. "Looks that way. They sent a sniper to kill me, to take me out of the picture. Throw suspicion on me, they get off scott free. Marie – Marie got in the way." His voice lowered to a whisper. "It should have been me."
Nicky heard the anguish in Bourne's words, watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the blanket tightly in an attempt to hold his pain at bay. Hoping to take his mind off that tragedy for a while, she returned to the discussion of his file. "You were sent to Geneva. Target eliminated. Your assignments all read like that. You were good. Well, okay, maybe 'good' is a relative term. Your success rate was high."
He considered this. "I wasn't the only assassin involved in Treadstone. What do you…" his question was interrupted by a knock on the door. Bourne was instantly on alert. He sat up, pushing the covers away.
"Easy, Jason," Nicky placed her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. "You're in no condition to run, health-wise or other."
Bourne remembered that he was wearing nothing but his underwear.
Rising from her seat, Nicky added, "Besides, it's a friend."
Nicky made sure it was indeed, Pamela Landy, before unlocking the door. The Deputy Director entered with a bag in each hand, and a file folder under her arm. "This should take care of your shopping list," she grinned at Nicky. "Pays to have friends in high places." She glanced at the bed and nodded at the now-wide-awake Jason Bourne.
"Jason Bourne. Pamela Landy." As she made the introductions, Nicky took the packages from Pam, set them on the table, and began removing the contents. Gatorade, penicillin, granola bars, jeans, t-shirts, socks and underwear, Pamela had found it all. And a med kit with antibiotics and Vicodin.
"You'll pardon me if I don't get up?" Bourne had pulled the blanket nearly up to his chin. Nicky almost laughed at his sudden modesty.
Pam Landy stared at the elusive Jason Bourne. He certainly didn't look like the kind of person who could easily turn the Agency upside down. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with dark circles underneath, making him look like a skeleton. His skin was pale, cheeks highlighted by a faint flush of fever. His shoulder was covered with gauze through which she could see the evidence of a gunshot wound. She smiled. "You'll pardon me if I say you look like shit?"
"Goes with the territory," he replied.
"He looks a lot better now than he did last night," Nicky commented.
"Thanks to some expert care that I probably don't deserve," Jason replied.
Nicky blushed. "I should change that dressing on your shoulder soon."
"I'd like to grab a quick shower before you do," Jason responded. "And then raid the kitchen."
Landy stood at the foot of the bed, a thoughtful look on her face. "Nicky, please feel free to call room service for whatever either of you want. The Agency will handle the tab." Nicky nodded her thanks as Pam tapped the file folder she held. "It's all in here," the woman began, looking directly and pointedly at the man on the bed.
Nicky was puzzled by the Director's statement, but Jason knew exactly what she was talking about. Pam continued, "Your name is not Bourne."
She had both Nicky's and Jason's immediate attention.
"It's Webb. David Webb."
Nicky watched Jason's face. His was a look of surprise, followed by intense concentration.
Searching his memories, finding nothing solid to hang on to, he tucked away the bits and pieces of new memory, focusing on Pamela and her file folder. "What do you want from me?" he asked.
"You were Conklin's best, his number one. Every job he gave you – well, let's say you did what you were trained to do. Until the job on the yacht."
Jason fiddled with the edge of the blanket covering him, studying the threads on the hem. Nicky looked back and forth between them, puzzled.
"Something happened," Pam continued gently. "We want to know what. We want to know why. And we want you back."
Jason considered her words. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"And if I don't come back?"
"Then I guess you don't come back. But don't make that decision in haste. Give yourself some time. Get back on your feet. Come see me in New York and we'll talk. You have my number." She tapped the file folder, making it clear that it would stay in her possession until that meeting. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch." Landy turned to Nicky. "Tom is staying here for a couple days. If you need anything – anything at all – just ask him. He'll arrange a flight back to Amsterdam for you when you're ready. Stay here as long as you need to."
"That's very generous of you," Nicky thanked the older woman as she headed for the door.
"It's worth it," Pam smiled. "Take good care of him." And she was gone.
"Well," Nicky turned to Jason, hands on hips. "You heard the woman. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Breakfast. It's been so long… Eggs. Toast. The works."
"Got it," she picked up the phone and connected with room service, placing an order. She chose to go down to the restaurant herself to bring it back to the room. At Jason's puzzled look, she explained, "It will give you some privacy. Unless you want help in the shower." She grinned. And finally was rewarded with a smile in return that made her heart skip a beat.
"I think I can handle it," he decided. "Besides, you won't be gone long."
Nicky returned from the restaurant with a platter of food – steak and eggs, hash brown potatoes, juice and fruit. Enough to fill two empty stomachs and then some. Pushing the door open, she was greeted by an empty bed. A closed bathroom door and water running in the shower reassured her that Bourne was still around. She set the food tray on the small table and filled the room's coffee pot, setting it to perk.
The running water stopped, and minutes later the door opened. Jason limped out of the small room, dressed in the dark jeans Pamela had provided. His hair was freshly washed, a towel around his neck caught the stray water droplets. He held damp gauze pads tightly against his injured shoulder. His feet and torso were bare. Nicky tried not to stare. Jason noticed. "I – uh – seem to have gathered a few bruises of late. Moscow was not kind to me."
"I don't think I want to know," Nicky replied, somewhat relieved that he thought her stare was due to the bruises.
"Coffee smells good," he sniffed appreciatively
"It'll be ready soon. Let me rebandage that shoulder first," she said as she pulled a chair around. He sat and toweled his hair off as Nicky gathered her supplies. She pulled the extra gauze and old dressing away from his shoulder, biting her lip as she concentrated on cleaning the wound again. "I'd like to stitch some of this up, but I'd advise using the Vicodin Pam brought before I do."
"Maybe later," Jason said, trying not to flinch as she worked. "Just cover it for now. My stomach needs attention."
"Sure, just let me tape this," Nicky agreed. She tended to the gauze covering, fixing it in place. Picking a sleeveless shirt from of the pile brought by Landy, she helped Jason pull it on.
She took a portion of the food from the platter and pushed the rest toward Jason. As he dug into breakfast, Nicky poured a cup of coffee for each of them.
"Your file," Nicky began as she stirred a touch of cream into her coffee. "The part I know. It starts with Paris. There is nothing from, you know, before…"
"Like where I came from?" Jason prompted between bites. "Like the name 'David Webb'?"
"No, nothing like that. Nothing about 'Jason Bourne' being an assumed name. Although that does not surprise me. I have no knowledge about where you came from, what you'd done before, how you got involved with Treadstone. There were hints, stuff that Conklin and his team said when they thought I wasn't within earshot. The training must have been exhaustive. Thorough. I recall hearing some one mentioning "attack dogs" on one occasion. I assumed they were not referring to four footed canines."
"I'm not looking for all the answers, Nicky, just a start," Jason said as he worked his way through the steak and eggs.
"For a start, what do I call you? David? Jason?" she asked, wondering if the name Pamela tossed out would eventually ring any bells.
The man sitting next to her stopped in mid-chew, a thoughtful look on his face. "I guess I've been Jason Bourne for a number of years. It's the first name I found on a passport in the bank in Zurich. It's the name I was living under in Paris." He shrugged. "I'll stick with that for now."
After breakfast, Nicky and Jason spent the rest of the morning talking. She answered his questions as truthfully and completely as she could. Sometimes she could see a light come on as a particular incident linked to a memory, but she could also see the moments of disappointment when certain things did not add up. And she could also tell that some of what she was telling him made him very uncomfortable.
After nearly two hours of grilling, Nicky stood and stretched, trying to stifle her yawning. Neither one of them had slept much during the previous night.
Jason had gone quiet in the last few minutes, lost in thought, processing something she'd said. "Jason?" He didn't respond. "Jason?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied softly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He shook his head as if to rid himself of certain memories. "Serbian generals, Irish journalists – all those things are coming back."
"Jason," Nicky said gently, "you look exhausted. And I should work on your shoulder."
"You really want to stitch it up?"
"It'll be better in the long run," she replied. "I've had training. I don't do it every day, but I'm pretty handy with a needle."
Jason shrugged. Nicky handed him the Vicodin and a bottle of water. He returned to the bed and stretched out on his side. It did not take long for the drug to work its way into his system.
The med kit contained antiseptic and antibiotic, sterile needles, surgical gloves, and monofilament nylon for stitches. Working quickly and carefully, Nicky sutured the wound as best as she could, tying knots in ends as she went. Finally satisfied, she slathered the wound with antiseptic ointment and once more covered his shoulder in gauze and tape. Bourne had remained quiet and still as she worked, but his jaw was tight and his face had gone pale again. He was fighting pain and sleep at the same time and losing.
Nicky knew what she needed to do as she tucked things back into the med kit. "I am beat. I vote for a nap."
Jason looked at her, trying to focus, trying to concentrate. "Yeah. But – I've sorta – taken over the bed." He looked around the room. "I can move. I'll take the chair. Or the floor."
"Nonsense," Nicky replied, shaking her head. "You need a good rest so that all my hard work here will have positive results. Stay put. Anyway, it's a king size bed. How about you get half, I get half?" Nicky flopped onto the bed before Bourne had a chance to say anything. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Oh, my gosh, is that another smile I see on the stern face of Jason Bourne?"
Jason couldn't help but smile. He shook his head and settled back on the bed.
Nicky tossed a blanket over him. "You don't snore, do you?" she asked, grinning.
He did not answer. He had already closed his eyes, and was literally out within seconds. Nicky settled back, staring at the ceiling, very much aware of Bourne next to her. She willed herself to relax, gradually settling into a light sleep.
Even though the night had been nearly sleepless, and the day so far the same, Nicky could not stay asleep. She could not get comfortable. She felt restless and jumpy, thanks in part to the knowledge that the man sleeping on the other half of the bed had been a member of a kill squad, had been responsible for the deaths of more than just a few people. She thought of the Neski murders and how easy it had been for Bourne to not only take the life of the man he'd been instructed to kill, but to also end the life of the man's wife. And if she were having a difficult time coming to grips with this, she could not imagine what must be going on in the mind of the man she knew as Jason Bourne.
The more time she spent talking with him, the less her fear of him became. Common sense told her to keep her distance, but at times there was such a vulnerability about the man that she wanted to take him in her arms just to ease his pain for a while. Lying here on the bed next to him was not helping.
She rolled over and got up, silently making her way to the bathroom. She took a shower and put on fresh clothes, which made her feel a little better. It was mid afternoon and her stomach was growling. It had been a long time since breakfast. She grabbed the room key and let herself out as quietly as possible. Bourne remained as she had left him, seemingly dead to the world. She hoped he would stay asleep. He was badly in need of all the rest he could get.
She walked slowly down the stairs to the lobby, having no trouble identifying several Agency personnel as she went. Tom Cronin, Pamela Landy's right hand man, sat on a sofa in the lobby, reading a local paper. The man she knew only as Teddy was perched in front of a laptop, probably using the hotel's Internet access to surf the Web. Other Agency personnel were strategically located throughout the corridors of the hotel, all looking like they belonged there. All because of Jason Bourne.
Cronin rose from the sofa as she approached. "Everything okay?"
Nicky shrugged. "Define 'okay.'"
Tom grinned. "You were kidnapped by an assassin. You now have said assassin sleeping in your room. He has a gunshot wound that required doctoring, which you provided. You've been uprooted and carted around from Amsterdam to Berlin, with little say in the matter. I suppose I should ask, 'Are you okay?'"
Flopping down on the sofa, Nicky sighed. "It's been a long couple of days." She looked up the winding staircase in the direction of her room. "He scares me. And yet, he is so..."
"Don't let him fool you, Nicky," Tom interrupted with a warning. "I don't know the whole Treadstone story, but they didn't pick their agents lightly or haphazardly. A lot of thought went in to choosing those who could get through the program. He's been trained well…"
"Yeah, I know," Nicky finished, "to be invisible. And to kill." A chill ran up her spine. She rose from the sofa, attempting to shake off her dark thoughts. "I'm going to get something to eat, and take something up for him. Hopefully, he'll still be there."
Tom smiled conspiratorially. "If he leaves, we'll know."
"I've heard that before," Nicky pointed out.
Tom shook his head. "We know what to watch for now. And it's us, not just the local police."
Nicky nodded. "I'll let you know about that ticket back to Amsterdam as soon as I can."
"Take all the time you need," Tom reiterated Landy's statement. "Just keep Bourne around as long as you can."
As she headed toward the restaurant, Nicky wondered if – and how – the Agency would be able to hold Bourne here against his will. She tucked that thought in the back of her mind and concentrated on the menu given to her by the wait staff. She ordered a sandwich with soup and salad, choosing to eat her meal in the restaurant. When she finished, she ordered a sandwich to go and returned to her room.
Bourne was still asleep on his half of the bed, breathing deeply and evenly. Yawning, Nicky placed the sandwich she'd picked up for him in the small refrigerator, removed her shoes, and slipped back into bed.
The room was warm and dark, but sleep still eluded her. She was about to give up trying when she felt Jason stir. He mumbled something unintelligible, shaking his head. Nicky inched closer, laying a hand lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "Shhhhh, Jason, it's alright, you're okay," she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. He nestled close, head against her shoulder, slipping back into a deeper sleep.
Nicky found herself nearly curled right next to Jason Bourne. She knew she should move back, but didn't want to chance waking him, so she stayed put, finally drifting off into a sleep of her own.
She woke instantly to the movement of the bed as Jason stretched. Sunlight was streaming through the partially drawn drapes. Bourne opened his eyes and looked at her, momentarily startled until he got his bearings. Nicky watched his features go from those of the smiling young man in the picture with Marie, to the hardened visage of a man who had doled out and seen too much death. She eyed him warily, instinctively drawing back. He rolled over quickly and got up.
"You're leaving," she said, a statement, not a question.
He kept his back to her. "It's time. My coming here was – a predictable move. Landy knew it. I never should have come."
"Where else would you have gone?" she asked gently. When he did not respond, she asked a safer question, "How's the shoulder feel?"
"Tender. Sore. I'll live." He hobbled into the bathroom and closed the door.
Nicky pushed the blanket away and rolled to her feet, running a hand through her disheveled hair. She fixed another pot of coffee and laid out more gauze and tape. It wasn't long before Bourne returned to the main room. Nicky immediately noticed the change in his demeanor, felt it like the temperature in the room had dropped 10 degrees. He was once more cool and self assured, moving with catlike grace, evidence of his injuries nearly gone. This was no longer the vulnerable wounded man who had collapsed on her floor two days ago. This was the Jason Bourne who had held a gun to her head in the lower levels of the train station.
She swallowed hard, attempting to remain calm. "Let me change the dressing on your shoulder."
He nodded and sat down, aloof, avoiding eye contact.
Nicky hoped her hands wouldn't shake too much as she pulled away the old bandage. The shoulder wound looked better – more than likely it still hurt like hell, but infection had been kept at bay and the sutures were holding. He'd have a scar, no doubt about that – one to match other scars already on his body. She applied a generous amount of antibiotic to his shoulder before covering it again. Jason remained quiet and unmoving.
"There's a sandwich in the fridge," she informed him, trying to keep things light. "Hungry?"
He frowned, looking at the door. "Did you have room service deliver?"
"No. You were sleeping so sound last night, and I – well, I needed some air. I didn't want to disturb you. I went down to the restaurant and brought some things back. And there's some fruit here from yesterday's breakfast."
"I never heard you leave, or come back," Jason mused. "Dangerous in my line of work." He rose from the chair and picked up a tee-shirt from the supplies Pamela had left. Nicky bit back an offer to help as he slowly pulled it on.
"You were tired – and drugged," she noted. "When the resistance is low, the body shuts down, regardless. And I think you knew you were safe here."
"Maybe," he said absently, taking a banana from the counter and peeling it. Nicky pulled the sandwich from the refrigerator and set it on the table. Bourne nodded his thanks. Picking up a small plastic bag from one of the chairs, Nicky filled it with the remaining medical supplies, including the antibiotics.
"You still get the headaches?" she asked as she tossed the aspirin bottle into the bag.
"Yes," he admitted. "Not as bad, not constant. But I still get them."
"Take this stuff with you when you leave. It's what's left of the penicillin, and some things to keep you going." She laid the bag on the table. "Those stitches should come out in a week or so. Keep the wound clean and dry till then." Grabbing one of her shopping bags, she walked quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind her, fully expecting never to see Jason Bourne again.
She took her time in the shower, dressing slowly, delaying her return to the room as long as she could, to give Bourne time to eat and go. She hated to admit it, but he really did scare her. Tom Cronin was right to warn her against any kind of feeling for this deadly assassin.
When she no longer heard noise from the outer room, she opened the door. To her surprise, Bourne was still there. He had finished his meal and donned a sweater. His coat was draped over his arm. He was ready to leave, but waiting for something.
She looked at him. "Is Pamela Landy's offer that bad?" she asked. "She has all the information you need. She has access to doctors who might be able to help you with this type of amnesia. Maybe what she has will jar your memory and everything will fall into place."
"I can't!" he snapped, his fists balled, his eyes cold and hard. "I will not be a bug they can put under a microscope, poking me to see what went wrong!"
"Okay. Point taken." She kept her distance. "You know, they're watching this room. They're downstairs in the lobby and probably in all the corridors. Maybe it would be easier to slip out after dark."
Jason shook his head. "I've intruded on enough of your space, your life, for a while, I think," he countered, fixing his eyes on hers. She did not look away. "Thank you," he whispered after long moments of silence. "You have gone above and beyond, done more than you probably ever dreamed of in your job description. That first night," he looked away, embarrassed. Nicky was once again face to face with the vulnerable Bourne. "You have no idea how much your caring, your concern means to me. And I am truly very sorry for the way I've treated you."
"I can't pretend that bit with the gun never happened," she said. "But knowing what I know now, I can understand. As far as the doctoring goes, you are welcome. I would say, 'Anytime,' but I would rather you not show up on my doorstep in the future with a gunshot wound."
Jason Bourne smiled once again.
"I'm not going to ask where you are going, or what you will do," Nicky continued. "I know better. But I will tell you to take care of yourself. I'm going back to Amsterdam. You know, in case you ever find yourself in the vicinity. For you, my door is always open – even when it's locked." She grinned.
Jason shook his head. "You know what I am, Nicky. You know what I've done. You've seen what I am capable of doing. How can you not be afraid of me?"
Nicky let out a sigh. "I've been asking myself that same question. You are a dangerous man, Jason Bourne. I am afraid of who you are. But I've seen who you can be. I've seen someone different – here in the hotel. In that picture, with Marie. And I'd like to think that the man in the picture will find the answers he's looking for." She threw caution to the wind, took several firm steps toward the man in her room, put her arms around him, and hugged him.
After a few moments, he returned her hug. When she backed up and looked at him, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You've given me pieces of the puzzle and they're falling into place. For that I will always be grateful. Amsterdam. Got it. I might stop there sometime. You never know."
He grabbed the bag Nicky had prepared for him, opened the door and stepped out in to the hall. Nicky followed, taking his arm as they proceeded down the stairs. He glanced at her, puzzled. "For your protection. In case they try anything funny," she explained. Jason raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
Tom and Teddy were almost in the same places she'd seen them earlier. They stood as they saw her with Bourne. She was also aware that several other people in the lobby stopped what they were doing to watch, albeit surreptitiously. She felt the muscles in Jason's arms tighten, but his face showed no sign of concern.
"Mister Bourne," Tom approached them as they descended the staircase. His hands were out and open – he was unarmed and letting Bourne know it. He extended his right hand a little farther. "Tom Cronin, CI Ops Officer. My instructions are to offer you a ride to wherever it is you want to go. No strings attached. Compliments of Pamela Landy."
Bourne did not take the offered hand. Tom shrugged as he let his arms fall to his sides.
Looking past Tom, toward Teddy and the door, Bourne spoke, "Give my best to Pam, and my thanks – but no thanks. I'll walk." He gently removed Nicky's hand from his arm, gave it a squeeze, a final thanks, and headed toward the exit. He stopped for a moment and smiled at Nicky. Nodding, he turned and walked out the door.
Glancing at Tom, Nicky could not resist, "I've got twenty bucks that says you'll lose him in one block."