ATHENA FORCE: BOOKS 1-6

JUSTINE DAVIS, AMY J. FETZER, KATHERINE GARBERA, MEREDITH FLETCHER, CATHERINE MANN AND DEBRA WEBB

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

Contents

Proof

Alias

Exposed

Double-Cross

Pursued

Justice

Coming Next Month

PROOF

JUSTINE DAVIS

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Justine Davis for her contribution to
the ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

I need your help.

Four small words, yet they had the power to turn an FBI agent into a burglar.

It had been a while, but Alexandra Forsythe quickly saw that the locks at the hospital, in this basement area anyway, were not going to be a particular challenge. The security of the small-town medical center wasn’t designed to protect against people like her.

She was thankful the practice of observation had become so ingrained in her. As a forensic scientist with the FBI, she focused on tiny details every day, so even though she’d been here earlier under horrible circumstances, she was still able to recall most of what she needed now. The layout of the building, the basement and the morgue itself.

That she was risking her career with the FBI was something she was quite aware of. Yet, when placed on the opposite end of the scale from the woman who lay on the other side of this door, it didn’t even move the dial.

Lorraine Miller Carrington had counted on that commitment when she’d put out the call invoking an old promise among friends. Alex had made the Cassandra promise with all the zeal of a passionate young woman, but her dedication to what it meant had never wavered as time passed. She would do what had to be done, whatever the cost. They all would, every one of the remaining six Cassandras. They would keep their word.

It was what graduates of the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women did.

“Oh, God, Rainy,” she murmured, feeling her eyes brim with the tears she had been fighting so hard all day.

Alex had come back to southern Arizona expecting trouble. She could only guess at the severity of the situation that would make the cool, unflappable Rainy put in that call for help. She knew it hadn’t been done lightly.

But she had never expected to end up here, in the small town of Casa Grande, just north of the smaller town of Eloy, where Rainy’s car had crashed. Rainy had made it only a third of the way from her home in Tucson to Athena Academy, just west of Phoenix. It was there where four of her former mentees, the Cassandras, had waited with Athena Academy principal Christine Evans to hear what dire event had instigated Rainy’s desperate call.

Now Alex wondered if there could be anything worse than watching an autopsy on someone you loved.

She reined in her emotions and glanced up and down the hallway to be certain she was alone. Foot traffic down here was rare at 3:00 a.m. She’d waited in a shadowy side corridor until she’d seen a man with a cleaning cart load up with fresh supplies and get on an elevator. He was the third uniformed worker to have followed this route, and she was guessing from the fact that she’d seen three of the big carts in the storage room that he was the last of the night cleaning crew. Still, she waited a little longer, just to be sure.

Finally she slipped on the blue uniform smock she’d liberated from a linen closet on the third floor ward, figuring it might buy her a few seconds if she was discovered. Her intractable red-gold spiral curls were already pulled up into a tight knot at the crown of her head, to further the makeshift disguise and to avoid leaving any telltale hairs behind. She’d come to appreciate the uniqueness of both the color and curls. But tonight her distinctive hair was a nuisance.

She turned her attention to her lock picking.

It took her less than thirty seconds to get the door to the morgue open. The room was very dim, the only light coming from one fluorescent ceiling fixture in the far corner. A couple of new residents had arrived since she’d been here last, and Alex made a silent apology as she intruded.

One of the gurneys held an elderly woman who was partially uncovered, the cloth over her lined face having slipped off. Alex hesitated, then gently pulled the cover back up. She might not have bothered before, but the harsh reality of death was weighing heavily on her, and she couldn’t help thinking about the loved ones who no doubt would still grieve even though this soul’s suffering had ended.

She suppressed a shiver and began to walk toward cold storage. A separate small room in the back of the morgue, it was where bodies were kept when the paperwork was complete, before they were picked up by a mortician. Oddly, the door wasn’t secured. In fact, it stood slightly ajar, and she frowned. She could feel the cool air escaping through the gap.

A slight noise followed by a barely audible muttering came from the room. She froze in her tracks. If she’d been given to horror stories, a thousand possibilities would have raced into her mind. But she glimpsed something through the narrow gap between the door and the jamb that catapulted what she’d heard into an entirely new category. A narrow beam of light, moving.

A flashlight.

The room was pitch black. Anyone who belonged there would have turned on the overhead lights. And they wouldn’t worry about making noise. The furtive implications of that flashlight and the effort to stay quiet started the flood of adrenaline in Alex.

She crept forward, her body instantly in the high state of alert and muscle tension that allowed her to make every careful movement utterly silent. She’d come prepared, wearing soft, leather-soled shoes rather than her running shoes with soles that could squeak too easily on the polished vinyl floors.

She peeked through the gap, saw a dark figure moving in the back of the room. The beam of the flashlight was small and intense, a xenon bulb, most likely.

The angle of the beam told her the person was tall. But it didn’t reflect enough light back at its holder to enable her to see anything other than short hair and a strong build. That, coupled with something about the way he held himself, added up to her assumption of gender.

What the faint light did show her, with shocking clarity, was what the person was doing. He had opened the drawer that held Rainy’s body. The sight made her stomach roil.

She must have made a sound, although she wasn’t aware of anything but the outrage that filled her as she pushed open the door. The man whipped around. Instantly he aimed the high intensity flashlight at her face, blinding her and preventing her from getting a look at him. That single action told her the guy knew what he was doing. Instinctively she backed up into the morgue.

He came at her.

She took what little she knew—he was tall—and used it. She crouched. Leaped forward. Caught him just below the knees. Used the muscles of her legs to drive forward and up. Felt the moment when she had him. Flipped him.

He was back on his feet fast. Came at her again. She knew he’d be ready for her this time. But he might not expect the same thing twice. She had a split second to decide. She went for it. This time she didn’t get the right angle and he flew awkwardly sideways as she rushed past him.

Still in motion she reached a counter and hit it with her right hand. Used it as a platform to spin and launch a side kick at his chest. A kick that Rainy—a tae kwon do black belt and instructor—would have been proud of. Caught him dead center and sent him reeling backward.

She landed on the balls of her feet, ready to strike in any direction. Yet the man hesitated. He’d slid into the main door to the hallway in his sprawl, and it had opened behind him, offering escape. It kept him backlit, and she was still unable to see his face.

She took a step toward him.

He pulled the gurney with the old woman forward until it was between them, then darted out the door. By the time she dodged around and reached the hallway, he was gone. She looked quickly up and down the hall but there was no sign, no doors just closing, no elevator just heading upstairs.

And I never saw his face, damn it.

She had no idea who he was, what he wanted with Rainy, if he was acting alone or if someone had sent him. Had no idea what he would have done had she not come along. She knew only that he hadn’t been anyone with official authorization, from either hospital or police or family. That alone would have told her that there was more to Rainy’s death than a simple accident.

But there was another layer of weirdness to this painful situation, a layer that had driven Alex back to the morgue in the middle of this hot August Sunday night for another look at her friend’s body.

Copies of Rainy’s medical forms from Athena Academy, which Christine Evans had e-mailed to Alex that afternoon, clearly stated that an emergency appendectomy had been performed on Rainy when she was fourteen. Alex had already known this, because when she’d been stricken with appendicitis herself in her junior year, Rainy had reassured her that all would be well, citing her own experience and showing off her scar.

And that made this situation all the more impossible.

What Alex had wanted to see again, what she hadn’t been able to study and make sense of during the autopsy, were other scars that Rainy had never mentioned. Scars on her ovaries.

Because the woman on that table in the morgue had a scar in approximately the right place for an appendectomy.

And a perfectly healthy appendix.

“And you didn’t recognize him? Sometimes family members go a little crazy in times of grief.”

The hospital’s night security supervisor, a middle-age black man with kind eyes, spoke to her gently. Alex wondered if he was implying she had also gone a little crazy, but he seemed so sincere she chose not to believe it. You had to draw the line somewhere or you’d end up hating every human being in the world.

“No, I didn’t,” she repeated for at least the fifth time. He was the third person she’d told the story to in the past two hours. “It all happened very fast and he came out of a dark room, but it was no one I knew. Besides,” she pointed out, “if he had been a family member or friend, he would have recognized me.”

She hadn’t told him the whole story, didn’t want to deal with the questions that would arise if he knew she’d also been inside the room and had in fact been involved in very brief hand-to-hand combat with the man. So she’d told him she’d been unable to sleep and had come to see if there was anyone here who could let her in for a last goodbye. She’d found the door unlocked—okay, so she didn’t specify which door, but she didn’t want to have to explain how she’d gotten in—and once inside had encountered a man who seemed to be sneaking around the back room with a flashlight.

The security man seemed to accept her implication that the man had left the outer door open. At least, as much as he was accepting any of her story. She didn’t care as long as he took some action. Her main concern was to have the area secured until she could get Rainy out of there.

“Hmm.” The security man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your friend who died, was she FBI, too?”

“No. She’s an—she was an attorney, in Tucson.”

He noticed her stumble on the change in tense and seemed to reach a decision. Thankfully, it was the decision she had wanted.

“I’ve got a couple of hours of paperwork to do this morning before the end of my shift. I’ll just grab myself a chair and do it sitting down here. That give you enough time to make your arrangements?”

“It should.” Alex smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I really appreciate this.”

He didn’t mention calling the sheriff’s office, and she was glad of that even though it suggested he still didn’t quite believe there was reason for alarm. Alex knew she was already on thin ice here. Only professional courtesy, the fact that police lieutenant Kayla Ryan had requested it and a fierce, stubborn insistence on her part had enabled her to sit in on Rainy’s autopsy that morning in the first place.

They’d cut her some slack because she was FBI, but it wouldn’t take much more to wear out her welcome. It never took a whole lot to wear out a fed’s welcome with city, county or even state law enforcement. And pointing out that they were all supposed to be on the same side never seemed to help much.

The local authorities hadn’t been enthused about the autopsy in the first place. They had clearly already resolved the case in their minds.

Rainy had fallen asleep at the wheel just outside Eloy, then gone off the road and crashed into a pole. Period. There was nothing left but the loose ends to tie up. That was the way the official report read, and that was what the investigating officers believed.

Alex knew the autopsy had been done because there were no apparent reasons for the accident. She guessed that the officers suspected Rainy had been drunk or on something illegal.

As if.

Alex had the sudden thought that she herself had sometimes dismissed the claims of family and friends about their loved ones.

In the lab, she let the fascination of the scientific process keep the reality of death at a safe distance. The fact that she was in the trace evidence department and dealt mostly with hair, fibers, paint, blood, glass and other things added to that buffer.

When the evidence pointed strongly one way, sometimes you did have to go with the numbers, simply because you had nothing else to base a decision on. If the odds were high in one direction, it took a lot of solid evidence to counter them.

And that was evidence they didn’t yet have for Rainy.

“Yet” being the operative word there, she told herself, shoring up her determination.

But she was going to have to tread very carefully. Those local authorities had also made it clear what they thought of her getting any more involved because of her personal relationship with the deceased.

The deceased.

That’s what Rainy was to the officials. All she was. Just another fatality case. Already death was stealing away Rainy’s identity, stealing away the essence of who and what she was. These people here, making these decisions, had never known the brilliant, beautiful, generous woman she’d been. The woman who by sheer force of personality had changed six young lives and touched countless others, and who would never have tolerated being referred to in such an impersonal manner.

But Alex had known her. And loved her. And she’d be damned if she’d let anyone reduce Rainy to a case number, a statistic, just another nameless driver falling asleep at the wheel. There was more to this than that, much more. Her gut was screaming that there was, and she’d learned to trust it, whether in the lab or in life.

The problem was, her gut feelings and what little strange evidence she had led to Athena Academy. And Alex wasn’t about to draw any attention to the school unless there was no choice. For now, the team name the Cassandras had chosen all those years ago would have an ironic significance—they were all feeling there was more to Rainy’s demise than the official determination of “accidental death,” yet, like the prophetess of old, they could get no one to believe them.

As she waited for the security man to return with the mentioned chair, Alex retrieved the smock she’d hastily stuffed into the trash can just down the hall after calling in the intruder to security. There was a laundry cart standing unattended outside another door, and she ran down and stuffed the disguise into the soiled linens bag.

By the time the security supervisor came back she was standing back where she’d been, looking as if she’d been there all the time. In addition to the chair, he carried a large clipboard with a stack of forms on it, so he’d clearly been truthful about settling in to do paperwork.

She thanked him again, clasping his hand in hers, and told him she’d let him know as soon as arrangements were made to move Rainy. Then she headed quickly toward the elevators. It took her a few minutes to find a place at the hospital where she was both allowed to use her cell phone and able to get a signal. She ended up back at the main front doors, and even then she had to walk out from under the huge cement quadrangle-shaped portico that marked the entrance.

It was just after 6:00 a.m., but she didn’t hesitate in dialing Kayla Ryan’s cell phone.

She felt a strange sense of both familiarity and oddness as she made the call. There had been a time when she would have called her old Athena classmate anytime there was something bursting out of her that she simply had to talk about. But that closeness had disappeared a long time ago, and the chasm that had opened between them over Kayla’s affair with Mike Bridges, the cocky young officer who had fathered Kayla’s daughter and then deserted them both, had never quite healed.

But none of that ancient history mattered now. The Cassandra promise had been invoked. Every one of them would live up to the promise, and they would all pull together as if the years since they’d left Athena Academy had never existed.

Kayla answered on the first ring.

“It’s Alex.” She wasted no time on preamble. “An intruder was in the morgue at the hospital. He was trying to do something to or with Rainy.”

She heard Kayla suck in a breath, could imagine the change in her expression as she snapped into police mode. “Any idea who?”

“No. Didn’t get a look at him at all. He was tall, in good shape. He was good, maybe a pro. Probably covered his tracks well. But I’m not even sure what he was going to do. I interrupted him just as he was…reaching for her.”

She bit her lip. Hard. Tasted blood. Didn’t care. God, this hurt so much, to even think that the cold, lifeless body in a drawer was really, truly Rainy. Or at least all that was left of her in this world.

“We’ve got to get her out of there and back on Athena turf,” Kayla said, with a briskness Alex guessed hid feelings similar to her own. Kayla had also voiced her own first choice; she’d feel much better when Rainy was out of the hands of strangers who didn’t know who they had, how special she was, that she was worth any effort.

“Yes. To the morgue there in Athens, preferably,” Alex said, referring to the small town adjacent to the academy. On the map Athens was a continuation of the Phoenix sprawl, but in fact had grown up into a town of about five thousand as an adjunct to the academy, housing many of the staff and support services, and suppliers to the school.

It was also Kayla’s jurisdiction.

Kayla quickly picked up on her inference. “You want her there, not just to a mortuary?”

“Exactly. I want her where we can have someone we know and trust take a closer look. This doctor’s good, but he’s not a coroner or an investigator. The county doesn’t have one, they have to borrow from the next county over, and they won’t do it unless they’re really suspicious.”

“And they’re not,” Kayla said.

“No. They’re already convinced it was just an accident, that she fell asleep.”

“As if,” Kayla muttered, and Alex’s mouth quirked at the perfect repetition of her own response, even as she felt a qualm that she and this woman she had once been so close to had become so estranged. Kayla’s next words wiped all levity from her mind.

“I was going to call you this morning. Your guy isn’t the first intruder. Someone was inside Rainy and Marshall’s house yesterday.” Kayla explained that the person had run and Kayla hadn’t gotten a look at him. Or her. “I also checked out Rainy’s car at the county forensics lab. The seat belt failed.”

Alex sucked in a breath. “Any sign of tampering?”

“None. What are the odds.” Her tone was grim.

“We should move her today.”

“I’ll make the arrangements with Marshall,” Kayla said.

“How is he?” Alex asked. Then felt foolish. Rainy had been their friend but Marshall Carrington’s wife, so how did she think he was?

“He’s…handling it,” Kayla said.

Alex wasn’t sure what that meant, or what the odd note in Kayla’s voice indicated, but she didn’t have time to delve into extraneous details now.

“Will he agree to move her?”

“I think so. I’ll make the arrangements from here, and I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”

“Good.”

“Listen, Alex…there’s something else that might play into this.”

“What?”

“Marshall said Rainy had been undergoing fertility treatments. He told me that her doctor said she might not be able to conceive because of scarring on her ovaries.”

Alex instantly went on full alert. She’d called Kayla after the autopsy to tell her about Rainy’s appendix and the scars, but hadn’t mentioned any of her vague suspicions. “Oh?”

“Yes. Apparently Dr. Halburg, Rainy’s gynecologist, said the scarring was natural. And not uncommon, even.”

“Hmm.” Alex frowned. “Did he say if they were trying for in vitro?”

“I didn’t get to ask. That’s when we realized someone was in the house. But there was information on egg mining in Rainy’s office.”

“Maybe it’s nothing more than that, then.” Alex said it, but she didn’t believe it. Not with two intruders in the same twelve-hour period. Or perhaps it was the same person.

“You’ll be headed to Athens, then?” Kayla asked.

“Yes. I’ll follow the transport to the morgue, just to be sure.” She made a mental note to call work and extend her personal leave, as well.

“Will you be staying on the grounds at Athena? Do you want me to call Christine?”

“No, I’ll get her on my cell when I’m on my way,” Alex said.

Athena’s principal was getting ready for the arrival of students for the next trimester starting on the first of September, but Christine Evans lived by the philosophy “Once an Athena woman, always an Athena woman,” and all the graduates were like family to her. And she’d been especially close to Rainy, so Alex knew she’d do anything necessary to help find the truth about her death.

“I’ve got an investigation that’s got to be tied up,” Kayla was saying, “but I’ll check in with you and get to Athena when I can. I’ll see when my sister can watch Jazz.”

“How is she?” Alex asked, embarrassedly aware that this was the first time she’d asked. Kayla’s eleven-year-old daughter, Jasmine, was one positive thing that had come out of Kayla’s youthful fling. The girl was bright and pretty, looking much more like her honey-skinned mother than what Alex remembered of her father.

“She’s the light of my life,” Kayla said simply, and quickly went on. “I’ll be in touch when arrangements are made to move Rainy.”

Alex felt the sting of the quick subject change.

“All right,” she said, realizing this was not the time or place to go into things like their personal situation.

There was an awkward moment of silence between them, a moment that would have once been impossible between the two who had been the closest of friends. On the heels of the sting, Alex felt a moment of the old irritation at the fact that this estrangement was over, of all things, a man.

A boy, really, she amended silently. Mike had been a shallow charmer with zero sense of responsibility. And still was, most likely. But Kayla had thought herself in love, and had thrown her childhood away for it.

Just goes to show, Alex thought, even Athena Academy can’t break all of women’s stupid habits.

Chapter 2

The stark difference between this time and all the other times Alex had traveled the road from Phoenix to Athena tore at the very core of her. Before, she had always approached this passage with joy, anticipating the turn onto Olympus Road, knowing that soon after she’d reach Script Pass, the road to Athena, all the while eagerly awaiting another new year of school. But now…

She shook her head, trying to clear it as she drove behind the black van that was serving as a hearse for Rainy’s body. She knew she was tired, she’d been up nearly all night, but adrenaline was still pumping and she knew from past experience just how far it would carry her. She was all right for a while yet.

Once she was through the Phoenix metro area, Alex slipped her headset over her right ear and hit the speed dial number on her cell for Christine Evans at Athena. Christine answered on the second ring. Alex gave her only the essentials over the cell connection. She was bringing Rainy home, and would need a place to stay for a while.

“Of course,” Christine said instantly. “Everything’s open until the first, including your old dorm if you want it. After that you can stay with me, or in one of the guest houses. We won’t have any families or guests visiting for the first month.”

Alex knew that was standard, to give new students time to settle in to the school routine without interruption. Those 6:30 a.m. reveilles were a shock for some students, as the hot, dry climate was for others, and the acclimatization to both took time.

“That’s fine. I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

“Which will be?”

“I just cleared the Phoenix city limits, so I’m about a half hour out. But I’ll be…securing things at the morgue in Athens first.”

The former army captain didn’t miss the inference. She also didn’t make the mistake of pursuing it in a cell conversation that could be monitored. “I see. I should expect you in the early evening, then?”

“Probably. I’ll call you.”

“All right.” There was a pause. “Alex?”

“Yes?”

“It will be good to spend time with you. I just wish the circumstances were different.”

“No more than I,” Alex said fervently.

After the call Alex tried to think of other things. Of how strange this place had seemed to her east-coast eyes the first time she’d come here. Used to the rolling green hills of northern Virginia and the time-worn mountains of the east coast, she’d found the dry desert flatness and jagged peaks as strange as any moonscape.

She’d initially wondered why on earth they’d located the school here, when they’d had the entire country to choose from. She’d even asked her grandfather, Charles Forsythe, one of the founders and main backers of Athena, why they’d picked that spot. And had asked it, she’d much later realized, with all the arrogance of a teenager who was certain she knew it all.

He’d told her that they’d chosen this place for all the reasons she thought it was a bad choice. She hadn’t understood then, but eventually she’d realized the wisdom of the selection.

And she had come to love it for its own kind of stark, harsh beauty, and to respect it for what it had to teach the women of Athena about reality and survival and the incontrovertible facts of nature and life. It had become their sanctuary even as it was their proving ground. Being dropped in the wilds of the White Tank Mountains with minimal supplies and told to find your way back had a way of teaching you a new perspective.

But she doubted there was any perspective to be gained in this case. There had been no one in her life quite like Rainy. And there never would be again. There had been only five years age difference between them, but at times Rainy had seemed as much a mother figure as an older sister. Perhaps, Alex had thought more than once, because her own mother had been so cool and distant.

She’d felt closer to Rainy than even her own blood sibling. She loved her big brother, Bennington, dearly, but he also had the knack of irritating the heck out of her more than anyone else ever could. In fact, she’d felt closer to Rainy than any of her family except her grandfather Charles, or G.C., as she’d called him since childhood. It was a nickname her mother had despised, which of course had guaranteed Alex would use it as often as possible.

Alex reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the bottle of spring water she’d tucked inside the large shoulder bag she used as both purse and briefcase. And holster, if it came to that. The bag had a special outside-access pocket for her duty weapon concealed between the two divided sections.

She took a long drink, knowing that keeping hydrated in this desert climate was crucial. She’d been gone long enough to have lost some of her adaptive abilities to this kind of arid heat; Washington D.C. was beyond hot in the summer, but arid was not a frequently used adjective there. She was thankful the new FBI crime lab was in Quantico; the proximity to the Potomac gave a bit of relief when the capital itself was sweltering.

The black van in front of her changed lanes to go around a slow-moving truck, and Alex had to wait for a break between vehicles to follow. There hadn’t been this much traffic when she’d attended Athena, either, she thought. She’d graduated just thirteen years ago, but the roads between Phoenix and Athens had been a lot emptier then. Traffic would thin out the closer she got, but still, there was a marked difference.

Not for the first time she was grateful to the people, including her grandfather, who had had the vision for Athena. The late Arizona senator Marion Gracelyn had begun it, and it had evolved from her initial idea of a military-type academy just for women into the much bigger, more far-reaching thing it was now, an institution dedicated to helping women take their rightful place in a world that was still very much run by men.

When she’d first arrived, after the trek through a strange land to a strange place, she’d been wondering why she’d worked so hard to come here. She’d known it was expected of her, the Forsythe fortune having helped found the school. But as seventh grade and the time to go to the school she hadn’t chosen neared, she had rebelled against this set future even as it closed in on her, purposely refusing to do her schoolwork and messing around during national testing. Only the awful disappointment of her beloved grandfather had shaken her off her mutinous course and sent her back to work.

As it was, she’d lost a year and had come to Athena as an eighth grader. She’d been assigned an orientation group with seventh-grade girls who would become the Cassandras. The age difference had made for problems in itself, but Rainy had straightened that out as she had straightened them all out.

She had been the force that had brought them together, had taken the young girls they had been and transformed them into a cohesive unit of smart, capable, skilled women who could handle anything thrown their way.

Alex blinked rapidly as tears blurred her vision. This was impossible. It just could not be happening. She could not be driving back to Athena behind a van carrying Rainy’s body.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She’d forgotten it was still in her lap. She glanced at the caller ID, considered letting it go to voice mail, then chided herself for being a coward. She flipped the phone open.

“Hello, Emerson.”

“Alexandra.”

Emerson Howland, Alex's fiancé, was the only person on the planet besides her mother who called her that. Even her grandfather called her Alex. Emerson’s manner sometimes made her feel as if the age gap between them was even greater than twelve years. But he had told her once he thought Alexandra a lovely name, so she’d finally given up trying to break him of the habit. She admired so much about him—the man’s work was, after all, saving others—that it seemed a petty thing to nag him about.

She waited for him to speak. He seemed to be waiting for her to do the same. She was never sure if it was some kind of power thing on his end, or simply that generation’s deep, inbred, sometimes cool politeness that marked his every interaction.

She found she was in no mood for that, either. “You called me,” she pointed out.

There was a pause, just long enough for her to consider how snippy she’d sounded. But before she could say anything, he spoke again.

“Your mother says hello.”

“Oh?”

She stopped herself from pointing out that her mother had her number if she wanted to say hello. Not likely, she knew. Odd, when her own mother would rather speak to Alex’s fiancé than her. But then, her upper-crust mother highly approved of Emerson. In fact, she usually seemed happier to see him than her own daughter on those occasions they were together—which came as infrequently as Alex could manage.

“Yes, I dropped some flowers off at the house today. For her birthday.”

Drat. I forgot. I’ll have to send something. Fast.

“That was thoughtful,” she said into the phone. “I’m sure she appreciated it.”

Funny how he remembered her mother’s birthday, and her mother remembered his, while the woman could barely bestir herself to remember her own daughter’s. But if that daughter forgot hers…

“She mentioned she hadn’t heard from you.” He paused, but she said nothing. She had long ago stopped responding to her mother’s guilt-laden efforts at what she called communication. “So…how are you?” This time he sounded as if he really wanted to know.

“About like you’d expect.”

“I am sorry, Alexandra. I know she was a dear friend.”

She felt bad about her snappishness. “Thank you, Emerson. I’m just a little edgy.”

“I should go. I have a meeting.”

“The triple valve replacement?” she asked, expressing an interest she didn’t really feel.

“Yes. The surgery is scheduled for Tuesday. We’re optimistic about the final result.”

She was certain he had reason to be. Emerson was one of the premier cardiac surgeons in the country, and his skill in saving lives and his willingness to travel anywhere to do it were two of the things she loved about him.

“Good luck, then.”

There was an awkward moment of silence followed by perfunctory goodbyes. They had never done that very well, as if each of them felt there should be more said but neither knew what it was.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relationships were so much more complex then the trails of evidence she loved to analyze, dissect and follow to an inarguable conclusion.

She thought about what she’d seen in the cold storage room when she’d gone back in to look at the scene and resecure Rainy before she’d contacted anyone about the intruder. She’d found no trace evidence, and hadn’t had the means to check for fingerprints. But there had been a gurney near Rainy’s body. And on that gurney an empty black body bag.

And she wondered if his plan hadn’t been to tamper with Rainy’s body, but to steal it.

Alex didn’t protest when Christine pressed a glass of wine into her hands. She knew she was on edge, now that she was here and the task at hand had been accomplished. Rainy’s body was secured in Athens’s small morgue and was being watched over by an off-duty officer hand-selected by Kayla. Alex had forced herself to leave and get some food and rest, knowing she was in no shape to act or think clearly in any technical area.

Besides, the doctor Christine had called in would not be available until tomorrow. So, in the morning she would head to the morgue and get her questions answered. Those that had answers, anyway.

Alex looked at the woman who had been the heart and soul of Athena for over two decades. Christine had built the crucial part of Athena from the beginning, had searched out and handpicked the staff of instructors, carefully assessing each for not just their intelligence and aptitude for teaching, but for their ability to understand and dedicate themselves to Athena’s cause.

It was that last that had eliminated more candidates than anything else. Not everyone had the mind-set to work for the most state-of-the-art college-prep school for women in the country. When you threw in some of the more controversial subjects in the program of study, it made the selection process even more delicate. Not everyone agreed with Athena’s stated goal, the empowerment of women in America. In all areas. It was Christine’s job to weed out those who couldn’t come to Athena with the wholehearted desire to make it possible for her students to achieve what was now so difficult simply because they were women.

Christine also made the final choices of the students, selecting only the best and brightest in both academics and athletics. Those few who met her standards were sent invitations to attend Athena Academy. In fact, a stack of folders was on the coffee table in front of her, and Alex knew Christine was going through them, familiarizing herself with each of the thirty or so new students who would be entering the academy. She was careful to welcome each new arrival by name when she first saw them. Athena, she always said, was an intimidating place, and she wanted to be sure each girl knew she was expected and wanted. That it was not simply that the student was lucky to be here, but also that Athena was lucky to have her.

And Alex was just rattled enough tonight to ask something that had been living in the back of her mind for years, ever since she had realized how truly hard one of those invitations was to get.

“Why did I get asked to Athena?”

Christine blinked. She turned her head slightly, as she did when she wanted to study something or someone carefully. She’d been blinded in her left eye in a training exercise, which had resulted in her retirement from military service. But it was also why she’d ended up running Athena, so she’d often said she had no complaints. Even at sixty-one she could still keep up with most of the rigorous training at Athena, and she ran the weaponry, horsemanship and survival courses herself. She even taught Arabic.

“You were asked,” Christine said after a moment, “because you deserved to be asked.”

“It wasn’t because of my grandfather?”

Christine leaned back in her chair. She took a sip from her own glass of wine. “You know what Athena is all about. Do you really think we support nepotism? That we would take someone who didn’t qualify simply because they had a relative who is on the board?”

“No,” Alex admitted. “I know the school takes nothing with any strings attached. But—”

“And even if we did,” Christine went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “no one graduates here without having earned it. Fully and completely.”

“But you go by federal and state test scores, and mine had plummeted,” Alex said. “My whole average, in everything, took a big hit the year before I came to Athena.”

“We only begin the selection process with those scores,” Christine corrected her mildly. “And, independently of your grandfather, you had come to our attention long before that year when you decided to resist.”

Alex colored slightly. Christine smiled.

“Did you think you were the only rebel we ever took on? The only one who purposely messed up, just to spoil everyone’s expectations?”

Alex shook her head, feeling a bit sheepish. “I guess I didn’t think about it at all.”

“And you,” Christine said, gesturing toward Alex with her glass, “had the highest set of expectations imaginable placed on you, with your grandfather being a founder, on the board and a primary financial backer of Athena.”

“It was just that nobody asked me what I wanted to do,” she said, suddenly feeling compelled to explain that year of rebellion when she’d refused to work at all. “It was like it was a given I’d come to Athena, whether I wanted to or not.” She grimaced. “So I set out to make that impossible, just to show them.”

It was the only time in her life she’d intentionally done something she knew would hurt or dis appoint her grandfather. And although he’d gently forgiven her and told her he understood, she still regretted it.

“We know how to look beyond rebellion,” Christine said. “In fact, we often look for it. A strong spirit and will are also essential here.” Then, in a seeming non sequitur, Christine asked, “How is Emerson?”

Alex blinked. “Fine, I suppose. I talked to him earlier today.”

If Christine thought it odd that she hadn’t mentioned the man she was supposed to marry since she’d arrived, it didn’t show in her face. And Alex wondered if there had been a point to this seeming change of subject, if Christine was implying that Emerson and a woman of strong spirit and will were a questionable match. The woman had met Emerson once, when she’d made a trip to D.C. and they had gotten together for dinner and introductions. But Christine was better than anyone Alex had ever known, inside the FBI or out, at sizing people up quickly. And she was rarely wrong.

Christine studied Alex for a moment, her expression softening. When she spoke, it was on the previous subject. “Do you regret giving in?”

Alex drew back sharply. “And coming to Athena? Of course not!”

“You seemed to, at first. I know you had a hard time, being older than the other Cassandras.”

“I was a pain in the butt,” Alex said bluntly. “I know everyone thought I was snooty and aloof because of my background, because I was a Forsythe, but really I was just…ambivalent about the whole thing.”

“And now?”

“Athena was the best thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t trade coming here, and what I learned here, for anything.”

Her voice had grown rather fierce, and it made Christine smile. “We’re changing the world, Alex. Slowly, but with each graduating class, we’re showing humankind just how much women are capable of, given the same training and opportunities men have.”

Alex thought about what Christine had said later, as she lay in bed. She was in the guest house closest to the mountains, which she had picked for its relative isolation. She’d originally intended to sleep in her old dorm room, but the memories were far too strong there, the hole left by Rainy’s death too ragged and fresh for her to stay. It was in that room that they’d made the Cassandra promise, the pledge to come if any of the others needed them, no questions asked.

We’re changing the world…

She rolled onto her side, punching a hollow for her head in the pillow. Were they? Really? It didn’t seem that way sometimes. The man she’d encountered in the morgue seemed living proof of that. But Josie Lockworth, a fellow Cassandra, had always said they had to look at the bigger picture. Alex had valued Josie’s words because she felt that Josie could really relate to her background, Josie’s father having been both a supporter of the building of Athena and not coincidentally the director of the CIA at the time. Alex supposed that butting her head against that thickest of glass ceilings, that of the military establishment, had made Josie more aware that changes like this took not years but decades, generations.

She changed to her other side, kicking off the sheet and thin blanket.

Maybe that’s what they were doing, she thought. Changing the long-term, bigger picture. Each woman they put in a position denied to women before meant a younger generation of men and women grew up with the idea that it was normal. Which cleared the way to the next step. And then the next.

Alex sat up with a disgusted sigh. She’d expected to be asleep before she had time to think about anything, especially after being up since two that morning and having a full meal and a glass of wine. But here she was, wide-awake, unable to shut off her mind.

Never one to resort to chemical sleep aids, she rolled out of bed and dressed in jeans, running shoes and a white knit tank top. At night, at least, she didn’t have to pour sunscreen on the pale skin that went with her hair.

She stepped outside, the shock of heat hitting her. In D.C., it got hot, seemed hotter because of the humidity, but it generally cooled off at least some at night. Here, at this time of year, it wasn’t unusual to be out at 2:00 a.m. in temperatures near ninety. Fortunately it wasn’t that hot now, but it was still enough to bring on memories of hot summer nights at Athena.

She needed no flashlight. She knew these grounds as well as she knew her house in Alexandria, a D.C. suburb. Off to her right she saw lights on in Christine’s bungalow, where Christine was no doubt still working in preparation for the incoming students. To her left was the library, and in front of that, beyond the parking lot, was the dorm building she’d avoided tonight.

She stopped walking and looked at the two-story building that had once been a spa of the sort that rich people who had picked up certain addictions went to for treatment. It had been converted into an efficient and pleasant, if no longer quite so luxurious, fifty-room dormitory.

She turned and looked up at the mountains behind her, at the view she’d had from her dorm room’s balcony for her entire stay at Athena. More than once she’d slept out there so that she could wake to see the first rays of the sun paint the stark landscape that had once been so strange to her.

She made her way past the library to the science labs, then wandered toward the main building that housed the classrooms, offices and auditorium. She’d been awed by the options presented at Athena, at the chances to study things never offered in a regular school—the local high school didn’t run to martial arts, cryptology, weapons and criminal profiling in addition to lock picking, nor did they encourage students to intern with the FBI, CIA or other agency of choice.

Moved by an emotion born of her discussion with Christine and her thoughts afterward, she walked to the front entrance of the school. She went on to Script Pass, the only road that led to Athena. She turned and looked back, past the fountain and flowers at the center of the circular drive, over the lawn in front of the main building, up to the dark shapes of the mountains beyond. In the moonlight it all had an ethereal silver glow.

It was almost as ethereal in the public eye. The founders had decided from the beginning to keep Athena low profile. Their goal was not glory for the school, but for its students. And invitation-only institutions were subject to too much speculation and self-righteous curiosity, especially when it came to those that were funded the way Athena was. The students were not encouraged to discuss their alma mater with outsiders, but in educational circles and beyond, the sheer and consistent excellence of the Athena graduates was beginning to create a stir.

Most people have never heard of us, but we are changing the world, Alex thought.

In a burst of nostalgia, she headed back onto the school grounds, her goal the stables. She and her horse Lacy had spent many a long hour exploring those mountains. She’d honed Lacy’s condition in the White Tank Mountain Regional Park. Now twenty years old, Lacy—registered under the name of Chantilly Lace, a tradition with Forsythe horses since the family fortune had been founded on rich fabrics centuries ago—was living a well-earned retirement on her grandfather’s Virginia ranch, nothing more pressing to do than graze on the rich grass. But several of Lacy’s offspring were here, contributing to the versatility of Athena students just as the mare had.

Alex was past the admin office when she felt the tickle at the back of her neck.

Chapter 3

She was being followed.

She knew her hair alone made her quite recognizable, even in just the moonlight. Red, curly manes like hers weren’t that common. So it followed that if it were Christine, or one of the other staff who knew she was there, they would call out to her.

She picked up her pace without appearing to hurry, merely lengthening her stride. So did the person behind her, although he—or she—kept to the shadows to stay hidden. And if Alex’s nerves hadn’t been so ragged, the ploy might have succeeded; whoever it was was good. Very good.

Trained.

That was the word to come into her mind, and she’d learned to go with gut feelings like that, because most of the time they were right. The man from the cold storage room in the morgue? That, she couldn’t tell.

She veered to the right, toward the riding arena. The open area left little cover for her follower. It also made Alex’s path quite visible in the moonlight, so whoever it was could see her direction without having to leave cover. It was clear he—she became fairly certain of her shadow’s gender as she watched the way he moved—was following her.

The question of why was looming, but she didn’t waste time on it. More important right now was the question of his capabilities. Trained could easily mean armed. But she’d already given him ample chance to try to take her out that way if that was his goal.

So if that wasn’t his goal, what was? Was he after someone else? Something else?

Alex changed course again, heading once more toward her original goal, the stables. She stepped inside. Her pursuer hung back, waiting, she guessed, to see if she emerged. She checked the door of the always lit up stable office. Locked. Did she have time to break in and use the phone? She could probably find something to use on the lock, but she would lose track of her stalker. She risked a look out the tack room window that faced back the way she had come.

After a moment she saw the slightest movement in the shadow of the science lab building. An even darker shadow. It moved again, barely, and she saw the slightest glint of moonlight on metal.

A gun?

It had been in the right place for a waistband holster. If she was right, he was indeed armed. She was not.

She darted out of the tack room, whispered an acknowledgement to the horses who nickered a greeting, then raced up the ladder to the hayloft with all the speed of the fourteen-year-old she’d once been. From there she could see clearly both where her follower was hiding and the path to the staff bungalows. She settled in to see what the man would do.

He waited.

Patient, she thought. But was he waiting until he was sure the coast was clear to make a move, or waiting for her to emerge?

She could be just as patient. They’d taught that at Athena, too.

She waited. And so did he. Minutes ticked away. She wished she’d brought her cell phone, she could call Christine and warn her there was someone skulking around. She wondered who would break first.

And with a sigh, she knew. She would. Because while Athena had taught her patience, it had also taught her about the benefits of taking action, striking first, of bringing the game to your own court and on your own terms.

Athena was her court. No one except another Athenan could know it as well as she did. She would use that. And whatever else came to hand.

Alex crept back to the tack room. Amid the hanging saddles, bridles and blankets, she found an old hunt coat. It was obviously due for retirement, more than a little threadbare, but it was dark and hid the white shirt that glowed like neon in the moonlight.

She harvested a bonus out of the right pocket, a large, dark blue bandanna. In a few seconds she had the red-gold beacon of her hair bundled up and covered. She searched around for additional trimmings and found a pair of rubber knee-high muck-out boots. They were large enough to slide on over her shoes. There was a mirror in the tack room, and she checked out the look. With luck, it would pass.

She went back to the door. She took a couple of deep breaths. Little steps, she thought. The boots would help, they were big enough that she’d have to alter her stride anyway. She purposely slumped her shoulders, as she’d seen women do who weren’t comfortable with their height. She bent her knees slightly, as far as she thought she could without it being obvious from a distance, to make herself seem shorter. She changed everything she’d been taught to watch for to see through disguises in her own training.

If the man was trained as she thought he was, he wouldn’t miss the marked differences beyond simple appearance. She just had to hope he wouldn’t look close enough to see through her ruse.

She stepped out of the stable through the same door she’d entered, figuring he’d be watching where she’d gone in. When she was in full moonlight, she turned back and waved at the doorway.

“See ya tomorrow!” she called out cheerfully, raising the pitch of her natural voice and injecting just the slightest bit of a drawl.

She set off toward the staff housing, humming a light, cheerful tune. But every bit of her awareness and concentration was focused on the perimeter of the science lab building. She caught the faintest glint as moonlight reflected on what she still suspected was a gun. Then she made out a slightly darker shadow within the shadow. He moved, she thought. No, turned. Just turned to watch her. Made no move to follow her. And after a moment, she saw the glint again, as he turned back and resumed his scrutiny of the stables, clearly indicating his lack of interest in this “second” woman.

So he is following me, specifically, Alex thought. She could handle that. At least the guy wasn’t after Christine. Although even if he was, he’d find he had his hands more full than he might have expected, especially if he judged her only by her age. Athenan women didn’t just age gracefully, they aged tough.

She took advantage of the fact that he’d returned his attention to the stables. She dodged behind the school’s large, four-horse trailer, parked beside the stable. From where he was, he shouldn’t be able to see beneath it all the way, and so couldn’t see her feet. Since it had living quarters at the front, it was nearly thirty-five feet long and covered her retreat back to the stables. Keeping the trailer between her and the man watching, she made her way to the back side of the stable, out of sight. She went over the fence, through an outside stall door and back into the building, whispering soothingly to the chestnut gelding who occupied the stall.

“Easy, sweetie. Just passing through.”

She quickly went out the inner stall door. She shed the dark jacket, the boots, and freed her hair. She knew which horse she wanted, although she didn’t know which stall she was in. But as if she sensed Alex’s presence, the gray stuck her head over the half door. Alex hastened to greet the mare, a granddaughter of her beloved Lacy.

“There you are, gorgeous. Wanna play?”

The mare called Charm—short for Charmeuse, another in the line of Forsythe fabric names—had the same bright intelligence in her dark eyes as Lacy had. Alex had ridden the mare back on her grandfather’s farm, before Charm was donated to Athena, so she knew what the horse could do. She also knew Charm had the same sensitivity, willingness and trust as her granddam. And for a gallivant such as Alex had in mind, that was what she needed.

She bridled the mare, who took the bit easily despite the oddity of the hour. Grabbing a handful of mane, Alex launched herself onto the horse’s back. She settled into place and headed the gray toward the still-open door she’d exited in her other guise. The clatter of the shod hooves on the stable floor was comfortingly familiar. In fact, it felt so good to be on a horse again, she wondered why she didn’t ride more regularly. It wasn’t like she had to go very far, since her grandfather’s farm was only half an hour outside of D.C.

She leaned forward to pat the mare’s neck. “All right, my Charm girl. Let’s teach somebody a lesson about messing with Athena.”

They stepped into the moonlight. Alex sat the horse casually, as if a moonlit bareback ride was what she’d had in mind all along. She reined the mare slightly toward the building where the watcher was hiding, just to make sure he got a good look. Alex sensed as much as saw a sharp movement in the shadows.

Gotcha.

She headed the horse slowly toward the trail that led into the mountains behind Athena. Then she urged the gray into the leggy canter that was like riding a rocking chair, even bareback.

She had mentally picked her spot before she’d ever started in that direction. She’d spent so many hours staring up at the mountains from the grounds that she knew exactly what could be seen from where. She cued Charm as they neared the cluster of scrubby whitethorn acacia trees. The moment they were past them she spun the gray off the trail into the soft dirt behind the trees, the perfect spot for an ambush. The mare dug in her heels and executed a stop that would have done a champion stock horse proud.

Alex leaped down and ground-tied the mare by tossing the reins over her head to dangle, all it took for the well-trained animal. She moved in a crouch to where she could look back the way they’d come. She spotted him immediately. Her lure was working, and he’d stepped out from the shadows and stood in plain sight, looking up toward the mountains.

“If I had my HK, I could take you out just like that,” she whispered to herself. “Come on, follow me.”

She was joking about the Heckler & Koch sniper rifle. But she took the man seriously. Whoever he was she sensed he was a threat to someone or something she held dear. And she, as any Athenan, would protect what she loved. Whatever it took.

She waited, watching, as he moved across the open land between the science lab and the stable. He stopped near the stable door and stared up the trail. Charm stood quietly, patiently, as any Athena horse was expected to do. Seconds, then minutes ticked by. Still she and her amiable companion waited and watched, Alex deriving not a little pleasure in having so completely turned the tables on their observer.

She saw him glance at the stables, and instinctively knew what he was thinking.

She almost hoped he would do it. It would be something to see, since she somehow doubted he was an experienced horseman.

Instead of getting a horse he started walking along the path she’d taken between the stable and the arena. He probably thought she had continued at full tilt up the mountain trail, and thus was long out of sight and hearing. Which had been, of course, her intent. He’d have been more on guard approaching her in the stable, but here he had no idea what her position might be.

He stopped at the foot of the mountain trail, still looking upward. She could see him a little better now, not his face, but at least that he had dark hair, was solidly built and tall.

So was the guy at the morgue in Casa Grande.

Was this him? Could she have been followed? Was he good enough to tail her without her noticing? She didn’t think so, not all the way to Athena.

Another thought struck her. What if he hadn’t had to follow her? What if he’d already known Athena was where she was going? Or would go?

That idea made her jaw tighten. Being followed was one thing. Having somebody know for certain where she would go, and having him also know where Athena was, indicated prior knowledge and had implications she didn’t like.

She inhaled sharply when he turned and walked back to the stable. As he peered through the stable door she’d left open, she had to suppress a sudden urge to vault onto Charm’s back and charge down there, yank the guy off his feet and do whatever it took to get him to talk, to tell her what he was doing here, what he was after. Patience had been a long and hard lesson for her to learn in her years here, she who had never had to wait for much in her privileged life. But like everything at Athena, the lessons—both academic and otherwise—had been tailored to the individual, and she’d been forced to learn that one, albeit sometimes the hard way.

She waited.

He stepped inside the stable.

She waited some more.

And waited.

Waited still.

After an hour, she wondered if he were simply going to stay there until she came back, stage an ambush of his own. Did he figure he could get away with it because there was so little staff here on the break between trimesters?

As she sat there she puzzled through what few facts she knew. She was fairly certain no one would be after her because of any cases she’d worked. As a Forensic Scientist II in the Trace Evidence unit, she wasn’t high profile enough for that. She hadn’t testified in any big cases that would bring someone down on her. Her superiors generally took care of that, even if she had done the work. She wasn’t in it for the glory, so didn’t care. Although if the promotion she was up for came through, that would change.

It had to be about Rainy. And if that were the case, that left only a few possibilities she could think of. Somebody thought she knew something they didn’t want her to know. Or, they were afraid she’d find something.

If she was right and this was connected to Rainy’s death, it quite simply proved her theory that there was much more to this than an accident.

Suddenly she sharpened her attention, realizing her tired mind and body had been drifting. She hadn’t slept, she was sure, but the sky was changing from black to inky blue. As the first glow of actual light broke in the distance, she realized she’d have to risk the gun and go down before it became too light to move surreptitiously, if she wanted to catch him. Moving quickly, running on sheer willpower, she remounted the ever-patient Charm and tried to keep the stable in sight as she headed down the trail slowly enough to stay quiet.

As it turned out, she didn’t need to be quiet. She heard the throaty roar of a motorcycle break the stillness. Charm’s ears snapped forward at the unaccustomed sound.

Not a machine to sneak around with, Alex thought as the sound echoed around her, but ideal for coming and going cross-country rather than by the road, which probably made it a good choice, she admitted reluctantly.

Moments later as the sound began to fade to the north, she realized he’d done exactly that.

“Okay,” she muttered, “so you’re a smart boy.”

She legged Charm into a gallop and sent her cutting across the grounds back to the stable. She entered cautiously, but the man was gone. Quickly she took care of the willing gray, crooning to her as she did a quick grooming and checked her hooves for stones. Satisfied, she double-checked the feeding instructions posted on the stall and gave the horse a small scoop of the appropriate grain mixture, not enough to interfere with her routine but enough to reward her for the extra effort of the night.

Then she set about searching the stable, both to make sure he’d left nothing behind and that he had done no damage. The horses began to nicker greetings, no doubt thinking she was there for morning feeding. She checked the stalls first, to make sure each animal was safe and unharmed. Then she went about the rest methodically, starting at one end of the building, intending to work to the other, from top to bottom. Then she stopped. Turned to look from the doorway across the stable.

He was good, she thought. She’d seen that. Likely a pro. So where would he have gone to wait? Where would she have gone? She scanned the shadowy interior, gauging. After a moment she headed for the third stall on the right.

It was empty. There was no feed and care regimen posted, so she assumed it had been vacant for a while, the straw inside waiting for a new occupant.

He’d been very careful. But she knew. Not just because the empty stall was the most logical, but because there was the faintest of flat spots in the straw near the outer door. When she got there she covered her hand with her shirt and unlatched the top half of the Dutch door, knowing she’d come back to check it for prints, though she doubted there’d be any. Then she knew she was right, because without opening it any farther, she could see straight up the trail she had taken into the foothills.

He’d watched from here. Patiently. Until the growing light had chased him away.

What he would have done if she’d come back, she had no idea. Would he have attacked? Tried to kill her? He’d had a chance at that, so she didn’t think murder had been his intention. At least, not yet. But what could he have hoped to accomplish simply by watching?

Contact? Had that been the goal? And if so, why? And why her?

She had no idea and at this point was simply glad he hadn’t hurt the horses in any way. She hastened out of the stall, secured the doors once more, and continued her search. When she was satisfied that he’d left nothing behind—at least, nothing that she would be able to find without some equipment she didn’t have—she headed at a jog toward staff housing and the principal’s bungalow.

This was not going to please Christine at all. Athena was her baby, she had dedicated herself to the school and its students completely, and she would take any threat to it very, very seriously.

“I’m taking it pretty damned seriously myself,” Alex muttered aloud. “In fact, I’d have to say I’m downright ticked off.”

Well, whoever he was, he probably hadn’t gotten what he wanted. And if he came back, he would soon learn it wasn’t smart to tick off a Cassandra.

Chapter 4

“You’re certain you’re all right?”

“Of course,” Alex told her former principal. “He never got anywhere near me. Unfortunately, I didn’t get near him, either.”

“Mmm,” Christine murmured. “And if he’d gone after someone or something else?”

“I would have stopped him.” She frowned. “I should have just grabbed him while I had the chance. I would have found out what he was after.”

“You said he was armed. You weren’t.”

“Yes.” She turned to look at Christine head-on. “So?”

Christine chuckled. “I wasn’t impugning your competency, Alex. Merely pointing out that in those circumstances, with an opponent you haven’t been able to assess, it’s wisest to leave hand-to-hand combat as a last resort.”

“Well,” Alex groused, “at least we’d know who he was, or who sent him.”

“We will,” Christine said. “Eventually.”

“I want to know now.”

“Remember that old Dutch proverb, Alexandra.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains. But somebody else said you had to have patience to learn patience.”

Christine chuckled. “It was always your biggest challenge, wasn’t it?”

“Isn’t it,” Alex corrected her wryly, acknowledging the lifelong battle it would probably be for her.

“That you know it is still your challenge indicates you’re winning the fight,” Christine said, ever the wise mentor. “Of course, wandering around Athena at night isn’t exactly new to you, now is it? After all, you’re one of the few to actually see the Dark Angel.”

Alex’s eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. Christine smiled at her.

“Did you really think I didn’t know what you girls called him?”

“I…we…”

Alex fumbled to a halt, a little amazed at how embarrassing it was now, looking back over the years at that bit of adolescent romanticizing.

“You were teenage girls,” Christine said soothingly. “It’s in the nature of the creature to romanticize something like that.”

Alex’s mouth quirked. “I suppose. And it did seem wildly romantic to us back then, this tall, dark and handsome guy so desperate to find out what happened to his sister that he broke in here.”

“He was that. For him to come back after the first time we caught him here, when he was just a boy, he had to be desperate.”

“It was crazy that he thought Athena had something to do with her death. I don’t get that, his sister wasn’t even a student here. But it was still romantic. That we never knew his name, or who he really was, just made it more so.” Alex’s smile faded. “I hadn’t thought about him in years.”

“Considering the celebrity seeing him made you, I’m surprised you could ever forget.”

Alex’s smile returned then, but it was touched with a lingering sadness. “He did increase my cachet considerably. I wonder what ever happened to him?”

Christine shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just glad we made the right decision in not prosecuting him for burglary. He never came back.”

“It was just the desperation,” Alex said with a shrug. “People do crazy things when someone they love…”

Her voice trailed off as she realized they were now in the same boat that young man had been in, over fifteen years ago. Were they crazy for believing there was more to Rainy’s death than what the officials believed? She didn’t think so. So, were they any different than he had been?

“I guess I understand him better now,” she said, her voice softened by emotional pain.

Christine smiled, a smile that was as pained as Alex’s voice had been. But her words were gentle, approving. “You’ve come a long way, Alex. All the Cassandras have. I’m so very proud of you all.”

Alex saw the smile, saw the moisture in Christine’s eyes, and guessed she also had been thinking about the new presence of death here in this place they both loved.

“We’ll find the truth about Rainy. I promise we will,” she said.

“I know you will.”

A yawn crept up on Alex, and she couldn’t quite stop it. “I am tired,” she admitted before Christine could point out the undeniable fact.

“I should think you would be. I thought when you finally hit the pillow last night that you’d be out like a light for hours.”

“So did I. I haven’t really slept for more than a couple of hours for—” she had to stop to calculate, proving the truth of what she was saying “—almost forty-eight hours now.”

“You’d better now. Stay here this time. I’ll be making some calls to step up security around here.”

“I can’t. I need to call Kayla, and then get over to the morgue and take another look.”

She was very aware of how unspecific she was being, how vague, as if avoiding stating the fact that it was the body of their friend she was talking about would somehow make it not true. And she knew by Christine’s expression that she was just as aware. But she said nothing about it, merely nodded.

“You can call Kayla after you rest. You can’t do anyone any good if you’re so tired you can’t think straight.”

Alex opened her mouth to argue, to protest she could keep going. Saw the glint in Christine’s good eye and capitulated so quickly it was almost embarrassing. Some old habits were very hard to break.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, with a meekness that would have astonished anyone who knew Alex but had never met Christine Evans. Christine occupied a unique place in the hearts and minds of all Athenans. She was both disciplinarian and inspiration, stern and gentle, and a teacher who was willing to learn from her students, all rolled into one. It was a rite of passage to earn the privilege of calling her Christine instead of Ms. Evans.

Alex did go to bed and knew she was beyond exhausted when the fold-out sofa bed felt like the most comfortable thing she’d ever slept on. This time she did sleep, and surprisingly the nightmares she had feared didn’t come. She dreamed, but the tangled images of Rainy alive and smiling, telling them it was all a silly mistake, were somehow comforting. After a while even those stopped, and she slept deeply and barely remembered them when she woke up a few hours later.

The minute she sat up she knew Christine had been right. She felt much better. And ready to go. Ready to get to some answers.

And if need be, ready to fight.

There had to be something there, Alex thought as she paced the small morgue, waiting for the doctor to finish.

She had a feeling Christine had pulled some strings and called the woman in from neighboring Luke Air Force Base. Although Dr. Ellen Battaglia wasn’t in uniform, she gave the impression. Alex recognized it because fellow Cassandra and air force captain Josie Lockworth had it, as well.

No one who met Josie was ever surprised to find out that she was a take charge woman, making a success of her air force career. And if that new stealth system she was working on for the Predator spy plane functioned as well as it was supposed to—something Alex didn’t at all doubt, knowing Josie—there was likely no limit to how far she could go.

“Ready,” the doctor said.

Taking a deep breath, Alex braced herself to look at a very intimate part of one of the dearest people in her life, excised from her body with cold steel. Then she turned around.

The doctor had set a gleaming silver metal tray on a table. Knowing what was in it, Alex had to once more beat down her emotions.

It’s a scientific puzzle, just like anything else you work on every day, she told herself. You can do this. You have to do this.

Still, the two small organs on the gleaming tray made her shiver. With a final effort, she made herself focus on the puzzle, of which these were just a single part. But perhaps a crucial part.

Now that she again saw what she’d seen previously, with plenty of time to look carefully, she was certain her first thought was right. And now she noticed something else, something that bothered her even more.

“Dr. Battaglia?”

The doctor, who had turned away with a welcome sensitivity, turned back. “Yes?”

Alex pointed to the areas on the outer surface of the ovaries. “If you had to guess…how old would you say those scars are?”

The woman leaned over for a closer examination. “These things can be tricky,” she said. “There are so many variables. I’d guess they are older, but I’d hate to testify to an exact age. I’ll take some tissue samples, that may help. But one thing I can say with some certainty.”

“What?”

“The majority of those scars are the same age.”

“The same age?” Alex’s breath caught. If all those scars were made at the same time, then her suspicions had to be correct. “And the regularity of the spacing,” she said. “It looks…mechanical.”

The doctor nodded. “I noticed that, as well. No, those scars aren’t the result of natural monthly ovulation. But the work is somewhat sloppy. As if someone was in a hurry.”

Or scared?

“Work, you said. Something was done to her,” Alex whispered, fighting down a growing feeling of dread.

“I’d say so. A procedure of some kind. Was she undergoing fertility treatments?”

“Yes, but only recently.”

The doctor frowned. “That doesn’t fit. That’s what the scars look like, sloppy or hurried harvesting, but these aren’t recent.”

Alex fought off the ripples of nausea that the scenes in her imagination were causing. “Could what was done to her be done and leave a scar that would look like a routine appendectomy?”

“Absolutely. In this case a bikini scar, such as…your friend has.”

A bikini scar.

A new thought careened into her mind, and Alex had to suppress a shiver as Dr. Battaglia turned and went to work getting her tissue samples.

A bikini scar. A fake appendectomy. Mechanical puncturelike marks on the ovaries.

What had happened to Rainy?

Alex left the morgue quickly. This time, as she stepped outside, she welcomed the blast of heat that hit her. She blinked against the brilliant desert sun and freed a tangled strand of curly hair from the strap of her shoulder bag-cum-holster. She pulled her sunglasses out and slid them on. She walked to her car, careful not to touch any metal part while unlocking it. Got in. Set her bag on the passenger seat. Slid the key into the ignition. Started the motor. Flipped on the air.

She concentrated on each routine step as if it could not be done with anything less than full attention.

She leaned back in the driver’s seat. After a few moments the blast of air from the rental’s vents began to come out cooler, soothing her flushed skin but doing nothing at all for her tangled, wild emotions.

And finally, finally, she let the thought she’d been fighting surface.

She had her own bikini scar. From when she’d had her own appendix out, junior year.

Or she thought she had.

More memories flooded her. Rainy soothing her, saying this made them more sisters than ever, and joking about Athena’s water supply causing appendicitis.

But Rainy had never had her appendix out. Instead, she’d had some ominous procedure done, something to do with her ovaries, likely her eggs.

Alex knew she was making a lot of assumptions on circumstantial evidence, but her gut was telling her she was right. That those scars were as old as Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. It only made sense. Perhaps whatever had made them had rendered her infertile, hence her inability to conceive when she and Marshall had so desperately wanted a child.

What if her own operation was also a hoax? What if it had been a fake of some kind, the abdominal pain induced artificially? Perhaps exacerbated by drugs she thought had been given to help?

What if what had been done to Rainy had been done to her?

Alex sat there for a long time. The very idea of such a deeply personal, intimate violation made her stomach churn, and brought sweat to her skin despite the now chilly blast of the air-conditioning.

She had never thought much about having children, and when she did, it was off in the future somewhere while she concentrated on her career in the here and now. Although she had empathized with Rainy’s quest, she had often doubted that she would be horrifically upset if she herself never had children at all.

But that was before she came face-to-face with the outrageous possibility that that choice had been stolen from her, taken away without her knowledge or consent.

This scraped raw something in the very core of her being. Her world, her whole life, while never dull, had always been within her control. Academics and athletics came easily to her, and she chose what courses she would take and then proceeded to excel in them. Then she had decided to show her parents and her grandfather that she wouldn’t always dance to their tune, and had done so.

In the face of her grandfather’s disappointment she had then decided she’d made her point and worked hard to turn it around. And she had learned quickly that the rigid expectations she’d feared at Athena were in fact the keys to doors too often locked against women in the world.

Athena’s stated goal was to open those doors, expand possibilities and promote opportunities in all fields for women. The bigger picture included empowering women far beyond just the workplace. But above all, the goal was to help students find the person they were meant to be. They were never pushed or prodded in any direction, only given the tools necessary to make the right choice, and the chance to make that choice work.

Choice.

Such a simple thing. Or it should be.

She thought again of Rainy’s craving for a baby. Of the nights she’d spent on the phone listening to her old friend talk about it, so longingly.

“You never had a chance, Rainy,” Alex murmured. “And maybe now, neither do I.”

A slow, burgeoning heat began to build in her. She recognized it for what it was, a rising anger. It would reach the level of red-hot fury, she was sure, before this was over. But then it would cool, set and become rational, become the driving force of a woman with the knowledge and tools to exact retribution.

“Hurt one Cassandra, hurt us all,” she spoke into the now chilly air of the car. “Use one of us, and all of us will exact payment. Whoever you are, whatever your goal, you will regret it.”

The moment she cleared the dead zone, that brief stretch along Olympus Road where her cell service always failed, her phone beeped at her. She quickly dialed her voice mail to play her messages. There were two, the first from Christine letting her know she was still off campus, finishing up interviews with a couple of potential instructors.

A smiled quirked one corner of Alex’s mouth. She didn’t envy the applicants, who were likely expecting a typical job interview. An interview for Athena Academy was anything but typical. No one was even brought to the school until they had passed both the initial and secondary screenings, and the first interview with Christine. And they only got that far if they passed an extensive background check.

The second message was from Kayla. It was short. A bit cryptic. And very disturbing.

She had searched Rainy’s papers and her computer at home and at her office, and was now reluctantly working with a police detective who was looking into Rainy’s accident. Reluctantly, because Kayla was as protective of Athena Academy as Alex and all Athena graduates were. And the suspicion Kayla had developed about Rainy’s death echoed Alex’s deepest fear.

Someone at Athena was part of it.

Chapter 5

Odd, Alex thought. She believed Kayla, trusted her suspicions. Or perhaps not odd; after all, it had never been Kayla’s intelligence or abilities that had been in question, only her judgment.

The judgment of a teenage girl, Alex reminded herself. And only her judgment about men.

That teenage Kayla, in hot-blooded anger and at the height of their dispute over just that, had said Alex could never understand how she felt about Mike because Alex would never climb down off her high horse long enough to let a man get close to her.

Alex had been stung, painfully, that of all people her closest friend would throw that accusation at her. Strangers had often assumed she was a snob before they’d even met her, simply because she was a Forsythe and had the Forsythe millions behind her. She’d developed a reserve because of it, which had in turn fed the image. But she’d never thought to hear it from a friend. Let alone her best friend.

Besides, she’d proven Kayla wrong. She and Emerson would be married…sometime. He’d been pressing her for a date, but she’d continued to put him off. Something always seemed to get in the way—her work, his work, something. She had a heavy caseload this month, he had a big operation scheduled, or a trip for a consultation the next month. Something always interfered. Their mothers had both threatened to intervene and take over, but fortunately so far she and Emerson had managed to stave that off.

But she had never expected anything like this to be the roadblock. She couldn’t even begin to think about a wedding with Rainy gone like this, and her death shrouded in inconsistencies and suspicions. And if that gave Alex a vague sense of relief, she didn’t dwell on it now.

Kayla had been wrong, of course.

And then, for the first time in years, the rest of what her fellow Cassandra had said came back to her.

Unless you happen to find a guy who’s on as high a horse as you are, Kayla had added, just before she’d slammed the phone down on the last conversation they would have for a very long time.

Alex’s mouth tightened. Emerson certainly rode a high horse, and she had no doubt he was exactly the kind of guy Kayla had been referring to. His family was one of the oldest and wealthiest in Virginia, almost in the Forsythe stratosphere, as Kayla had called it.

She had been teasing then. At least, Alex always thought she had been. But in the end the bitterness all came out, as if it had been too long bottled up, and a friendship that was as close as sisterhood had been shattered. Alex had always hoped they might someday heal the breach, but neither of them had ever made the move.

And now they had to deal with each other. In a sad way, Rainy had brought them together again, as she had all those years ago.

Christine was still out when Alex returned to her bungalow. Alex paced, trying to decide whether to call her and risk interrupting an interview.

“She’s probably got her phone off,” Alex told herself aloud as she crossed the small but comfortable living room. Christine had lived here since the beginning of Athena, and she’d made a warm, welcoming home out of what could easily have been cold, impersonal staff housing.

Not for the first time Alex wondered at how thoroughly Christine, an attractive, vibrant woman, had given herself to Athena. She seemed to have no life outside the school, and dedicated herself to the students completely. Alex had often wondered if she herself would ever feel so passionately about anything.

Now she knew. Because the need to find the truth about Rainy’s death was consuming her. And that was a bottom line she knew Christine would understand. She made the call, just in case the principal was finished and on her way back, but as she’d expected got her voice mail. She spelled out the situation quickly, as much as she felt safe doing over a cell-phone call, and told Christine what she planned to do. She knew Christine would okay her next step.

Unfortunately, Christine had the master keys with her. She kept them on hand at all times, just in case.

“I’m going to be a B and E master before this is over,” she muttered. This was putting her lock-picking and breaking-and-entering skills to the test. It was a good thing she’d brought her picks along with her other gear.

But since there was no other way in, and she knew she’d never be able to wait until Christine returned with her master keys, she checked to make sure she had the necessary tools and headed out for the science building, which held the small medical facility. While lock picking wasn’t one of the skills she’d honed at the bureau, her lessons at Athena weren’t that long ago.

At least here if she was caught, the worst she’d face would be explaining to Betsy Stone, Athena Academy’s nurse, what she was doing. The woman could be a bit territorial about her domain. But Betsy hadn’t yet returned from the term break, although according to Christine she was due in later today. Alex would be able to talk to her then about Rainy’s “appendectomy.”

I wonder if Betsy is still as determinedly blond as ever, she thought as she walked around to the rear doors that opened into the hallway just outside the entrance to the small infirmary.

Nearing fifty now, the nurse had been at Athena since the beginning, like Christine. She, however, was much harder to get to know. Alex knew Christine’s former army commander, Lieutenant General Snyder, had sent Betsy to Athena, and it seemed to have worked well for all concerned. Betsy didn’t inspire the kind of loyalty that Christine did, but her frank manner and easy competence earned her respect.

Alex sorted out a pick to use on the building, wondering when they would finally make the upgrade to a card key system, with fingerprint ID or some other more advanced method. Not that there was any need for it here.

At least, there hadn’t been, she thought as she reached for the knob.

The door was already unlocked. And partially open.

Alex stared at the door that stood ajar by a fraction of an inch. Despite being followed last night, she felt safe here on Athena grounds, and it took a moment for her instincts to kick in. It could be just an oversight, but she couldn’t make herself believe it, not now.

Again she’d come unarmed, never expecting to need a weapon here, at what felt more like home to her than anyplace else. But if someone was here, she could lose them if she went back to retrieve her sidearm now.

From now on I bring the thing if I have to carry it in my teeth, she vowed as she inched the door open. It made no sound; everything at Athena was in good repair.

When she discovered that the inside door to the infirmary was also open, she knew this was more than mere oversight.

She spotted him in the corner, near the bank of file cabinets that had been her own goal. He had a drawer open, his dark head bent over it as he flipped through the hanging file folders inside. Adrenaline surged. She was certain she was about to add another sizable piece of the solution to the puzzle of Rainy’s death.

But first she had to make sure he didn’t get away. She used every muscle in her body to make her approach stealthy, all the while preparing to attack if necessary. She knew she hadn’t made a noise, but when she was still a good ten feet away he seemed to sense her presence. His head came up, and he started to turn.

Alex leaped over the desk in between them and let her momentum carry her forward, using her full weight not to tackle the man, who was clearly bigger than she was, but to slam against the drawer he’d been going through. She heard him swear as the drawer smashed shut on his arm, effectively pinning him.

She relaxed too soon. The man made a sweeping move with one leg and took her legs out from under her. It was enough for him to free his arm and he moved around the desk toward the door. She instinctively rolled to her feet, already planning her next move. She was reaching for a heavy-looking bottle on the counter when he yelled.

“Hold it!”

She saw no reason to obey, no matter the commanding presence in his voice or the fact that he hadn’t run out the door. He was the trespasser here, not her. She grabbed the bottle.

“I’m FBI, damn it, stand down!”

Well, that explained the commanding presence. She didn’t release the bottle, but she straightened up to look at him.

“You’re what?”

“A federal agent.”

He held a hand up, palm out to indicate he wasn’t going for a gun, then reached into his jacket with two fingers. She had only seconds to decide whether to believe his innocent intentions. But his hand stopped short of where a shoulder holster would be, and he pulled out the standard issue black ID case, badge on one side, ID card on the other.

She was too far away to read the name, but it looked just like hers. Except for the stern, square-jawed picture, of course. It might be real. He had the air.

Her mouth quirked downward at one corner as she looked at him more carefully.

Well, now, aren’t you just a recruiter’s dream? Poster boy for the finest Feebie tradition. Tall, dark and handsome, the whole bit.

The only bit of comfort she could find in the tableau was the crease between his brows as he rubbed at the arm she’d smashed in the file cabinet.

Score one for the girls.

He seemed vaguely familiar, in a way that tickled the edge of her mind without crystallizing. Could she have seen him at FBI headquarters? Not likely if he was assigned in Arizona. And she couldn’t have forgotten those blue-green eyes. It was a question she wanted an answer to, but not before the main one, which she asked now.

“What are you doing here?”

“Investigating,” he said with a shrug she found very annoying.

“Oh, really,” she said, eyeing him levelly, keeping her cool though her pulse went up another notch. FBI, investigating Athena? And she didn’t know? “Investigating what?”

“It’s classified.”

She relaxed a little. He was bluffing. “On private property? Without permission or a warrant?”

“No one was here to ask.”

“And I’m sure that will fly with the SIC,” she said.

He frowned slightly, whether it was at her use of the FBI terminology for special agent in charge, her lack of awe at his federal presence or perhaps just the pain in his arm she didn’t know. Maybe it was all of those.

And then he stiffened.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The voice from the doorway made her jump. “What are you doing in my clinic?”

Betsy Stone stood there, looking shocked. The shock was replaced by a frown of recognition as she looked at Alex.

Alex glanced at the man and was startled by the cold expression on his face. He didn’t turn around to face Betsy Stone. He watched as Betsy walked toward Alex, his expression even colder.

“Wait, I know you. You’re the Forsythe girl, aren’t you? Alexandra?”

Alex suppressed a grimace. To some people she supposed that’s what she would always be, the Forsythe girl. With her illustrious last name her only real value.

“I found him here,” she said, implying that that was the reason for her own presence. No sense in confessing to her own plans if she didn’t have to. Let this intruder take the heat for everything. Betsy Stone blocked her view for a moment and Alex shifted to keep him in sight.

“And I’ll leave Ms. Forsythe to explain, I’m late for an appointment.”

Alex had realized what he was doing even as he turned and slipped out the door. She leaped back over the desk but had to avoid the startled Betsy and lost precious seconds moving her bodily out of the way. By the time she reached the door, he was nowhere in sight.

As she’d suspected, Betsy Stone had been reluctant to have Alex go through the files without Christine’s okay. Alex had had to control her temper and wait for Christine to return from her interview, knowing she’d run out of time.

Now she tapped on Christine’s door and called out to announce her presence. When Christine called back for her to come in, she pulled the door open and stepped inside, savoring for a brief moment the rush of cool, air-conditioned air. Christine stepped out of the bedroom, where she’d apparently just changed into casual pants and a sleeveless blouse. She looked fit, trim and much younger than her sixty-one years.

“How was the interview?”

“Oh, it went well enough. I liked him, but he’s really not cut out for Athena. Very learned, very intelligent, but too ponderous. It takes a quick wit to keep up with the caliber of students we have here. The girls would cut him to ribbons his first day in class.”

Alex smiled, hating to break Christine’s good mood. “You missed more excitement here. I found a man claiming to be FBI going through files in the infirmary.”

Christine went still. “An FBI agent was here? At Athena?”

“So he said. I take it you haven’t heard about any kind of investigation.”

“No. I would have told you.”

Alex hadn’t realized she’d been a little tense until she relaxed at Christine’s answer.

“I’d like permission for Kayla or I to have access to medical files. In case there’s a clue somewhere about Rainy.”

Christine frowned and walked across the room to pick up the phone. She spoke for a few minutes, then came back.

“Betsy has my instructions to give you access. I assume it will be Kayla, since you’re leaving early in the morning.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll be back for the funeral.”

Before packing, Alex called Kayla to ask her to follow up on the files and to tell her about the man in the infirmary. After they hung up, Alex’s thoughts whirled.

Had the man been sent by the FBI to investigate Athena? Or was he somehow involved in Rainy’s death?

One thing was certain. If the handsome stranger was really FBI, Alex would soon know it. Because although he’d gotten away, he’d left his fingerprints behind.

Chapter 6

The last thing Alex wanted to do was leave Athena Academy with nothing resolved, but she had no choice. Her gut was screaming she was going in the wrong direction from the time she left Athena all the way to the airport. But she had to get back to work to finish up some cases, and she had to do it now so she could be free to get back to Arizona for Rainy’s yet to be scheduled funeral.

She suppressed a shudder at the thought as she fastened her seat belt and settled in for the long flight back to D.C. She was grateful she didn’t have to make arrangements, and her heart ached for Marshall, who did. She hoped Kayla would help him. Not that it would be any easier for her.

She pushed the button on the armrest to lean her seat back.

She began to think about the work awaiting her. On the letter-bomb case, they needed a mitochondrial DNA analysis to either confirm or eliminate a newly arrested suspect. She needed to finish the report on those carpet fibers she’d matched to a suspect’s vehicle and start the analysis on the wood splinters that had been pulled from the wounds of the murder victim from New Jersey.

She smothered a yawn and closed her eyes, not expecting to drift off.

To her surprise, she slept, and only the building pressure in her ears as they began the descent to Dulles Airport woke her.

She’d gotten lucky and been able to park in the newer daily garage, where it was only a walk of a couple hundred yards to the terminal and she could avoid the shuttle and the moving sidewalks so many tourists couldn’t seem to figure out how to use.

She was vaguely aware, as always, of the distinctive architecture of the airport terminal, the slanting, curved glass walls that let in so much light and looked so unique from the outside, especially capped by the off-center, concave roof. But she was only vaguely aware of it; she was back in big-city mode that quickly.

She reached her car in minutes, mentally preparing herself every step of the way for negotiating the traffic.

When it came time to choose between making the turn to Alexandria to the forty-year-old colonial built by her grandfather that she called home, or to her grandfather’s horse farm in Middleburg, she hesitated. Her plan had been to go straight home, call Emerson, grab some more sleep and head to the office in the morning.

But she could feel now that she’d had enough sleep on the plane to keep going. And enough that going right to sleep again would be difficult.

She had to decide now; east to I-495, or down to US-50 and west. There was only ten miles difference in the distance, but the drives were vastly different, one through the crowded streets of the D.C. metro area to Alexandria, the other to the horse country of northern Virginia. The destinations were different, as well, worlds apart in pace, philosophy and mood.

She turned her back on the city.

She told herself she wanted to see Lacy again, but deep down she knew what she was doing. She was running for home. She was hurting inside, and she was running for the one place outside Athena where she’d always found comfort. The one person who had always provided it.

Even when his own heart had been broken at the death of his only son, Alex’s father, in a plane crash, her grandfather had been there for her. He had been even more devastated than either she or her brother; their father had traveled for the family business most of their lives and she felt as if they’d barely known him.

Sometimes she had felt awkward in the face of her grandfather’s grief, thinking she should be feeling at least as bad, but the hole in her life just hadn’t been as big. It had brought both her and her brother closer to their grandfather, and it had been some time before she had realized that was likely for his sake as much as theirs.

Charles Forsythe, unlike many of his generation, had embraced the electronic age with delight, realizing early on that it would enable him to work—which in his case meant overseeing the Forsythe fortune—from his beloved farm. He still maintained an office in Washington, owned a flat in London, had held on to the house Alex was now living in—making her Alexandra from Alexandria, as her too-witty brother had often pointed out—and had a condo on the West Coast. But the farm was his true home.

Her grandmother, who also had died when Alex was a child, had been strictly citified and was the only reason her grandfather had built the elegant, well-situated Alexandria house. But her grandfather had been a country boy at heart, and that heart was here in Virginia horse country.

She thought of calling ahead to make sure he was still up, but decided against it. He was a night owl and rarely went to bed before midnight, so nine would be nothing. Besides, she enjoyed the idea of surprising him.

She set the cruise control on her Lexus SUV for the long, straight stretch of Route 50, glad to be back in her own car. And glad that she’d chosen to do this. It wouldn’t be much longer to get to the city tomorrow from the farm than it would be from Alexandria, and she’d relax more here. She had never, she admitted reluctantly now, felt completely at home in the big house on the edge of the Belle Haven country club on the west bank of the Potomac. It was lovely, the setting beautiful, but it had never felt like home.

Not her home, anyway. And it wasn’t simply that her grandmother had had a taste for floral wallpaper and curtains that she didn’t share. She’d decided recently that it must just be that she was so often only there to sleep. If she had a normal job, with normal hours, she would have spent more time there and it would have become a home to her, instead of just the place she happened to kick her shoes off.

She got off the main road, making the turns from there with the automatic ease that comes from long familiarity. With each turn her eagerness grew; this had definitely been the right decision.

Forsythe Farms was marked with a small, unadorned sign that could easily be missed. Its simplicity belied the fact that one of the nation’s wealthiest men lived there. Long a billionaire, her grandfather believed in putting his money only in things he firmly believed in or had a passion for. Even the house in upscale Alexandria was worth under a million—although he could have afforded many times that—because he didn’t believe in flaunting what he had. He lived quite comfortably, in the manner necessary for his position, but nowhere near what he could have afforded.

She made the turn onto the drive, pressing the series of numbers and then the release button on her specially-designed personal remote to open the power gate that crossed the drive a few yards in from the road.

There were only two other openers for this gate in existence, her grandfather’s and her brother’s. Any other attempt to open the gate would set off an alarm. Each opener had a different code, to make breaking in more difficult should one be lost or stolen.

There was also a small button on the back side that would deactivate the device and send an alarm. In that way it could also be used as a duress sign if necessary. It was hardly standard FBI issue, but for a Forsythe, it was the kind of security you grew up with. Kidnapping was a possibility all the Forsythes lived with from the day they were born.

The gate also triggered a signal at the house. Her grandfather would know now she was coming—assuming he wasn’t expecting Ben, as well—but the surprise would still be fresh enough when she got to the house.

She drove through the gate, watching in her rearview mirror to be sure no one tried to get through behind her. When it was secure, she continued up the winding drive. She knew the drive well, drove it easily even in the dark. She could picture the gently rolling landscape, dotted with hickory, ash and maple trees, divided by rail fences. If it was daylight, she’d be able to see the yearlings on the right, the mares and the latest crop of foals on the left. She missed the frolicking of the gangly-legged babies in the rich grass more than anything.

She pulled up near the garage of the sprawling, ranch-style house. She could see a light on in her grandfather’s study, the big, book-lined room with the bay window that looked out over the paddocks and the main barn.

He answered the door himself, and she guessed he’d sent the staff to bed already. Things started early around here, and it was the sort of thing he would think of even though he himself ran on much less sleep than he expected of his employees. The casual thoughtfulness was the sort of thing that made his people intensely loyal.

It was the sort of thing he’d hammered into his grandchildren, as well. It had taken, completely, with her. Ben was another story. He seemed determined to set new records for urbane uselessness.

“I’m delighted to see you, my dear,” her grandfather said as he ushered her inside. “Surprised, but delighted.” He glanced at her small suitcase, noted the tags still fastened to the handle. “You just flew in?”

She nodded. He paused in the entry, taking a look at her for the first time under the light of the elegant but subtle foyer chandelier.

“You come with me,” he ordered.

She followed meekly. One didn’t argue with Charles Bennington Forsythe. So when he led her to his study, gestured her into a chair, went to the small bar in the far corner and poured an inch of rich amber liquid into a small snifter, she took it without resistance.

The unmistakable aroma of amaretto hit her nose and made her breathe deeply. Leave it to him to know exactly what she needed. She swirled it, breathed in some more, and then at last took a small sip. The sweetness coated her tongue, the heat warmed her all the way down, and at last she sank back in the rich green leather wingback chair and let her weary body relax.

For a long, silent moment her grandfather studied her. Then, his voice soft and gentle, he said, “There are no words to ease your pain, Alex, so I won’t try. I will simply say I’m sorry, and that not just you but the world is the poorer for Lorraine’s loss.”

Tears stung her eyelids. Her grandfather always seemed to know the right words to say. And it was true, Rainy was a loss to more than just her friends and family. The things she would now never do, the children she would never raise to be as strong and smart and good as she had been….

She blinked rapidly, took another sip of the liqueur to fortify herself. She was tired, had just managed to relax, but she knew she had to gear up again. Realized now the real reason behind what had seemed at the time a casual decision to come here rather than go home to that big, empty house. While she had wanted the comforting presence of her grandfather, there was another reason to come here.

“G.C.?”

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath, then made the plunge. “Something was going on with Rainy. I’m not convinced the crash was an accident.”

Charles, who had been lounging in his matching wing chair, straightened. He set down his own glass and turned his full attention on her, leaning forward.

“What have you found?”

Bless you, G.C.

Quickly, she gave him the rundown of the facts they’d discovered, wanting to hear his own impressions before she gave him their suspicions. She was open about some of the information coming from Kayla. Although he knew they hadn’t spoken in a very long time, he said nothing, clearly recognizing the priority here just as they had.

When she was done, he leaned back, propping his elbows on the arms of the leather chair, steepling his elegant fingers in front of him. It was a habit she’d adopted as a child to try and be as like him as she could, a habit that long ago she’d learned meant he was thinking and was not to be disturbed. She sat back herself and took a last sip of the amaretto while she waited for whatever conclusion he would reach. She wondered if he remembered her own supposed appendectomy all those years ago, but said nothing. Her situation would simply have to wait.

“I’m not an investigator,” he began.

Alex waved off the disclaimer. “You have the best mind I’ve ever known.”

“Thank you, my dear girl. I knew there was a reason I adored you.”

Despite her frame of mind, one corner of her mouth quirked upward. For her grandfather did adore her, and she knew it. She’d always known it. It went a long way toward making up for the aloofness of her mother and the absence of her long dead father.

“So. While there could be an innocent explanation for each one of these things, if your gut is telling you otherwise, listen to it.”

Alex let out a long breath, not realizing until now how much she had needed to hear that. She didn’t think it had been audible, but her grandfather smiled.

“You have the best mind I’ve ever known,” he said.

A rush of emotion filled her. “G.C., what would I have done without you?” she asked, her voice tight.

“You would have managed. You’ve always been as tough as you had to be.”

“I come from tough stock,” she said. She imitated his most dignified and impressive tone of voice. “‘Forsythes helped build this country.’”

“Well, we did,” he said sternly, then ruined the effect by chuckling at his own pomposity, as he always did. “And now you’re helping keep it safe,” he added.

“I do my bit. As much as one can do from a lab,” she said, still fighting down strong emotions.

“Which is a great deal, these days. Many cases are won and lost on your turf. Speaking of which, how is that new lab working out?”

“Not bad, for a mere hundred and thirty mil,” she said, already feeling more under control.

This was something she could talk about. The new FBI lab at the academy in Quantico was beyond cutting edge, and a quantum leap above their crowded old quarters in the downtown D.C. building, giving them half a million square feet, three times the space they’d had before.

“The first few months were a learning curve, but we’re pretty well settled in now.”

“At least you’re in a lab that’s designed to be a lab,” he said.

“You mean instead of a converted set of offices? Yes. And with the labs separate from the offices and everything else, it’s made integrity of evidence and chain-of-custody much easier to maintain. Not to mention having separate setups for microscopy, wet chemistry, biological sciences and all the rest.”

“It’s farther for you.”

“But a nicer drive.” She eyed him for a moment. “Thank you for the distraction. I’m okay now.”

Charles Forsythe didn’t deny or dissemble, and she appreciated that. “I’m glad I was here to do it. I’m off to Tokyo next week, you know.”

“I’d forgotten. I’m very glad you’re still here.”

He looked at her intently. “What are you going to do?”

She knew he was no longer talking about the new FBI lab, or her commute.

“Keep going,” she said. “We owe it to Rainy.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Alex opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. And thought. Her grandfather was, after all, on the Athena board of directors. True, he was an absentee member, but still privy to the inner workings.

Not to mention that he’d been involved in the development of the school from the beginning, when it was merely an idea. He’d been involved with planning Athena before Rainy had begun school there and had had her now possibly fictional attack of appendicitis.

“Do you remember anything unusual, anything from way back, happening at Athena?”

“Like what?”

That she couldn’t help with. “I’m not sure.” She shrugged, hating the vagueness of what she was feeling. “Anything that would give anybody a grudge against Athena, or someone from Athena?”

“You mean beyond the usual resentment of a frightened sexist, male or female?”

“Yes. Anyone who might want to do more than just stew about whatever his beef is.”

Again he steepled his hands in front of him. Silence reigned. He thought for a very long time before slowly shaking his head.

“Athena’s been remarkably clear of that kind of thing, in part I think because we’ve kept such a low profile. Most of those who know of it are supportive. Oh, there are some out there who know and don’t like it, and a few who feel threatened by the idea and would like to see it shut down.”

This was not news to Alex. She knew that many of the very places Athena was training women to become part of were run by those who felt threatened by the idea of capable, trained, strong women moving in. Those people would just as soon see the proverbial glass ceiling changed to one of reinforced concrete.

“But I don’t know of anyone who’d overtly try to derail it,” her grandfather went on. “At least, not in such a public way as murder.”

Alex sighed. She didn’t miss the implication that Athena’s enemies were more covert. She’d expected that, too.

“What about that student, the only one ever to be expelled from Athena?” he asked.

“Shannon Conner? I thought about her right away, but I don’t think she’d bother. If she’s after anyone, it’s Tory, not Rainy.”

“Is she smart enough?”

Alex thought about the nasty, jealous blonde who had tried to frame Josie Lockworth for theft but had been exposed by Tory’s determined investigation. Easily the most famous Cassandra, Victoria Patton was now a New York based television news reporter. And Shannon Conner had hated her from the day Tory had uncovered the truth that had humiliated Shannon and resulted in her expulsion. In fact, Shannon was now a reporter herself, on a rival network, as if even today the competition continued.

“Yes,” Alex said finally. “And shrewd enough.”

“Vindictive?”

“I haven’t seen her in years, so I can’t say. Back then…maybe. I’ll dig into her a bit more,” she said. “Do you remember any employee who left under duress, or resented being let go?”

“I suppose there must have been some in all these years, but I’d be willing to bet not many. Christine does too good a job screening….”

His voice trailed off and Alex saw his eyes take on that thoughtful gleam she knew so well.

“G.C.?”

“I was just remembering, there was a professor, a…Dr. Bradley, I think. No, Bradford. That was it. He taught for a year or so at Athena. But something happened there, between him and Christine.”

“A disagreement?”

“I don’t know exactly, but she called to ask the board to confirm she had total authority over personnel, and to advise them that she would not be asking him to return. This was the year after Athena opened, and we were still feeling our way.”

“I’ll look into that, too.”

Alex pondered whether to mention Kayla’s suspicion that someone inside Athena was involved with what had happened to Rainy. At last she decided not to, at least not yet. She wasn’t afraid of what her grandfather might do; he believed too strongly in Athena and its goal to withdraw support now, just when the graduates were beginning to make their mark all around the world. But she decided to wait until she talked more with Kayla and found out exactly what had roused her suspicions in that area.

She bade her grandfather good-night with a hug and a kiss and retreated to the room that had been hers since childhood. It still held some souvenirs of that time, her huge collection of Breyer horses, her show ribbons and pictures of Lacy from her birth to this spring.

The big bed had at one time held the frilly, sheer canopy her grandmother had picked out for her. As a teen she had switched to the more exotic and much more to her taste mosquito netting that hung there now. Once it had enabled her to pretend she was on safari.

A photo safari, of course; she was no hunter. At least, not of innocent animals. Their less-innocent, supposed superiors were another matter altogether. There was at least one out there now that she would hunt to the ground.

Chapter 7

Alex awoke wondering if there was any smell as potent or as alluring as freshly brewed coffee in the morning. Sleepily she sat up, straightened the huge T-shirt she'd slept in, ran a hand through her tousled hair and pulled on a pair of socks in lieu of the slippers she never seemed to remember to pack, mainly because she didn’t like wearing them. And for that reason she didn’t bother to look in the closet, where there was likely a pair or two of the ones her mother insisted on buying her lingering.

Still yawning, she shuffled down the long hallway and across the living room with its rich mahogany floor, thinking she’d be better off if she headed out for a dip in the pool. But the coffee was still beckoning, and like a mouse working its way through the maze to the cheese she made her way to the kitchen, already imagining the quick jolt of hot caffeine. Thank goodness that was a vice her grandfather refused to give up.

She pushed open the swinging door, wondering if it was G.C. who had started the brew, or Sylvia Barrett, the cook and housekeeper of nearly twenty years.

It was neither. The man at the counter heard the door open behind him and turned. Smiled.

“Hi, sis. I heard you were here.”

Bennington Forsythe was tall, handsome and utterly charming. She supposed all that was a requirement for what appeared to be his chosen role in life, that of rich, devil-may-care playboy. It was a role that clearly pleased him and greatly irritated her—she hated seeing his tremendous potential wasted—and was tolerated with a surprising forbearance by their grandfather.

She’d wondered for a long time now why Ben had turned out the way he had. It made no sense to her. He had never shown any sign growing up that he would end up this way. She wondered, not for the first time, if something had happened to him, something she didn’t know about, that had changed the course of his life so dramatically, from most likely to succeed to most likely to blow it all.

“So how’s my favorite FBI agent?”

“Surprised. I didn’t expect to see you.”

She knew her brother loved her, it glowed in his eyes, but she doubted there was another woman on the planet who could say that with certainty. Not even their mother, whom they both tolerated more out of duty than genuine love. That the feeling was mutual was something they had both understood from an early age.

In moments when she succumbed to the pop-psychology kind of snap analysis, she wondered if Ben was chasing all those women trying to find the love he’d never gotten from their mother. And more than once she’d thought that what he needed was the perfect Athena to take him in hand. One that met her rather stringent standards for a sister-in-law, of course. She’d love to sic her on Ben and watch the fireworks. She had no doubt who would win, and it would probably be the best thing that could ever happen to him. But so far she’d managed to restrain herself.

“You’re giving me that look again.” Ben’s tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes was suddenly weary. She expected the teasing, it was their standard sibling communication method, but weary was a new note.

“Which look is that, brother mine?”

“The one you always give me right before you launch into your patented ‘When are you going to stop wasting your life?’ lecture.”

“Well, when are you?”

“I’ll have you know there are women around the world who wish I had more to waste.” The weariness was gone now. Or hidden behind the insouciant manner he sooner or later always seemed to resort to.

“I’m sure. So, where did you blow in from this time? Monaco? Rio?”

“Rome, actually.”

“Ah. The Sophia Loren look-alike.”

“One can only hope she ages as well,” Ben said airily.

Alex busied herself pouring a mug of coffee, wishing she could learn not to care about her big brother’s peccadilloes. But in her heart he was still the thirteen-year-old who had taught his ten-year-old sister how to fight and win against the bigger, stronger class bully who had tried to make her life hell simply because she was a Forsythe.

In fact, if she thought about it, Ben probably had almost as much to do with her success at Athena as their grandfather had. Charles Forsythe had opened her mind to the myriad possibilities, but Bennington Forsythe had taught her the tough stuff, how to use her brain and her own kind of strength to take on just about anyone or anything, no matter if it was bigger or stronger. He’d even taught her which feminine wiles usually worked best on what man. Things, he’d told her, that he wished his women didn’t know, but that he was glad his little sister did.

She picked up her coffee and turned around to face him, leaning back against the smooth, cool granite counter and looking at him over the rim of the mug.

“And what’s that look for? Or should I merely enjoy and not ask?”

She smiled at her brother. “Just thinking that if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

Ben drew back slightly. “What?”

“You taught me an awful lot, big bro. And if I never thanked you for it, I’m thanking you now.” She took a sip and enjoyed his slightly bewildered look.

“You women,” he said at last, “are the strangest bunch of critters I’ve ever met.”

She was saved from answering that bemused observation by the appearance of their grandfather, who looked inordinately pleased to have both of his grandchildren under his roof again. They had a leisurely breakfast, Alex deciding it was rare enough that the three of them were together that it warranted her taking the time.

Her brother and grandfather spent some time discussing the stock market and the world market, and as Alex listened—anyone with a chance to eavesdrop on Charles Forsythe’s financial wisdom who didn’t take advantage was a fool—she wondered how much of Ben’s trust fund was left now, two years after he’d come into it at thirty. Although she’d grown up with money, the idea of inheriting millions of dollars on her next birthday simply boggled the mind.

It didn’t seem to have ever affected Ben. He was happily spending away on his riotous lifestyle apparently without a second thought. Still, she couldn’t help adoring him, and hid her qualms as best she could, knowing by now that there was little to nothing she could do about how he chose to live his life. It would take a more powerful force than his little sister to make him change.

I’ll do something better with mine, she promised silently, not for the first time. She wasn’t sure what yet, but she’d put it to some good use.

And none of it, not Ben’s, not hers, not even her grandfather’s billions, could give her the one thing she wanted most—Rainy, alive and well and laughing at the things Alex chose to worry about.

All the old emotions began to well up inside her, threatening to drown her in more useless tears. She got to her feet abruptly.

“I’m going for a ride before I have to head back to the city,” she said.

Ben looked surprised, but G.C. didn’t. “Twill could use some work,” was all he said.

Alex nodded and went back to her room to change into the riding pants and boots she always left here for these occasions. She started to walk down the hill to the stable, a long, pristine white building with a green roof in a clearing full of rich grass, a matching green to the roof even at this time of year. But after a few strides she was trotting, then running, suffused with the feeling that only a hammering run over her grandfather’s near one thousand acres would release the pressure building inside her.

Jacob Garner, the head groom who had worked for her grandfather for over thirty years, lit up when he saw her.

“Alex! It’s been too long, girl!”

“It has, Jacob, it has.”

“You oughta get yourself back here and prep for the classic. Show them young upstarts a thing or two about real riding.”

Alex smiled at him. After she’d graduated from Athena, she’d done well in the annual Middleburg Classic charity horse show each time she was able to get that September weekend free to enter. In fact, for a while she had considered trying for the Olympic equestrian team. After a lot of thought she’d decided not to, for fear the extreme pressure would take the joy out of what she loved best—belting over a cross-country course with a horse she knew well, creating a team of human and animal unmatched in any other sport.

“I’m sure their horses will teach them everything they need to know,” Alex said. And it was true. More than one rider who thought they knew it all had come to grief when they came across a horse who knew more. “Grandfather said Twill needed some work?”

“Oh, good, you take that nag out and run him ragged. Save me a lot of misery trying to deal with him when he’s in one of his moods like he’s been lately.”

Alex laughed. Twill was a wonderful horse, but he had a mind of his own at times, and it took a strong hand to deal with him then. “I’ll do that. I’m in a mood of my own.”

But her mood had lifted. It was nearly impossible for her to stay down when she set foot in this world she loved.

“I’ll get him for you. Want me to tack him up?”

Jacob always asked, and Alex always declined. It was part of the etiquette, and she barely noticed after all these years.

“I’ll get your saddle, at least,” Jacob insisted, and Alex let him. “You want the hunt seat?”

She nodded. After he had led out the big sixteen-and-a-half-hand blood bay and draped the bridle over the saddle on the rack next to the crossties he clipped the horse to, Alex thanked him and took over.

Twill was already groomed, but she took a brush and ran it over him anyway, talking to him the whole time. She’d ridden the horse often, but it had been a while and it never hurt to renew the acquaintance slowly.

Twill seemed cheerful enough today, taking the bit almost eagerly when she bridled him. Moments later they were trotting out of the stable. She took him into the big outside arena and let him warm up slowly. When he started tossing his head, ready for more, she sidled him up to the gate, made him restrain himself and sidestep it open like a gentleman, then closed it behind them.

When she turned him toward the start of the course, his ears shot forward, then back, as if asking, “Really? Really?”

“Yes,” she told him sweetly, “we’re going to run that mood right out of you.”

He snorted and began the eager dance that told her he was ready to run, if she’d only turn him loose. The bay knew this course as well as she did, and she knew it backward, forward and from any point in the middle.

It was going to be just what she needed, she thought. She gathered herself, leaned forward slightly, settled her heels down in the stirrups.

“Now!”

The horse shot forward, building up speed as they tore down the long, gradual hill. She let him go, only beginning to gather him in when they made the turn that would lead to the first fences, three simple post and rails one after the other, to set the rhythm. Next would be the hedge, then the sharp turn and the race through the trees to the big fallen oak, one of the biggest jumps on the course. Then the stream, the wooden bridge and into the upper pasture with its own unique obstacle course. There were thirty jumps over ten miles of trail, a bit short of the Olympics, but still a good test and workout for horse and rider.

With the first powerful leap, Alex felt her heart take flight with the surging animal, and for now, she thought of nothing but the course, the whip of the air in her face, and the thousand pounds of pure muscle beneath her. Twill, bless him, never put a foot wrong, and although it was an effort to rein him in when she had to to set him up for the more difficult jumps, they made it through without a fault.

By the time they were done, Twill was tired but still willing to go. With a horse like this one, all heart, the rider had to be the guide. If you didn’t stop him, he’d literally kill himself for you. She untacked the horse and gave him lots of congratulations and pats. This time when Jacob approached and offered to do the cool down and clean up, Alex glanced at her watch and reluctantly agreed.

“Only because I have to get to work sometime today,” she said, and Jacob grinned at her.

“I know, girl. You take care of your own. But this time, let me help out. Make me feel useful.”

Impulsively she gave the wiry man a hug. Jacob had been part of her life since she’d been born and she’d often felt more comfortable down here with him, especially if her mother had been around.

She ran back to the big house in a much lighter frame of mind. She showered hastily, dried herself and her hair, her body still humming with exhilaration. She’d needed that. Badly, she thought as she dressed.

She was on her way to work ten minutes later, leaving an understanding grandfather and a still bemused brother in her wake.

Chapter 8

“So he is FBI?” Alex asked. She’d run the prints she’d gotten from the filing cabinet and come up with a name—Justin Cohen, bona fide FBI agent.

“He’s one of us, all right,” her friend Sheila replied. “Has been for nearly ten years, one of those right out of college recruits. Now special agent assigned to the Phoenix field office.”

Alex sat back in the office chair, thinking.

“He was part of the task force that broke up that alien-smuggling ring down there a while back,” Sheila added. “It was all over the news. Lots of good PR for the bureau.”

Fair-haired boy, Alex thought. Except his was nearly black. And those eyes…

She yanked her thoughts back to what was important right now. “What’s he on now? Could you find out?”

“I thought you might want to know, so I asked. He’s assigned to a possible receiving-and-fencing stolen property case now.”

“Stolen property?” Alex asked, knowing that wasn’t something that normally fell under the FBI’s purview. “What’s the twist?”

“They think they’re hiding it out on the Gila River Indian Reservation.”

“Guess that makes it ours, then,” Alex said. Interesting, she added to herself. The border of the Gila River reservation was barely forty or fifty miles from Athena. Could someone be running stolen items through the school? That didn’t make any sense, unless Rainy were somehow involved. And that made no sense at all.

“Oh, one more thing and then I’ve got to run, I have to pick Steven up from his soccer game,” Sheila said. “My friend I talked to out there asked if he was in trouble.”

“Cohen?”

“Yep. Said he’d been taking a lot of personal time off recently.”

“Hmm,” Alex said. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her not that I knew of. I didn’t figure you’d want him to know, so I hinted that somebody here at headquarters had personal reasons for wanting to know, like she had the hots for him or something. Judging by his ID photo, it’s likely true of somebody.”

“Oh, he’s a looker, all right,” Alex said wryly. “Do me a favor and keep digging, will you? Anything you can find.”

So, she thought after she’d hung up, he was assigned to a case centered close to Athena, but apparently unconnected to the school. And he’d been taking time off.

Could he be investigating Athena officially, but in an undercover capacity? That was a possibility. But why? Did someone else think there was something suspicious about Rainy’s death? But that made no sense. Even if someone did suspect, the FBI would have no jurisdiction. Unless there was even more involved here than the Cassandras suspected.

Alex shook her head sharply. She felt like she was slogging through a swamp, with things pulling at her from all sides, some poisonous, some just trying to drown her. She wanted all of these questions answered, but they were incidental. The real bottom line was simple, she told herself, and all the other stuff was secondary. Was Justin Cohen one of the good guys or one of the bad guys?

It was a question she couldn’t answer right now, and she’d learned long ago not to waste energy on such things. She would stay alert and gather more information whenever she could. But right now she needed to clear up the things that had piled up in her absence so she could get back to her personal investigation.

I have to pick Steven up from his soccer game….

She’d heard Sheila say it a dozen times a month over the years. Steven this, Steven that. Her eight-year-old son was her pride, her joy, practically her life. Alex had never quite understood the bond between them, but had figured she would when she had children of her own someday.

Children of her own.

A chill swept through her. Her entire vision of her future was rattled, maybe destroyed. Would it ever happen? Or had the choice really been taken away from her, like it had been for Rainy?

Easy, there, you’re making an awful lot of assumptions, she told herself. You’re not certain exactly what happened to Rainy, and you have no idea that anything at all happened to you. Chill.

Her phone rang, and she was grateful for the interruption of thoughts that shook her way down deep. She wasn’t used to her emotions being out of control, but she seemed to have lost the knack of controlling them the moment she’d learned about Rainy, and it was getting worse every minute.

“Forsythe,” she said into the receiver.

“Hello, Alexandra.”

“Emerson,” she said. “I was going to call you this evening to let you know I was back in town.”

“And going to stay this time, I hope?”

“I’m not sure how long. There are…things I still have to handle in Arizona, and I don’t know yet when the funeral will be. Soon, though.”

“I see.” He said it calmly, ever patient. “Shall we have dinner this evening?”

“Can you, on such short notice?” He was usually as busy as she was, sometimes more. Whenever they went out they both turned off their cell phones, but that only made it a toss-up as to whose pager would go off first.

“Everything is under control at the moment. I’ve made my last rounds, and everyone appears to be stable.”

“All right.”

“Seven?”

“Make it eight. I’ve got a lot of catching up left to do here.”

“Fine. Eiffels?”

“I’d rather do Fran O’Brien’s, if you don’t mind. I’m hungry for one of their steaks.”

“How carnivorous of you. But if you must.”

She knew he hated the football-themed restaurant, but they served the best steaks around. She stifled the urge to tell him to get his nose lowered. She knew she was running short on patience in just about every area right now, so she tried to be extra careful. And she did want to see him, talk to him. He was so calm, so controlled, that just being with him might help her get a handle on these unaccustomed emotions.

“I’ll meet you there,” she said.

She turned her attention back to her desk and began to plow through reports. The paperwork had been the hardest thing to get used to—she was used to doing. It was only because of years of strictly imposed self-discipline that she was able to focus on the work at hand and not let her mind skitter back to the all-consuming matter of Rainy’s death.

Every one of these people, she lectured herself, probably left people behind who are now feeling just like you feel with Rainy gone. Remember that, and give them your best.

It was still warm when she finally left the office, but it would cool a little throughout the evening. And soon, she thought, glancing in the direction of the academy, the trees would start to turn, and Quantico would put on its fall dress of gorgeously colored leaves.

And Rainy would still be dead.

At five to eight—Alex was never one to be late, nor to play the game of keeping a man waiting—she arrived at the lower level of the Capitol Hilton and walked into the restaurant named after the former Washington Redskins tackle.

“Ms. Forsythe, welcome!”

“Thank you, Candace,” Alex told the hostess who had seen her here often with her grandfather, less often with Emerson. “Is Mr. Howland already here?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to the table.”

With the good manners that were inbred in him, Emerson stood up as she approached. A smile warmed his face, the same smile that had drawn her to him in the first place. She was still amazed at how it changed his usually solemn expression.

“You look lovely, as always,” he said, giving her a welcoming embrace.

“You’re looking dapper yourself.”

He always looked well, with his well-cut blond hair and regular features, but he was wearing the dark blue suit she’d helped him pick out just before she’d gotten the call from Rainy. She was touched that he’d thought to wear it tonight.

“A lady of excellent taste selected it,” he said as she took the chair he held for her.

“The lady thanks you,” she said.

She felt herself beginning to unwind. Emerson’s presence was always soothing, she guessed it was part of what made him such an excellent doctor. And it was a calm she needed just now, more than ever.

An expert at small talk, probably because of the necessity for a facile bedside manner, Emerson carried the conversation easily through the ordering of dinner and wine. As he chatted about what had been happening with people they knew while she’d been gone, Alex wondered suddenly what kind of doctor he would be dropped in a small town like Eloy, where Rainy had died. For an acclaimed physician who had spent his entire life on the heavily populated eastern seaboard, the idea of a small, isolated town of merely ten thousand population would probably be stultifying. Especially when he thrived on the adulation of the medical community.

Not, Alex reminded herself, that he didn’t deserve it. The man quite literally saved lives by the dozen. It was one of the things that had made her say yes when, after they’d met at one of those social functions she’d grown to dislike, he’d called and asked her to dinner.

She knew she was distracted, but it was brought home to her sharply just how distracted by his reaction when the question that had been bubbling up inside her finally popped free.

“Do you want children, Emerson?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

They had mentioned it in passing when they’d become officially engaged, but it had been in that general, far off, someday kind of way. Now it had suddenly become urgent.

“It’s something we should talk about more seriously, don’t you think?”

His mouth twisted into a wry grimace. “Quite. I just hadn’t expected you to bring it up in the middle of a discussion about new open-heart procedures.”

“Oh.”

She felt herself start to flush, and lowered her head to hide it. She obviously hadn’t heard a word he’d been saying on the subject, since she’d had no idea that was what he’d been talking about.

“It’s all right, Alexandra. I know you’re a bit muddled right now.”

She half expected him to reach out and pat her hand. If he had, she wasn’t sure she could have kept herself from biting it. Emerson’s patience was sweetly endless, but also a bit condescending at times.

She shoved those thoughts aside and repeated her question, adding, “I mean really want children, want to be a father, not just feel it’s your job to contribute the next generation of Howlands to the world.”

Something about the flicker in his eyes hinted that she’d hit exactly the right—or wrong—nerve. Was that how he felt? She knew his parents had been pushing him to marry and reproduce, and had long suspected it wasn’t out of the desire to cuddle grandchildren. The Howland name was old and respected, nearly as much as the Forsythe name, and both his parents had been delighted at the thought of melding the two families. It seemed a match made in heaven. And if Alex now and then suspected it would also be heralded on Wall Street and by the DAR, she tried not to let it bother her.

“Of course,” Emerson finally said, long after the quick gut reaction she would have preferred, “I wish to have children. I look forward to raising them, molding them. I’d like to think I—we—could contribute finely-raised, educated and worthwhile members of society.”

Nothing wrong with the sentiment, Alex thought. So why was her first thought that he sounded like a pompous bore? What was wrong with her? She had never been so critical of Emerson before. He’d never set her so on edge, made her wish he would simply let his hair down, skip shaving on a weekend, put on sweats to go somewhere other than just the gym where he kept in tiptop shape, pointing out that performing hours-long heart operations was no job for the weak in body or mind.

“Personally,” she said, unable to stop herself, “I look forward to summers at the farm, teaching them about hoof picks and shoveling manure.”

“Equestrian pursuits are acceptable,” he said with a nod.

If she’d hoped to rattle him, she obviously hadn’t succeeded. And why, she wondered, did she want to rattle him at all? Was it simply that she wanted to pierce that unflappable exterior?

She dropped the subject, and Emerson reverted to exactly where he’d been in conversation before she had interrupted him as if she had never brought it up. Alex let him, although she barely tuned in. She was too busy trying to figure out her own motivations.

It made no sense, she thought as their meal arrived, that she would want to shake him up. Hadn’t she wanted that very calm she’d been trying to shatter? Hadn’t she come tonight in part because she hoped his unruffled demeanor would somehow rub off and calm her own tumultuous emotions?

She took a bite of her steak, then another, found it excellent as always, but somehow she wasn’t enjoying it as much as usual. Odd, she thought, how she’d always resented people who judged her as being cool and aloof without even knowing her, but now she was trying desperately to be just that. And failing miserably.

“—for the children’s sake.”

She stopped chewing midbite, Emerson’s last words echoing in her head and telling her she should have been paying more attention.

“Excuse me?”

Patiently, he repeated himself. “I said I will be glad when we do have them, and you turn to more suitable activities for the children’s sake.”

She stifled the urge to say “Excuse me?” again, in an entirely different tone of voice. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” she said instead, taking care to keep her tone neutral.

“Of course I mean your work. It’s certainly no job for a mother to have.”

She knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t help it. “Are you trying to tell me you would expect me to abandon my career?”

“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to bring such work home to a family, would you? I find the gruesome details repugnant, so a child could likely be traumatized.”

I’ve not given you half the gruesome details on any case, Alex thought.

“I’m curious,” she said, hanging on to that even tone with a great effort. “How can a man who makes his living cutting into living, breathing human bodies find my work gruesome?”

“My work is saving lives,” he said simply. “Yours is dealing with messy, ugly deaths.”

He had a point, she had to admit. But she felt compelled to point out, “Not always.”

“Perhaps not. But it is often about crime and evil.”

“And putting a stop to it,” she pointed out.

“Yes. That is what makes it bearable. For now.”

“I see.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “And what exactly is it you see me doing, when that time comes?”

“Whatever you wish, of course. If you feel you have to stay with the Bureau, surely you could transfer to a different part of the agency? Something…tidier?”

Ah, yes. Emerson would always want a tidy life. Orderly.

“What I do,” she said carefully, “is help bring order back to chaos. Sort out chaos so life can become…tidy, if you must use that word, again.”

He looked at her with a thoughtful expression for a silent moment or two. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way before,” he admitted. “And I do see your point.”

She had to give him that, if you made your point validly, he would always acknowledge it. Still, she couldn’t help thinking in this case it was grudging.

“But?” she prodded when he didn’t go on.

He lifted a brow at her. “But nothing. There’s no need to become defensive. I’m processing what you’ve said, Alexandra.”

She flushed again, aware that he was right, she had reacted defensively. She had felt under attack. But she knew Emerson took his own time to reach a conclusion, and thus when he did, it was nearly unshakable.

“You seem…uncommonly confrontational tonight,” he said. “Is there something else wrong? Besides your friend?”

She supposed she should be glad that the man she was engaged to was perceptive enough to deduce that. Many weren’t. She took in a very long, deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out slowly.

“It’s all tangled up together,” she said, certain now she wasn’t ready to talk about her suspicions and what had led her to ask the question about children in the first place. And it was the truth; it was all intertwined. She just didn’t have all the threads yet. Or the pattern they were woven into.

After dinner Emerson ordered her a tiramisu without asking, but since it was her favorite dessert here she decided she was pleased, not upset that he hadn’t asked her about it this time.

“My parents have proposed that you, your mother and Charles come to the house for a planning session soon,” he said over his last cup of espresso.

“Planning session?”

“Yes.” He waved his hand—that long-fingered, dexterous surgeon’s hand she loved—rather vaguely. “Picking the site for the ceremony, the reception, the guest list and all those other details.”

“Oh. Isn’t it a bit early? We haven’t even set a date yet.”

“When you’re dealing with a wedding of this size, it’s never too early, my mother says.”

“This size?” Alex tried not to cringe; she’d attended many society weddings in her life, including some within the family, that had hundreds of guests. She had been hoping for something much smaller, simpler.

“She estimates that between your family’s guest list and ours, we’re looking at upwards of a thousand people, if not more. It will be the social event of the year.”

He looked pleased. Alex felt a bit sick.

“She’ll want to give you suggestions on your dress,” Emerson said. “Please, just let her prattle on. Then you can do what you want.”

What she wanted was to trot into the nearest Saks and pick something off the rack that she liked and that happened to be white or something close. The idea of cramming fittings like the ones her cousin Charlene had gone through into her already impossible schedule added to her queasiness about the whole thing.

“I’ve never seen your mother so happy,” Emerson said. “She’s so delighted our families will be connected officially.”

The bite of tiramisu she’d just taken seemed to turn to chalk in her mouth. A snippet of conversation flashed through her mind, from the day she had told her mother Emerson had proposed and she had accepted.

“Wonderful!” her mother had exclaimed with no small amount of triumph. “The Howlands and the Forsythes. The perfect connection. Finally!”

Not a word about whether she loved him, was happy herself or even congratulations. Just the acknowledgment that the joining of two such prominent families was a delight to the socially conscious Veronica Forsythe. Alex had finally, years after she had given up even trying, pleased her mother.

Was that why she was doing it?

The question leaped into her mind, and she cringed at the impact it had. For a moment she stared at Emerson, wondering if that’s what he was, the trophy presented to her mother, to prove she really was the good girl Veronica Forsythe had always wanted, and not the changeling who continually disappointed her by being more her grandfather’s ideal than her mother’s.

She also wondered, for the first time, if her grandfather had had to fight her mother to get her to allow Alex to attend Athena. Veronica rarely stood up to anyone. She usually relied on manipulation to get what she wanted. But she hadn’t been able to manipulate Charles. Alex knew her mother hadn’t liked the idea of her going, knew that the kind of woman Athena produced was far from her mother’s vision of what a woman should be, but if there had been any arguing it had been done out of her presence.

“…favorite designer, although she agrees that if you prefer Wang or perhaps a European designer, that would be acceptable.”

Alex belatedly tuned in again. Emerson continued. Her fiancé, she realized, was discussing wedding dress designers.

Suddenly it all seemed to be too much. All this urbane refinement layered over the shock and horror of Rainy’s death made her more than a little ill. Abruptly she got to her feet.

“I’m sorry Emerson. I don’t feel well. I’ll call you.”

She gave him a light kiss that landed more or less on his temple and then left him sitting there, at last showing emotion through a slightly stunned look on his face. And she was too agitated to appreciate the tiny victory.

Chapter 9

Alex wished now she’d never used that particular example to poke at Emerson. Because now that she had, the image of herself at the farm with a couple of kids, teaching them about the joy of horses, even while shoveling manure, wouldn’t leave her alone.

She looked out the airplane window at the heart of America passing beneath her as she flew westward, but that image was all she saw. It grew clearer and clearer, until she almost ached with the power of it. And now she didn’t know if it would ever come true. If it ever could come true.

That’s why, of course, she realized. If it weren’t for the suddenly very real possibility that it might never happen, that the choice to make it happen might have been stolen from her, it wouldn’t be pressuring her so much. She’d never really worried about it, or even thought about it all that much until she’d had to consider someone else might have made that very personal choice for her, some total stranger who had no right to interfere, who moved by stealth and deception, who committed this awful violation in secrecy and left the horrible results to be discovered years later. It was—

She stopped herself. You can’t do anything about it now. At this moment, on this plane, the only thing you can do anything about is your work. So do it.

She pulled the folder that held a printout of the one case she hadn’t yet finished her report on out of her large bag. She’d brought it intending to finish it on this flight, but now she was beginning to doubt she’d ever be able to concentrate enough.

Focus, she ordered herself. Those little girls who were raped and murdered and dumped in drainage ditches deserve it. The photos of those tiny, broken bodies drove her, and she was finally able to get through the outline of the report she would finish inputting when she was able to get online with her laptop. She went through it all again, just to be sure. Her brick of evidence had to be solid, or the entire case could wash away and an animal with a vicious taste for young, innocent flesh could walk free again, the worst kind of predator.

When she was certain she’d done all she could, she put the file away and locked that section of her satchel. She looked out the window of the airplane again. She finally gave up trying to distract herself and surrendered to the demanding thoughts of the mess she was heading back to.

The funeral tomorrow would be a painful, aching thing for all of them, probably especially for Josie who was on temporary duty out of the country and couldn’t be there.

It didn’t seem possible the Cassandras were burying one of their own. But she better than any of them knew it was true; there was nothing like an autopsy to convince you.

Rainy’s death had pounded home to Alex that she herself could not count on the fifty or sixty years she’d always assumed she would have. A foolish assumption, probably, given that she dealt with the fallout from untimely death all the time, but there it was. Her intellect knew no one could count on that kind of generosity from life, but her gut shied away from that truth.

Was it a sign of maturity, this outgrowing of the youthful assumption of immortality? Or had it simply been scared out of her by Rainy’s death? Would she lose it as time dulled the pain slightly? Would she go back to believing that people who died were of her grandfather’s generation, or in some cases her mother’s, but not her own? Never her own. Not yet.

But it had happened. It could happen again. And the fact that she had never expected it, despite the dangerous career paths many Athenans had taken, only made her feel naive and a bit stupid.

She wished she were as tired as she’d been on her last cross-country flight, so that she could sleep. But she’d slept so well at the farm, and surprisingly well the couple of days she’d had at home, she felt rested. If she’d thought about it a bit more, she would have stayed up later last night working for just this reason, to tire herself out. But she hadn’t and therefore she had nothing to do but think. When they finally began the descent into Phoenix, she was more relieved than she wanted to admit. At least she could fill her head with the logistics of the rest of the trip, distract herself with the details of gates and baggage and rental cars.

The landing was as rough as her thoughts had been. The plane bounced and shook going through waves of rising heat. For a moment the irony of dying in a crash landing just minutes after her unpleasant earlier thoughts about death and funeral plans rolled over her until the plane finally settled safely on the ground.

She picked up her rental car, worked her way out of Sky Harbor airport onto Interstate 10, and headed north, then west. She had made plans to stay at Athena Academy tonight and go with Christine to Tucson for the funeral tomorrow. She was able to give enough attention to her driving to keep her thoughts out of what were rapidly becoming a pair of well-worn ruts. Between her suspicions about Rainy and her fears about what might have been done to her, as well, too much of her mind was running constantly hard and fast as it tried to sort, refute, prove and fill in too many blanks with too little information.

Maybe one of the others would have something by now. Maybe Kayla had turned up something more, or Christine. Anything that would make sense of this, anything that would turn this world of crazy theories and wild ideas into something reasonable and sensible.

But no matter what they might have learned, there couldn’t be anything that would make Rainy’s death acceptable. And that was the bottom line.

The funeral was going to be small for someone as well-loved as Rainy, but Alex thought it would be exactly what she would want, only those dearest to her to witness the end of her far too short life. Odd, that with everything the Cassandras talked about, they’d never talked much about death. At least, not in anything but the abstract.

They’d especially never talked about the death of one of their number. Once one of them had joked about the Vikings having the right idea, to go out on the water in a blaze of glory, but they’d never gone any further than that. More of that youthful belief in their own immortality, she supposed. But now here they all were, headed for a funeral, with no choice but to face the inevitability and finality of it.

Kayla had said she would go early to pick Darcy up from the Tucson airport. Darcy would likely have her young son in tow. She never seemed to go anywhere without him.

Tory had called Christine last night to say she’d be there. Alex knew Tory had been covering a story in Britain, but suspected she would have been here even had the story not been finished. She hadn’t made it to that first fateful meeting that Rainy had called, when Alex, Kayla, Darcy, Josie, and Christine had learned of Rainy’s accident and then her death. Only Josie, unable to get leave, and Sam—who also had not made that meeting and who was God knows where on God knows what assignment for her employer, the CIA—would not be there. They weren’t even sure their message about Rainy’s death had reached her.

But though Josie and Sam would be absent in body, Alex knew they would be here in spirit. Even Sam. Because if Samantha St. John somehow knew, despite being out of reach, that Rainy was being buried today, Alex wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Sam had a way of finding things out, her brilliant ability to hack just about any computer on the planet just one of her methods.

Alex had offered to drive her rental to Tucson, and Christine had accepted. Although she hadn’t planned it that way, it occurred to her that this sad journey was the perfect chance to ask about what her grandfather had told her at the farm that night.

“I was able to visit my grandfather while I was back home,” she said.

Christine turned to look at her and smiled warmly. “How is Charles? I haven’t spoken to him in some time, I’m afraid. I keep meaning to call and catch up, but time always seems to get away.”

“He understands,” Alex assured the woman. “He knows what a huge job running Athena is. He’s just glad you’re here to do it. He even commented on the excellent job you do screening the staff.”

Christine’s smile widened. “That’s good of him. We’re lucky to have him as such a staunch supporter.”

Alex negotiated a lane change to get out from behind a slow-moving truck. When she was safely in front, she changed back. She’d found herself driving very carefully of late.

“We were also talking about Rainy,” she said when the maneuver was complete. “I asked him if there was anyone he could think of that could be holding a grudge they might take out on her.”

“I’d find that hard to believe. She was such a lovely woman.”

“I can’t imagine it, either. But what if she were just…handy?” Alex glanced at her passenger. “What if the grudge was really against Athena?”

Christine drew back, obviously startled. Kayla clearly hadn’t voiced her suspicions to Christine when Alex left. She turned her attention back to the road

“Athena? You think her death is connected to Athena?”

“I think it’s possible. This isn’t the first time someone connected to Athena has died mysteriously,” Alex said, referring to the unsolved murder of Athena founder Marion Gracelyn nine years ago. “Many of us are in a position to keep our connection to Athena quiet, known only to those who have to know. But with Rainy it’s a matter of public record, in her qualifications at the law firm, for anyone who bothers to look.”

Christine’s tone sounded thoughtful. “I suppose it’s a possibility. We do have our enemies. People can be very resistant to change. There are people who fought Athena from its inception.”

“What about after that?”

“After?”

“Has anybody been fired who could hold a grudge?”

“A disgruntled ex-employee? I don’t think we’ve had any. Most who have left have gone by choice, for personal reasons or because they realized they weren’t right for the job, or it wasn’t right for them.”

“You can’t think of anyone who might feel they were treated unfairly?”

“And who would be angry enough to take revenge on a former student? No.”

Alex waited until they had reached a straight, relatively clear section of road before she glanced at Christine again and asked, “What about Dr. Bradford?”

Christine’s eyes widened, and to Alex's amazement she thought she saw a tinge of color rise in the woman’s cheeks. Christine turned her head, almost jerkily, to look out the windshield.

Oh, boy, Alex thought, turning her eyes back to the road again herself. That hit a nerve.

“Oh, that was long, long ago,” Christine finally said. “Back in our second year. Rainy was an eighth grader. But I’m sure there’s no connection.”

Christine seemed to have herself back in hand now, but Alex couldn’t help wondering what had caused the uncharacteristic reaction.

“Who was he?”

“He is—at least I assume he still is—a doctor and researcher in behavioral science. He has focused most of his work on women, which is obviously unusual. That’s why we thought he might be a good fit at Athena. But he wasn’t full-time staff. He came as a guest lecturer for special psychology segments.”

Alex stayed silent as she took the off-ramp they needed to get to the church. At the bottom was a traffic signal, with three cars backed up ahead of them. She eased the rental to a stop. Then she looked at Christine once more.

“What happened?”

There was a moment of silence before Christine answered. “He was…there was a problem between him and Betsy Stone.”

Alex barely managed not to say that didn’t surprise her. Betsy could inspire people to be difficult. She was a talented and competent nurse, but her bedside manner was not her strong suit.

But her grandfather had given her the impression the problem with Dr. Bradford had been with Christine herself, so she pressed on.

“A problem?”

“He was…harassing her. So I recommended that he not be asked back.”

Alex found it a little hard to believe that anyone would dare harass the formidable Betsy Stone, but she was distracted from that thought by the realization that the usually serene, unflappable Christine seemed to be having trouble looking her in the eye as she spoke.

Chapter 10

Alex had expected Allison Gracelyn at the funeral and wasn’t surprised to see her already there when she and Christine pulled into the parking lot of the small chapel. Not only was Allison an Athena Academy board consultant, but she had been in Rainy’s class and one of Rainy’s closest friends besides the Cassandras.

She was now an NSA programmer and mathematician. But she was also the daughter of late Athena founder Marion Gracelyn, who had died tragically from a blow to the head right there at Athena. The first time death had visited. Though it had been suspected that her death was not accidental, motive and a murderer had never been found. Marion had been the woman who had had the vision, who had made the dream of Athena come true. This made Alex feel a kinship with Allison, along with fellow Cassandra Josie Lockworth, whose father had been not only an early and strong supporter of Athena but who had also been director of the CIA at the time of its inception. They had all had exceptionally large footsteps to follow in at Athena, and they had all felt the strain of the effort.

Allison’s brother, David, was with her. The two looked much alike, with their dark brown eyes and hair, and were easily recognizable as siblings.

Alex’s brow furrowed as she watched Allison whisper something to her brother, to which he shook his head. His jaw was tightly clenched, she saw, his feelings obviously very near the surface. He even moved somewhat jerkily, like a man on the emotional edge, or running on nerves alone. She recognized the symptoms all too well.

Then she had to concentrate on parking the car. As she got out and turned to lock the door, she saw Kayla walking toward the church with another brunette, a short-haired woman who had a child in tow. She frowned. The child was Darcy’s adorable little Charlie, she’d seen them both a little more than a week ago, but….

She looked a second time at the woman who was holding the boy’s hand. The change in Darcy Allen Steele was still a shock.

But once she looked past the dyed brown hair, and blue eyes made brown by what had to be colored contact lenses, it was clearly Darcy Allen. Bright, eager-to-please Darcy, who had always excelled at disguise. She had once made redheaded, fair-skinned Alex look like a dark-eyed, honey-skinned Latina, and won the drama class trophy when nobody could guess who was under the dark wig.

They hadn’t had time to talk about Darcy’s situation the night Rainy died. Alex supposed she would get answers later. She was certain Darcy had good reasons for whatever she was up to. Right now, she needed to get inside, the service would be starting shortly.

The small chapel was reminiscent of Greek architecture, complete with columns. It was elegant and classical, strong and graceful, just as Rainy herself had been, and it seemed to Alex the perfect place for this, her final send-off.

Christine went ahead to speak to Marshall Carrington as the official representative of Athena. Despite her determination to get through this, Alex found herself lingering outside, putting off going in as if that would somehow change things. As if once she stepped inside, once she saw that coffin there would be no further denial, no avoiding the fact that it was really time to say goodbye.

Finally she stepped inside. It was blessedly cool and seemed dim after the desert sun. She pulled off her sunglasses, although she wished she could keep them on; crying was something she allowed herself so rarely she had never quite gotten the hang of doing it with any kind of grace. But at the moment she didn’t care, about grace or tears or anything else. There was no room for anything inside her except a wrenching, huge sense of loss.

Many of the people inside she recognized, including Rainy’s parents, who lived in California where Rainy had grown up. Alex had met them a few times in her first year at Athena. Some people she didn’t know, but was able to guess from her knowledge of Rainy who they likely were. Down in front on the left, directly behind Marshall, she saw Kayla and the almost unrecognizable Darcy, with the child on her lap. As she looked, Kayla glanced back and saw her. A moment later, as if she’d had to think about it, she leaned over and whispered something to Darcy, then they both slid over on the pew, leaving room for one more person on the end.

Alex hesitated. Had Kayla had to think about whether she wanted her there, or had she simply not been sure Alex would accept the silent offer?

Does it really matter? Isn’t this the right time to get this behind us? What if it had been she herself, or Kayla, who had died and left this breach between them?

Alex knew it was time. And so, mindful that this was likely the best gift she could give Rainy, she walked down to that pew and sat beside the woman who had once been her best friend. Kayla didn’t look at her, but Alex thought she sensed her relaxing, as if her body had been tensed as she waited for Alex to decide. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

In the last moments before the service began, there was a flurry of activity at the back of the chapel. Everyone turned to look. Despite her grief, Alex smothered a smile as Tory entered in a rush, her chin-length black hair tousled, as if she’d just rushed in straight from the airport, which she probably had. Tory just seemed to have that effect, whenever she went anywhere people turned to look. And they had done so even before her face had become famous. She never demanded it, never expected it, it just happened.

Alex was certain many of the mourners recognized the well-known network news reporter, and the murmur that circled the room seemed to prove that. Tory glanced around, her gaze stopping here and there as if on familiar faces. But then she realized they’d been about to start, and quickly took a seat in the back.

The minister began to speak, in that generic way of someone who hadn’t really known the person that well. The few personal references had likely been supplied by Marshall, or perhaps Kayla during the arrangements for this service. Rainy’s father spoke, then Marshall, both bringing tears to the eyes of the mourners, and some smiles as they recalled happy memories.

Alex hadn’t thought of speaking herself. When they reached the point at which the minister asked if anyone else wished to speak, she glanced at Kayla, who shook her head slightly, indicating with a small nod the back of Marshall’s head and slumped shoulders. His speech seemed to have taken every reserve of his energy. Alex had noticed Kayla occasionally reaching forward to grip his shoulder comfortingly during the service.

Darcy wouldn’t even meet her gaze. She glanced back toward Tory, the most likely one of them to be comfortable getting up in front of a group to speak. To her surprise, Tory also gave her a quick shake of the head, and then a slight gesture with her chin, as if pointing back at Alex.

She got the message.

You do it.

When she turned back, the minister was looking at her. After a moment, she nodded. Slowly, she got to her feet, wondering what on earth she would say. But when she got to the podium and turned to look out at the small gathering, the words just seemed to pour out.

“We all loved Rainy. She was a bright, talented, successful woman. But she was so much more. She was friend, mentor and, on occasion, mother-confessor. She was peacemaker and ringleader, and above all role model. She got saddled with a group of young, incredibly naive girls who had very little in common except strong personalities that seemed forever at odds with each other. She took those girls—”

Alex’s voice broke, and she had to stop for a moment. She swallowed hard, fought back the tears that threatened. She saw Christine smile at her encouragingly, Darcy, too. And beside Darcy, Kayla nodded, as if to urge her to continue. Alex took a deep breath to steady herself, and began again.

“She took those girls and turned them, by hook, crook and whatever trick came to hand, into a team that went straight to the top. None of us would be where we are—or who we are—had we not had the great, great good fortune of having Rainy in our lives. And the hole she leaves behind is unfillable, the wound unhealable. But she would not want us to ache like this forever. I can hear her saying, the moment this service is over, ‘All right, everyone, let’s get on with it.’”

Alex saw smiles around the room, sad ones, wistful ones, trembling ones, as she used Rainy’s favorite phrase for moving things along.

“We will miss her. Forever. There will never be another quite like her. But we who are left behind will go on, because that’s what she would want. And for Rainy, we will do what needs to be done, no matter what it is, and we will do it in a way that would make her proud.”

If she had sounded a bit vehement, she didn’t care. If there had seemed to be a deeper meaning, all the better. If anyone in this room knew anything about what had happened, they stood warned. The Cassandras would find out what had happened, and whoever was responsible for this would pay.

“Thanks, Alex.” Tory took her hand and squeezed it. “You did it beautifully.”

“I thought you would—”

“I know. But I didn’t want anything to detract from why we were here. And sometimes my presence has a weird effect on people.”

Alex smiled at her fellow Cassandra as they stood in the small area just inside the doors of the chapel. They had all stopped on the way out to express their sympathy and grief to Marshall as well as Rainy’s parents, then had gathered here. “It’s your own fault, for becoming a big-shot reporter.”

Tory grimaced, but her vivid green eyes twinkled. “Just like Rainy always said. ‘You’re such a ham, Victoria. You’re going to end up a star, you wait and see.’”

Alex felt her eyes begin to brim at the recollection. “She had such faith in all of us….”

“We haven’t let her down. And we won’t. Even Kayla’s pulled it out. She’s solid as a rock now. I know Rainy was worried about her.” Tory frowned slightly then. “But what’s up with Darcy?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t had a chance to really talk with her.” Darcy had disappeared immediately after the service had concluded, Alex guessed to calm down the child who had become fussy by the end of the service.

“How about you and Kayla?” Tory asked in the blunt manner she sometimes used in interviews with great success. “I saw you were sitting together.”

Alex didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “We’re…working on it.”

“Good. It’s about time.”

“We’ve all drifted apart,” Alex said.

“I know we have. And I don’t like it. Rainy didn’t like it. So we’d better get us all back together, the way we’re supposed to be.”

“It’ll never be the same,” Alex said sadly.

“But it would be worse if we didn’t do it, wouldn’t it? If we let it all fall apart, after how hard Rainy worked to bring us together?”

“Of course,” Alex agreed, Tory’s brisk tone shaking her out of her misery. “And I need to talk to you. About what’s been going on, I mean.”

Tory smiled grimly. “I know. I didn’t even get Rainy’s message until after—after she died. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you all. Kayla’s given me the basics. And I have to say I don’t much care for what I’ve heard, but I know there has to be more.”

“A lot. Something’s going on, but I don’t want to discuss it here. After the graveside ceremony, can we—”

“Alex?” She turned then, to see Kayla coming up behind her, followed by Darcy, her now quieted child in her arms. “What you said…that was lovely.”

“Yes, it was,” Darcy said, her voice very quiet and subdued.

“Thank you,” Alex said to both of them, meaning it.

The two newcomers turned to greet Tory, and a round of hugs followed.

“Have you given her the latest yet?” Kayla asked Alex, indicating Tory.

“I was just suggesting we go someplace else to talk about it,” Alex said, glancing around at the people slowly beginning to make their way out of the church.

“Good idea,” Kayla agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kayla led the way to the double doors and pulled them open. She was the only one who didn’t react to the blast of heat from outside. It truly didn’t take long to lose your acclimatization, Alex thought.

Kayla went down the steps still looking back at Alex and the others. “Why don’t we—”

“Oh, God,” Darcy said, going very still and staring out toward the parking lot.

The other three women turned to look. Alex saw the van with the satellite dish on the roof, and the network logo on the side. People were scurrying around it, setting up. She blinked. A TV crew? Here?

“Damn,” Tory muttered under her breath. “It’s ABS. You don’t suppose…”

She leaned forward, peering around, eyes moving quickly as if she were searching for someone. Her darting gaze stopped, riveted on someone or something. Then she swore again, harsher this time.

“It is her.”

“Who?” Kayla asked.

“Shannon Conner.”

Alex whirled around. Except for occasional glimpses on television she hadn’t been able to avoid, she hadn’t seen Shannon Conner since her expulsion from Athena. But here she was in the flesh, her shoulder-length blond hair perfectly coiffed, her face artfully drawn with TV makeup, her nails a dagger-tip shade of red as her fingers curled around the microphone she held. And in light of her conversation with G.C., Alex was even more suspicious.

Alex wondered if Allison had seen her yet. Like Rainy, her classmate Allison had been a mentor to a group of new Athena students. Allison’s group had called themselves the Graces, and one of them had been Shannon Conner, who had literally fallen from grace. Alex had no idea if there was any relationship remaining between them, or anyone else from Athena for that matter. The woman had had a few friends, as she recalled, but whether they had stuck by her in her disgrace she didn’t know. No one had seemed too upset by her abrupt departure. But Conner had landed on her feet, as her kind—smart and ruthless—often do.

Alex glanced at Tory. “I always suspected she went into TV reporting mainly to go after you.”

Tory grimaced. “Sometimes I think so, too. I know she blames me for her humiliation.”

“Never mind that it was her own actions, trying to frame Josie of all people for stealing, that brought it on her,” Kayla said, her voice cold as she looked at the woman next to the satellite van.

“Maybe we should just go out another way,” Darcy suggested, sounding anxious. “Get away from her.”

Alex turned back to look at the fellow Cassandra she hadn’t seen in so long. An Athena, run away? That was so unlike any of them, including Darcy, that Alex couldn’t think of a thing to say. But there was no denying Darcy looked more than wary, she looked frightened. Her grip on her child tightened, until the boy squirmed in protest.

And then it was taken out of their hands.

“Uh-oh, she’s spotted us,” Tory muttered. “And here she comes. Okay, remember what you’ll sound like to the uninformed. And beware of sound bites, she’ll try and sucker you into one. Best course, say something totally unrelated to whatever she asks.”

The blonde and two men, one with a large camera on his shoulder, the other seeming to be only holding a bunch of cables together, were walking purposefully toward them. There was no question of avoiding it now.

“Might as well find out what the…woman’s up to,” Alex said.

“Better now than later,” Kayla agreed.

“The camera’s already rolling,” Tory warned them. “Assume the sound is live, too.”

Darcy made a small sound, almost a whimper of protest, but Alex didn’t have time to look at her. That Tory was right became obvious as Shannon Conner quickly came toward them, and when she got within hearing distance and they could see and hear she was already talking.

“—in certain exclusive, private, highly ranked government circles, the reputation of Athena Academy is well known,” she was saying into the microphone. “It’s not a place the average citizen is aware of, although perhaps they should be. Any place with this many connections to the military, and government activities both open and covert, should be under the watchful eye of the public.”

So that’s her plan, Alex thought. I should have known.

She felt the pump of adrenaline, as if she were gearing up for a fight. As, she supposed, she was. Conner turned to face them.

Here we go.

Chapter 11

The blonde had managed to negotiate the church stairs, snap orders at the cameraman, keep an eye on both the cables she was dodging and the women she was heading for, all without missing a step. Or a word as she continued.

“Where the Athena Academy gets its funding will be the topic of a later investigative segment, but today we will be speaking to several alumni of the supersecret prep school, gathered in Tucson today to mark the untimely passing of one of its most successful and publicly known graduates, attorney Lorraine Miller Carrington.”

Alex wondered what the woman would do if they simply refused to acknowledge her. Probably make it into the lead story of the day, she answered her own question sourly. She could just hear it, spoken in tones guaranteed to blow things up into a huge drama, how the women of Athena had refused to speak, and what did they have to hide? No mention of their grief, of course, and how they simply might not want it aired for public consumption. Never that.

“Here we have Alexandra Forsythe, granddaughter of famed financier Charles Forsythe, well known in Washington D.C. power circles.”

Oh, lucky me, I get to be first. But even as she thought it her mind was racing. She wouldn’t let a bitter, jealous one-time rival rattle her, even if she did have a microphone in her hand, a television camera behind her and a nationwide audience.

“Since all the records are kept so well hidden,” Conner was saying in a tone that hinted she knew exactly what those records contained, “and Forsythe has a bank of attorneys to shield him, it’s not general knowledge how much he has contributed to the school to be on the board, but what is known is that his only granddaughter is a graduate.”

Fuming inwardly at the provocative phrasing Conner was using, Alex nevertheless pasted the society smile she’d learned very early in life onto her face. Finally, all that Mayflower family, DAR stuff was going to come in handy. She might actually have to thank her mother before this was over.

“Why, hello,” she said brightly, with her best blueblood, aristocratic smile. “Are you an advance scout for a TV station? Are we truly going to be on the local news?”

Her pretense of not knowing who Conner was, and her slight emphasis on the “local” hit their mark; Conner’s lips thinned slightly and her next words were clipped.

“I’m a network reporter. This is national coverage. Tell me how you all felt when you discovered your friend had been the subject of scientific experiments while she was a student at Athena Academy? Is it true that even though there is absolutely no evidence, you now suspect she didn’t die in an accident but rather was murdered?”

The bluntness of the question and the shock of realizing anyone outside their circle knowing anything about what they were looking into nearly stunned Alex. Even ignoring the continued purposeful phrasing that made the Athenans appear as if they were fantasizing a conspiracy because they couldn’t accept their friend’s death, she was shocked that Conner knew so much.

Or thought she knew, she corrected herself silently, remembering that throwing questions that implied knowledge was a typical ruse of reporters, and all too often it worked on innocent people who didn’t suspect the ulterior motive.

Her practiced social smile held steady, never faltering as she made a production of turning to face the reporter and the camera. Best defense, she thought, and in an elaborate double take, she looked at Conner again.

“Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I told you, I’m a national network reporter.”

“No, I’ve never seen you on television, it’s…oh, I remember! You were the only person ever thrown out of Athena, for incompetence, lying and trying to frame an innocent student!”

That ought to get me edited out, Alex thought with satisfaction as she turned away from the still-running camera and clearly irritated reporter. But Alex could have sworn she saw the cameraman’s mouth twitch, as if he were fighting a smile. After a moment to apparently get her temper in hand, the blonde zeroed in on Kayla.

“It may come as a surprise to the taxpaying citizens of Youngtown, Arizona, that one of their own police lieutenants is a product of a school they didn’t even know existed. And more surprising, that she is assigned to the town of Athens, which came into existence solely to serve that covert school. But here is Lieutenant Kayla Ryan. Since she has no rich grandfather, indeed her family still lives on the Navajo reservation here in northeastern Arizona, she likely had to work a lot harder for her success. She—”

“Those who didn’t want to work were weeded out early,” Kayla said, the reference back to Alex’s words about her being thrown out of Athena unmistakable.

There was no hiding Conner’s growing anger now. “As a police lieutenant,” she said, her tone sharp now, “do you have anything to say about the homicide that took place at Athena nearly a decade ago? Have there been more killings since Marion Gracelyn was murdered? Were they covered up? Do you suspect this death is related?”

Alex barely stopped herself from spinning on her heel and taking the woman out with a well-placed right cross; to hell with finesse, Conner deserved to be knocked on her ass. One glance at Kayla’s face told her she was thinking along the same lines.

And Darcy was…gone.

Distracted, Alex’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t even noticed her departure. Maybe just as well, who knows what Conner would have done to her poor little boy. Before she could dwell upon the abrupt vanishing act, Tory had stepped in to put an end to the verbal fencing.

“My,” she said smoothly, looking into the camera steadily, her manner as cool and polished as it was on her own broadcasts, “things must be run quite differently at ABS. At UBC they would never dream of assigning a reporter with such an obvious conflict of interest to a story.”

The cameraman lifted his head from the viewfinder and looked at Conner, as if waiting for her to tell him to shut down. Tory went on speaking, and as was a news cameraman’s instinct—and he was old enough to have been at it awhile—he kept on filming.

“Being the only person in the history of Athena to be thrown out, accused of a crime, and yet assigned to a story about the school? What an ethical dilemma! For someone who has any ethics, anyway. Of course, a person with ethics would immediately and properly turn that story over to someone else who could do it without bias.”

“My story will be the truth!” Shannon burst out, losing her cool at last.

“Oh? Then you’ll want to share with your viewers exactly how you knew to come here today. How did you find out when and where this service was, when no one outside Rainy Carrington’s immediate family and closest friends knew?”

“None of your business.”

Tory let the unprofessional response stand. “In fact, how did you even know Rainy was dead? It’s certain no one from Athena told you.”

Shannon Conner didn’t miss the implied insult. She had been many things, most of them unpleasant, but she had never been stupid.

“I don’t reveal my sources. Especially to you!” she snapped.

“So they’re ‘anonymous’ sources, then?” Tory said putting so much biting emphasis on the word that Alex had to smother a grin.

Conner opened her mouth as if to retort angrily, and held it that way ungraciously for a long moment without speaking. Alex was about to make a comment about the number of cicadas that seemed to be buzzing around this year when the woman popped it shut again.

“Cut it,” she snapped at the camera operator, and turned her back on them and started toward the van. The cameraman pushed a couple of buttons, then looked at the group of women he’d been filming with interest. And with, Alex realized in surprise, a glint of approval in his eyes. And he gave them a broad wink before he turned to follow the fuming reporter down the steps.

“He’s seen a few like her come and go,” Tory said, echoing what Alex was thinking. Then she turned to the others, including Darcy, who had reappeared. “I took a cab from the airport. Can I hitch a ride to the cemetery with one of you?”

“Christine suggested that we all ride together,” Alex said. “She said she’ll bring my rental car. She thought we might want to catch up on…things.”

“Good. We can all fit in my SUV,” Kayla said.

“I’ll just grab my bag. I dropped it off in the church office,” Tory said, and headed back inside.

Moments later they were all loaded up in the blue SUV, Kayla behind the wheel, Alex in the front passenger seat, and Tory, Darcy and her little boy in the rear. Tory had said she wanted to sit with Charlie, Darcy’s son. But since he had, in that perverse way children had, gone to sleep now that quiet was no longer necessary, Alex wondered about that. She wouldn’t put it past Tory to maneuver things just so Alex would end up in front with Kayla.

But she said nothing, and let it be as they drove through Tucson to the cemetery. Rainy’s ultimate destination.

There was something inexpressibly final about the sight of a casket hovering over a freshly dug grave. The sight of Marshall staring at the hole only pounded the fact home. This was the end of Rainy’s journey, Alex thought. But it was just the beginning of theirs. They would, as Tory had said, find out what had really happened to their friend, inspiration and mentor. They were the Cassandras.

The sound of the cicadas here on the hillside nearly drowned out the minister’s voice as he recited the service. Alex tried to listen, but it all seemed meaningless to her now, when she knew there was so much more to Rainy’s death than they knew.

Yet.

She drew in a deep breath of the hot air, the scent of heated sage and mesquite filling her nostrils. Trying to assuage the ache inside the only way she could think of right now, she lifted her head to look across the bright green lawns toward the stark mountains that bordered Tucson. They looked similar to the White Tanks, rising behind Athena Academy. Appropriate.

Her gaze snapped back, searching for what she’d just glimpsed. She scanned the area across the lane that led into the cemetery, certain she’d seen something. Someone. Someone who looked familiar.

Someone who looked very much like the mysterious Justin Cohen.

He was gone. Or at least, she couldn’t see him anywhere near where she thought he’d been standing before. But she was almost certain it had been him. She’d certainly thought about him often enough since that day she’d surprised him in the infirmary.

Of course, what was not to think about? He was, as she’d told Sheila, definitely a looker.

But he was also FBI and had run to avoid telling anyone why he’d been on the Athena grounds. As far as she knew so far, not having heard any news from Sheila, he had no legitimate reason to be there. That told Alex she’d best assume he was not on their side.

It all continued to spin around in her mind. The minister was finished, and as each Cassandra filed by the grave to toss in the rose she held, Alex’s thoughts were still racing. She stopped them with a conscious effort as she tossed in her own flower and with it a promise to the woman being buried that her sisters would never give up the search for what had really happened.

But as she moved on, her mind revved anew.

What would the FBI agent be doing here, now, at Rainy’s graveside service? Had he been at the church, too, and she just hadn’t seen him?

Sheila had said he was assigned to a receiving-and-fencing stolen property case, the FBI connection being the Gila River reservation possibly being the site of a clearing house for the operation. So why was he in Tucson at Rainy’s service?

How had he known?

“Come on,” Kayla said. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

It was obvious that by that Kayla meant they should go somewhere where they could be alone and not overheard. Darcy picked up on it and quickly ran to Christine, apparently to ask her to keep an eye on Charlie. She handed over the boy and was back moments later.

They headed for a flat, open lawn area that had no gravesites yet. The openness ensured that no one would be listening. They’d see anyone who dared approach.

They settled down in a circle on the green grass, heedless of the toll on their funeral clothes. Quickly, Alex and Kayla brought the others up to date on what they’d discovered, including the mechanical scars on Rainy’s ovaries and the fact that her emergency appendectomy all those years ago had been a fake. Alex filled them in on what Christine had said about Dr. Bradford and Betsy Stone, as well.

“There’s more,” Alex said, even though Tory and Darcy were staring at them in shock. “I caught an FBI agent snooping around Athena before I left last Wednesday.”

Tory lifted a brow at her. “Do you guys ‘snoop’?”

“I investigate,” Alex said primly. “This guy snoops.”

The moment of comic relief broke the tension.

“Do you know who he is?” Darcy asked.

“I checked on him. He’s legit, out of the Phoenix office. But he’s not on a case that has anything to do with Athena. And,” she added, “I think I saw him today.”

“Today?” Darcy sat up a little straighter.

Alex nodded. “Just now. At the graveside. I just caught a glimpse, so I can’t be positive but…”

“You’re positive,” Tory said quietly.

Alex hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am. And I plan to do a lot more research on Agent Justin Cohen.”

“Great. The feds,” Kayla muttered, then blushed as she remembered her muttered epithet included two of her fellow Cassandras. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Alex said easily. “We use the same tone about ‘locals’.”

“Touché,” Kayla acknowledged with a crooked smile. But her expression quickly changed back to serious as she went on. “Something else. I also discovered that Rainy had been researching egg mining. I found several files she’d downloaded from the Internet on her computer.”

“Egg mining?” Darcy asked, her eyes widening. “You mean, like harvesting?”

Kayla nodded.

“Which would match with the scars I saw,” Alex said, her voice tight and her expression grim. “And it would fit with Ms. Airhead Reporter’s attack at the church.”

“You think it happened way back when Rainy supposedly had her appendix out? So long ago?” Tory asked.

“I just know it fits,” Alex said. “With the scars, it makes perfect sense.”

“So…instead of it being her appendix, they drugged her and stole her eggs?” Tory asked, this seeming a bit far-fetched even for a woman who dealt with outrageous stories as a matter of course.

“That’s insane,” Darcy whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the still lingering mourners, where Christine was carrying her son away from the grim scene. “That would have to mean someone at Athena was involved, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kayla said, as Darcy reached the same conclusion she had.

“That’s also insane. But none of this has been sane,” Tory said, sounding for once thoroughly disheartened.

There was a long moment of silence. The cicadas buzzed, the desert heat beat down on them, yet they stayed there, taking it, as if it were some sort of ceremony beyond the one that had already taken place today. Alex could almost feel the bonds growing anew as if forged by the ferocious sun. The Cassandras were together again, and together they were unstoppable.

“What are the chances,” Tory mused aloud, “that Rainy’s murder—” She stopped as the others went very still. “That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Darcy said softly, hugging herself as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with arms that weren’t holding her child.

“Murder,” Alex said softly, as if saying it aloud made it more real that just thinking it.

“What are the chances of what?” Kayla asked briskly, prodding them back to Tory’s original statement.

“That this has nothing to do with Athena,” Tory finished her statement.

All the Cassandras looked at each other, brows furrowing as they considered the possibility.

“I thought about that,” Alex said. “I mean, I considered the possibility that I was hooking things together that didn’t necessarily go together. It’s a natural reaction, when something like this happens to someone like Rainy. You get to thinking everything that happens is somehow connected.”

“Exactly. But she was an attorney, after all,” Tory continued, “and since she’s returned to Arizona she’s dealt with some cases that cost some people.”

“But not criminal,” Darcy pointed out. It was true, Rainy had dealt mostly in corporate law.

“Sometimes the supposed noncriminals are the worst. She handled the Desert Technologies industrial espionage case last year,” Alex said, remembering her grandfather mentioning it. “That cost the company incredible amounts in fines. Essentially put them out of business.”

“And I’m sure there have been more,” Tory added.

“I’ll look into that aspect,” Kayla said. “I’ve got some contacts in Tucson. I just need someplace to start.”

“Maybe Sam can do a little hacking on the side, come up with some names for you,” Alex suggested, knowing there wasn’t a system in the world that CIA operative Samantha St. John couldn’t eventually crack. “If we can get a message to her.”

No one said anything else for a few moments, but Alex could almost feel this wondrous set of brains working, and felt a brief flash of pride amidst the pain, to belong to such a group of women. She would tell them all how thankful she was that they’d seen through her protective reserve to the real Alex inside, and made her one of them. As soon as this was over, she was going to suggest they all get together and renew the Cassandra promise to each other.

“There’s another thing,” Kayla said finally.

“What?” Tory asked. Alex could almost see her reporter’s mind working; investigating had always been Tory’s favorite part of her work. She’d made her name famous by digging up the sometimes startling truths behind stories others took at face value.

“When I went to start searching some files at Athena after Alex left, looking for any clue to what’s going on,” Kayla said, “I…blacked out.”

Alex’s head snapped up. The others went suddenly tense, as well.

“You what?” she asked, her voice deceptively gentle.

“I passed right out. One minute I was fine, then everything sort of faded away. I woke up on a cot in the infirmary.” She glanced around, as if to be sure no one was within earshot. “I wasn’t going to even mention it, except that it was so weird, the way it happened.”

“We need everything,” Tory said briskly. “Especially if it’s weird.”

“Yes,” Alex agreed. Then, after a second’s hesitation, asked, “Are you all right now?”

The faintest of smiles touched the corners of her mouth before Kayla nodded, as if she were glad Alex had been the one to ask.

“I’m fine. And I felt fine right up until I apparently went down. I didn’t even get dizzy, nothing. It’s never happened to me before, and hasn’t happened since.” She grimaced. “Betsy couldn’t find anything wrong, and believe me, she poked and prodded everywhere. Of course, if she’s involved, maybe she wouldn’t have told me if she had found anything. But Christine was there, too, when I woke up.”

“So,” Tory said after a moment, “Rainy falling asleep at the wheel is definitely bull.”

“Even if it were true, she should be alive,” Kayla said. “I went to the crash scene, talked to the rescue guys and checked out her car.” She glanced at the others before continuing. “Her seat belt failed.”

“What?” Tory and Darcy exclaimed. Alex had already heard this bit of news.

“The mechanism apparently failed. If it had been working properly, the medics said she likely would have survived the crash.”

There was silence again. Alex guessed each of them was feeling much the same thing. Anger. Loss. Suspicion. And at last it was Alex who put words to what they were all thinking.

“And what are the chances,” Alex said softly, “that Kayla simply passed out, that Rainy fell asleep, and her seat belt failed?”

“Nil to none,” Tory said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Kayla said.

“Once is happenstance,” Darcy said quietly.

“Twice is coincidence,” Tory said.

Alex repeated the third line of the old axiom in tandem. “Third time is enemy action.”

“But who is the enemy?” Kayla asked.

“I don’t know,” Alex said.

“But we’ll find out,” Tory said, in the voice of someone making a solemn vow.

“Yes,” Darcy said with a spark of her old vigor, “we will.”

Chapter 12

“In Rainy’s files,” Alex asked Kayla, “did you come across the name of Rainy’s personal doctor?” They had just dropped Tory, Darcy and her son off at the airport for their respective trips home after an emotional gathering at the house where Marshall Carrington now lived alone. Christine was still there, waiting for a ride back to Athena Academy.

“Yes,” Kayla said. “Dr. Halburg. Deborah, I think. I’ve got the address and number written down if you want it.”

“Good. Thanks. Yes, I think I’ll go and have a talk with her before I leave Tucson.”

It was after four, but she might catch the doctor.

Kayla nodded. “I can take Christine home.” She glanced over at Alex as they waited for the signal to change so they could exit the airport terminal area. “Do you think there’s anything to what Shannon asked? That bit about medical experiments?”

Alex suppressed a shudder; that memory had crossed her mind more than once since the confrontation, and given her misgivings about her own appendectomy, had struck home in a very personal way.

“I don’t know. It’s a frightening thought. But that was a very specific question, and I have to wonder where she got the idea from in the first place. And the idea that we suspect the crash might not have been an accident.”

“Especially since we’re the only ones who knew,” Kayla said.

“I know. And you and I have been careful not to talk on a cell connection that could be picked up.”

Kayla nodded as she tapped a finger restlessly on the steering wheel. “I even called Tory at home the night she got back, rather than trying to call her cell while she was in Britain.”

“And you know none of us has said anything to anyone outside Athena.”

“But still she comes up with those particular questions. It’s another suspicious thing to add to a stack that’s already too big.”

“It’s getting messier and messier all the time,” Alex agreed. “But we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

“Are you going to be able to stay away from work much longer?” Kayla asked.

“I’ve still got a bit more personal leave time coming,” she said. “My boss has been a bit of a pain about it, but since I’ve never taken any personal leave until now, he’s stayed fairly calm. He’s not happy about me taking it all at once, but there’s not a whole lot he can do.”

“Stick you on graveyard and make you file?” Kayla suggested wryly.

“He hasn’t tried that yet,” Alex said. “Is that the voice of experience speaking?”

“Yep.”

“Who’d you tick off?”

“Which time?” Kayla asked.

Alex’s mouth curved slightly. “That often, huh? How did you do that? Besides being female, Navajo and smart, I mean.”

“That isn’t enough?”

They both smiled then, relaxed and easy, and it was almost like old times between them. And it felt good, Alex admitted. Darned good.

The signal finally changed to green and Kayla moved the SUV smoothly into traffic. Once she was settled in a lane, she spoke again.

“What does your fiancé think about you taking off across the country like this?”

“He’s not happy, but he understands. Or if he doesn’t, he doesn’t say so.”

“Wise man.”

“It’s more that nothing rattles him much.”

“I imagine to be a heart surgeon like he is, you have to be steady.”

Someone had clearly been keeping Kayla up-to-date if she not only knew Alex was engaged, but that he was a doctor. And a heart surgeon specifically. She wondered if the information had been offered, or if Kayla had asked about her.

“He’s that, all right. Unshakable. Although sometimes stick-in-the-mud fits better.”

She hadn’t meant to say that, but that kind of thing had been popping out lately. All of her small dissatisfactions seemed to be bubbling to the surface, manifesting in stray thoughts and slips of the tongue like this one. She’d chalk it up to tension about Rainy, but if she was brutally honest she had to admit it had been happening even before.

Kayla changed lanes to dodge a truck that was spitting out rocks from its uncovered load. “Doesn’t sound like you’re very happy with him right now.”

“He’s a brilliant surgeon, and saves a lot of lives,” Alex said, aware she was sounding a bit defensive. But what she was saying was true. “And he’s generous, calm and very patient. He doesn’t like my choice of work, particularly, but he understands how important it is to me. Just as I understand how important his is. It’s a…comfortable relationship.”

“Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Alex said, not liking the sound of it herself when she said it out loud. “Emerson’s all right.”

“Emerson?” Kayla’s voice rose just slightly, as did one arched eyebrow.

“Yes. It’s a family name. The first one was named after the poet.”

“But…do you really call him that?”

Alex frowned, puzzled. “It’s his name. What else would I call him?”

“I don’t know.” Kayla shot her a sideways look. “I guess I just have a hard time imagining anyone calling out ‘Emerson’in the middle of having sex.”

Alex flushed. “That’s not a problem, since we’ve decided to wait until we’re married.”

Kayla blinked. “Wait? Haven’t you been engaged nearly a year?”

That the ease with which Emerson had suggested they wait until they were married and the fact that it had been his idea in the first place bothered her, was not something Alex often admitted. It wasn’t like she was a virgin saving herself for marriage, after all. As time went on, she was beginning to worry about whether they were going to be compatible or not. And Kayla’s astonishment rubbed along that particular nerve, which was already a bit raw.

“And your point would be?” she asked in her chilliest Forsythe voice.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Kayla fell silent. Rather pointedly silent.

“If there’s something you want to say, just say it,” Alex said, although she wasn’t sure they wouldn’t be better off if she just let it pass. They’d been slowly heading toward mending the rift between them, and now the old monster seemed to be rising anew.

“There’s nothing I have any business saying. I’m hardly in a position to dispense advice on the subject.”

Caution warred with the need to get it all out, even though it might open up the barely scarred-over wound between them. Alex finally decided there was no point in healing if it just covered up an infection that still raged.

“What advice would that be?” she asked carefully. “That we shouldn’t get married without having had sex? Or that there’s something wrong with us?”

Kayla hesitated for a rather long moment. Alex waited. Kayla gave her a quick glance, then shrugged.

“At least when I made my big mistake,” she said, “I did it with passion.”

Alex bit back a snappy reply. She didn’t want to go back to the nearly nonexistent relationship of before and the painful truth of what Kayla had said stopped her.

Passion.

Yes, if there was something missing in her personal life, it was passion. Emerson would find such strong emotion unseemly, she was sure. He liked his life calm, tidy and organized, and passion was not. Passion was high-strung and messy. Passion made you act first and think later, which was something she couldn’t recall Emerson ever doing since she’d known him.

He was passionate about his work, she knew that. The hours he put in certainly suggested it. She had finally decided his style of passion was simply different than hers, not that it didn’t exist.

Or perhaps he was so passionate about his work that there was none left for anything else.

Including her.

And suddenly she saw her whole relationship with Emerson Howland through new eyes, and she didn’t like what she was looking at. And for the sake of restoring a friendship that had once been at the center of her life, the least she could do was admit it.

“Touché,” she said quietly.

Clearly startled at the concession, Kayla glanced at her for a brief moment before she had to turn her attention back to the road.

“You’re not angry?”

“Yes, I am angry. But not at you. At myself, for letting my life…slide. I’m going to have to do something about that. Soon.”

“You will,” Kayla said, sounding relieved. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve done well,” Alex said softly. “As Tory said, you pulled it out.”

Kayla let out a slow, drawn-out breath, as if she’d been holding it for a very long time. “I admitted long ago that Mike was a mistake. But because of him, I have Jazz. And that makes up for it.”

Alex almost told her then, almost poured out her fears that what had been done to Rainy had also been done to her. Her fears that she might never have her own child to hold and cherish. That she would never have what Kayla had. And the sudden, unexpected desire to have it was an irony not lost on Alex, considering Kayla’s means of getting it had been what had driven the wedge between them.

But at the last second she held it all back. She could see no sense in confusing the issue when she wasn’t certain it was even true.

But she made up her mind to find out, as soon as the opportunity arose. She needed to know. Had to know.

Even if she dreaded the answer.

Dr. Deborah Halburg’s office was in a fashionable building with a wonderfully cool—relatively speaking, since the temperature was into triple digits today—underground parking garage. There were several cars already parked there, but the lot was by no means full. Alex drove past a Mercedes dwarfed by a big luxury SUV, then a long, black BMW, a nondescript dark blue sedan and a pearl-white Lincoln. Mostly very upscale, she thought as she found a spot in the middle of the row where the elevators were, at the far end of the garage.

The garage elevator opened into a glass-and-marble lobby graced with southwestern art ranging from a mural of a coyote howling at the desert moon to a Kokopelli statue that actually played flute music. While Alex loved the haunting sounds of the native American flute, she found it somewhat disconcerting here amid all the marble and glass. To her it was music for the canyons and the wild places.

She crossed the cool, elegant lobby to the bank of three elevators on the far wall. She pushed the button to summon a car, and while she was waiting for one to arrive she read the directory next to them to confirm she had the right suite number from Kayla.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet whoosh, and she stepped inside. The elegance continued here, with marble and mirror. She pushed the button for the seventh floor, and instinctively scanned the car as the doors closed and it began to rise. There was the standard trapdoor in the ceiling, and a smoked glass bubble in one corner that she guessed hid a surveillance camera.

The numbers of the floors were announced with a chime worthy of Westminster. When the light labeled seven lit up, the door slid open to reveal a foyer furnished like some grand hotel. A long table sat beneath a huge mirror on the opposite wall, and on the table sat a huge arrangement of flowers. Hibiscus, fragrant frangipani and a couple of others she didn’t know the names of offhand, but a tropical luxury here in the desert she was sure. And they were real, there was no question about that.

Since she had grown up with this kind of elegance, she had a pretty good idea how much it cost. Assuming there was an arrangement on every floor, and likely several more besides, replacing the flowers alone—for she was certain no droopy or fading blooms were ever allowed—would be nearly a full-time job.

The atmosphere of elegance and wealth made her think of her mother. And the thing she thought of was her mother’s reaction when Alex had told her she preferred to do the gardening herself, to get her own hands dirty. Her mother had been appalled at the idea—although she preferred it to some of Alex’s less genteel pursuits.

The rock climbing about put her over the edge, Alex thought. Funny how belting around a course with dozens of fences aboard over a half-ton of hot-blooded horse was acceptable, but a simple climb to the top of a rock face was not. Her mother lived by a strange set of rules, rules Alex had been forever breaking. That her brother had gotten away with so much more, simply because he was a boy, was a double standard she had bucked until the day she’d left her mother’s home for good. Only the fact that Ben had agreed with her, and on occasion fought it beside her, had made it bearable even that long.

Shaking her head as if to clear it of useless reminiscing, she looked around. A polished brass plaque directed her to her left for suite numbers 701-705. Only five suites taking up an entire side of this building gave her a clue as to the spaciousness of the offices. Rainy had paid a high price, Alex guessed, in her effort to conceive a child. It made what had possibly happened to her even more infuriating.

The door to Dr. Halburg’s office stood ajar by a fraction of an inch. Alex almost laughed at herself as she stared at it for a moment, memories flooding her. This was the third door she’d found ajar since this chaos had started, and each time she’d found somebody with no business there behind them. But this was a doctor’s office, in a large office building, surely…

Making assumptions had gotten her into trouble twice already. This time she’d be ready for anything, and when she opened the door to find a receptionist busy behind a counter and patients sitting quietly in the waiting room, she’d feel relieved, not foolish.

She shifted her shoulder bag and slid her fingers between the two sections so that she could retrieve her weapon in an instant. Then she nudged open the door.

The office was dark.

It was as elegantly, albeit somewhat more contemporarily, furnished as the rest of the building. But it was empty, except for some fish in a large, colorful saltwater tank. No patients. No receptionist. No lights on except one in the fish tank. And apparently, no doctor.

But the door had been open.

Silently, Alex stepped over to the high counter that enclosed the reception desk. Between the open door to the corridor and the fish tank, there was enough light for her to see even though there were no exterior windows. There were no files out on the desk, nothing to indicate anyone had been here at all today.

Curious, she walked around the counter and sat down in front of the computer. She assumed the appointment files would be secured by a password, but she thought it worth a try. And it was. She couldn’t get into the appointment program, or any patient files, but she did manage to open up a calendar. A calendar that had an entry for two days ago, to notify all scheduled patients their appointments for the next ten days were cancelled and would be rescheduled later.

She frowned at the screen. Was the doctor herself ill? Family emergency? Her absence had obviously been last minute.

She sat for a moment longer, looking around. There was no sign of a file cabinet of any size, no patient records. She wondered if Dr. Halburg kept them in a separate room, or perhaps her personal office. There were many other types of businesses besides doctors in this building, she’d noticed, so she hoped they wouldn’t be tucked away in a central file repository as was often the custom in hospitals or all-medical buildings.

She got up and headed through the door at the back of the reception area. Immediately she noticed one door of several, the one at the very end of the hall, was ajar.

Four open doors, she thought. What are the chances?

As Tory had said, nil to none. First, she looked around until she saw a door just to the left marked exit, which she guessed would put patients back out in the hall without having to trek back through the waiting room. Now that she had her escape route should she need it, she reached for her bag again, this time curling her fingers around the butt of her Smith & Wesson.

She crept down to the slightly open door. There must be an exterior window in this office, because light streamed through the crack. She listened for a moment, heard the faint rustle of paper.

The doctor?

She didn’t think so. Her gut didn’t think so.

She nudged the door with her toe, leaving both hands free.

She had barely three seconds to register the scene before her. A man silhouetted by the sunlight coming through the window across the room, bent over the large, cherrywood desk in the center of the office. Files scattered all over the gleaming surface.

The gun in his right hand.

She knew she hadn’t made a sound, but he somehow seemed to sense she was there. The gun in his hand leveled on her as he turned.

She made a split-second decision and dived out of the doorway. She hadn’t really expected him to shoot, and he didn’t. But she’d had about enough of this. She’d had about enough of him.

She ran out the exit door she’d noted earlier and, guessing he would come after her, she headed not for the elevators but for the stairwell at the end of the hall. She would have hit the button for the elevator as a false trail, but she doubted she’d have had time. She knew in seconds that she was right; she barely got through the door to the stairwell—holding it so it closed quietly—before he raced out into the hallway.

The stairway was much more utilitarian than the rest of the building, although it was still painted in coordinating colors rather than the usual institutional gray or white. It was also carpeted.

That would help, she thought. Figuring he would see the stairway and check it out, she grabbed the railing and went over, dropping down to the next floor landing. The carpet indeed muffled any sound.

One more floor, she thought, in case he’s thorough.

She went over the railing of the landing again, down to the fifth floor landing. She’d noticed on the floor above that there were round metal cross supports beneath the stairs. With a leap, she was able to grab one. She doubled up, hooking her feet over another support and lifting her body upward. Now she should be out of sight even if he came down to the next landing and peered over. She could have gone through the door onto another floor, but she didn’t want to risk the noise, plus, she didn’t want a second closed door between them. She wanted to be able to hear what he did.

She’d barely gotten herself into position when a door above her opened. It sounded the right distance away to be the seventh floor door she’d gone through. She waited, listening. Nothing happened for a moment. Was he listening as she was? Then steps began, down the flight above her, to the first landing she’d jumped to.

Okay, so he was thorough.

Assuming it was him. For the first time she wondered what she would say if a startled stranger saw her. But on the next landing, the one above her, the steps stopped again. She held her breath. He was so close now she swore she could smell him, swore she got the faintest whiff of some spicy kind of aftershave or something.

What a stupid thing to notice while you’re hanging here like a giant redheaded bat, she snapped at herself. Keep on task here, Alexandra!

The only time she called herself that was when she was angry at herself. And she was now, because her mind was wandering when she should be focused on evading the man hunting for her.

She closed her eyes, hung there and listened.

Steps again. Retreating this time. And at last the upper door opening and closing again. And then, fainter, another door. He’d gone back to the office.

Still she waited, in case it had been a feint. But at long last she let herself down, gratefully; clinging to those supports for that long had taken some strength out of her. She shook her arms a little, letting the muscles relax after the exertion.

And then she reached for her cell phone and called the cops.

Let Mr. FBI Special Agent Justin Cohen wiggle his way out of this one.

Alex felt a great sense of satisfaction as she sat in her rental car a block away and saw two Tucson Police units arrive. She’d been careful to make her anonymous report casual, saying she’d just passed the office door, seen it open and heard something inside, when she knew the doctor was gone.

She hadn’t mentioned the gun; for all her irritation she didn’t want the guy to get shot by cops going in thinking they had an armed burglar on their hands. At least, not until she learned if he had something to do with Rainy’s death. And he would get it all straightened out, she was sure; for all their irritation with the feds, as Kayla had mentioned, locals still had respect for that FBI badge. But with any luck, it would take him a while to worm his way out of it, explain why he had broken into a well-known doctor’s office.

If he’d fired that shot, then he would be in trouble. She’d have seen to that. No federal agent took being shot at lightly.

But he hadn’t. He’d been under control. All that FBI training.

First she’d caught him in the infirmary at Athena. Then he turned up at Rainy’s funeral. And now she’d found him breaking into Rainy’s doctor’s office. What on earth was going on? What was he really after? He’d been going through files, it seemed….

The scene played back in her head again, that instant when he’d seemed to sense her presence and begun to turn. She’d recognized him as Justin Cohen immediately, even though he’d been only a silhouette against the window.

Her breath caught.

Perhaps because he’d been a silhouette.

The amorphous memory that had been skating around the edges of her mind since the encounter with him at Athena suddenly settled, and began to take shape. She sat there, slightly stunned, thinking of a boy she’d caught a glimpse of so many years ago. A boy they’d all built adolescent fantasies and dreams around, giggling into the night.

Could Justin Cohen be the Dark Angel?

Chapter 13

The Dark Angel.

The mysterious legend of Athena.

The memories and stories played in her mind as she made the drive back to Athena Academy.

It had begun as most legends did, with a kernel of truth, that being the first time he’d been found trespassing on the Athena grounds as a boy, making his wild accusations. It was then embroidered upon by successive classes of impressionable young students, each one adding their own layer to the story whispered in darkened dorm rooms, until the midnight intruder had become an almost mythic figure.

Alex was sure the process had continued long after she had left Athena, and wondered where it stood today, if the Dark Angel had grown even further into fabled fame. Who knew what actions and motives had been ascribed to him by the students by now? He could be the modern Arizona version of Robin Hood by this time. Maybe he had superpowers.

If she hadn’t herself been one of the few to ever actually see him, she probably would have doubted his existence. And as she had told Christine, the fact that she had seen him really had increased her cachet at Athena. Girls would cluster around, begging her to tell the story one more time. New girls would be sent to her for the introduction to the legend. For the first time in her life she had understood what cronies of her grandfather meant when they talked about someone dining out on a story.

So she had known he existed then, and she was almost certain she had seen him again just an hour ago. Then he had been a wild, shatteringly beautiful boy just out of his teens, afire with the passion of his certainty that somehow Athena was responsible for his sister’s death.

Now she guessed he was in his mid-thirties. And he was still darkly striking, but with the mature handsomeness of a man, not the youthful beauty of a boy. His face was fully adult now, his features strong, his body filled out from that near-skinny teenage gangliness. She hadn’t been close enough to see his eyes all those years ago. Now she knew they were an amazing blue-green, burning with bright, fierce passion. The students had never been told his name, but Alex was certain Christine Evans would confirm it.

When she’d seen the Angel, he’d been about twenty. And to her somewhat naive, teenage eyes, he’d seemed the most romantic, exciting male creature alive.

But if she was remembering correctly, the first time he’d broken into Athena had been five years before that, the year after Rainy had started at the academy. She could summon up only the sketchiest of details of that time, since the staff had been so careful not to speak of him or his actions in front of students. She knew only that his sister had died and he had somehow become convinced Athena Academy was, if not totally responsible, at least involved in whatever had happened to her. Alex never really understood why, or even how she had died, because that had also been among the things the adults didn’t discuss in front of them.

Which of course had only made the legend grow larger and faster.

Her cell phone rang as she was pulling in front of the guest bungalow, the special ring that signaled it was one of the Cassandras. She parked and went for it immediately, sliding it out of the belt clip and glancing at the screen. Kayla. She hit the talk button.

“Alex here.”

“It’s me. I’m heading for a dead zone so I’ve only got a minute. I’ve been looking into that other possibility we were discussing.”

Alex knew she meant what Tory had brought up, the chance that this had nothing at all to do with Athena. She didn’t think any of them really believed it, but Tory was right, it was possible, and had to be pursued.

“And?”

“So far nothing, at least with the people you mentioned. All scattered, and as far as I can tell, none even in the state any longer.”

“But there are others?”

“Yes. Sam came through for us via e-mail. She gave me a name. Someone who’s a guest in one of our state-sponsored hotels, with lots of contacts and reasons to be angry. I’m headed there now.”

So, because of Rainy, somebody was in an Arizona state prison. That would be reason enough to want revenge, certainly. “Anything I can do?”

“Not at the moment, thanks. Just wanted somebody to know where I was going and why.”

Alex heard what she wasn’t saying, that none of the Cassandras could take any chances, not now.

“Good thinking,” she said.

“I’ll check back with you tonight. Later,” Kayla said, and as if cued by her words the call was dropped.

Alex disconnected on her end, and found herself feeling good about the fact that Kayla had chosen her to call. Of course, she could have been the only one reachable at the moment, but Alex decided to accept her first thought and not second-guess.

Since the cell phone connection had been short-lived, she hadn’t been able to tell Kayla what she suspected about Justin. And probably wouldn’t have, not on the cell, not until they knew for sure what connection he had to everything.

But still, she wondered what Kayla’s reaction would have been. She supposed it would depend on what the answers were to the questions Alex had been wrestling with when Kayla had called with her news. Tough questions she had no answers for. Yet. Like why was he back at Athena now, all these years later? Could he still be carrying that grudge, the cause imagined or not? The idea intrigued her. Could anybody really love a sibling that much, to pursue this madness for two decades?

She tried to imagine if something happened to Ben. She’d be heartbroken, of course. No matter how he annoyed her with his seemingly aimless lifestyle, he was her brother, they had a lifetime of memories together and she loved him. If something happened to him, if he died and if there was something suspicious about his death, would she have the resolve to hang on that long?

The answer came to her in a different form, when she thought about simply walking away now from whatever had happened to Rainy, who was not even a blood relation to her. The moment she did, the answer became as clear as the desert sky.

Oh, yes, she had the resolve.

So she had to believe the Dark Angel would as well. Justin Cohen, she corrected herself. Now that she knew his name, it would be better to use it. Take some of the mystique away, so she could think about him more rationally.

But that still left the question of exactly what he was after. The simple answer would be that he wanted the truth about what happened to his sister. But things that involved love and family and death were rarely simple. Alex knew that as well as anyone who worked in the law enforcement field. So even if he was looking for answers, if and when he found them, what then? What did he plan to do with whatever he discovered, if there was even anything to discover? Was he looking for retribution? Revenge, perhaps on any Athenan he could get his hands on?

Had he already gotten his hands on one of them, and had she died in a freak one-car accident as a result?

Alex sat there for a very long time, heedless of the heat, her thoughts tumbling. Everything that had happened since Rainy had called her, asking her to come to Athena, no questions asked, ran through her mind. Just the fact that Rainy had invoked the Cassandra promise put this out of the realm of the ordinary.

She supposed it was possible Justin Cohen wasn’t an enemy, but her instincts were so thoroughly aroused right now everything seemed suspicious to her. And his actions definitely fell into that category. Yet, somehow, realizing he was that boy who had so desperately wanted the answers to his sister’s death changed her feelings a little. It was as if they were on the same kind of crusade, and for the first time she truly understood what had driven him all these years.

She wondered if her trick of calling the police on him had gotten him into trouble at the field office in Phoenix. And it suddenly struck her, the unexpectedness of the Dark Angel having become an FBI agent. Why? Had he been driven to that course by his obsession with his sister’s death? Had he had some idea he could one day use his position as an agent to open doors closed to him back then?

She thought back to her own academy days, the hardest sixteen weeks of her life. She’d been in good shape, or so she’d thought, but the physical demands had been beyond what she’d imagined. And the mental demands were only tempered by the fact she’d had the unique training offered at Athena.

So, would someone really go through the entire, difficult process of becoming a special agent—and with a record of getting in trouble, even if Athena hadn’t prosecuted him for burglary as they could have, it had to have been more difficult for him than for the average guy—just to risk it all for a years-old fixation?

And the bottom line was still, why now? Why had he come back now, of all times?

Suddenly all the thoughts, questions, and puzzles whirling in her mind were too much, and she leaped out of the car. Swiftly she walked inside to the phone.

She picked up the receiver and dialed the extension that would ring in Christine’s bungalow. When the woman answered, she wasted no time on preliminaries.

“Did the Dark Angel have any connection to Rainy?”

“What?” Christine asked, clearly startled.

“When he was caught here the first time, when Rainy was a second year, was there a connection?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Christine said. “Why on earth do you ask?”

“Because he’s here again.”

“What?” Christine repeated, clearly startled again. “The Dark Angel? You’re not serious?”

“Justin Cohen,” Alex said, knowing that the name would make her point, since none of the students were supposed to know it.

“Why, yes, that was his name. How did you find out? We tried very hard to keep all that…hysteria away from you girls.”

“You succeeded. We never knew his name.”

“But you know it now,” Christine said slowly.

“Yes. Remember that FBI agent I caught snooping around in the infirmary?”

“Yes.”

She waited, silently, for Christine to make the connection. It didn’t take long.

“I…you mean he is Justin Cohen? The Dark Angel? Are you certain?”

“I ID’d him through the FBI. But you would be certain, too, if you’d actually seen him. He was at the graveside service. And I saw him again at Rainy’s doctor’s office. He was apparently searching through her files.”

“The FBI is investigating this?” Christine sounded both astonished and upset.

“No.”

“Then what was he—”

“He’s apparently doing this on his own, from what I can find out.”

“Oh.” Christine went very quiet for a moment. “You mean he’s still on his crusade?”

“So it would seem.”

“But…you think he was looking for Lorraine’s files, at her personal physician’s office? Whatever would he want them for? What does that have to do with his sister?”

“My question exactly.”

“I see. No, Alex, honestly, there was no connection between them that I know of.” She paused a moment before adding, “But it does seem very odd that he should turn up just now, doesn’t it?”

“Very odd,” Alex agreed, although the word she would have used was suspicious. Very suspicious.

“What are you going to do?”

Somehow, during this discussion, the chaotic thoughts had calmed slightly, and out of the mess had crystallized the only logical course of action.

“I’m going to find him,” she said. “And ask him what the hell he’s up to.”

“Hopefully he’ll tell you, you being a fellow FBI agent,” Christine said.

“Oh, he’ll tell me,” Alex promised her.

One way or another, he’ll tell me.

She realized she was pacing, already eager to start, take some action. Any action. Mental puzzles were all well and good, but sometimes she just needed to do something.

But before she hung up, one last question to Christine popped out before she even thought about it.

“How did his sister die?”

There was a long pause that made the answer all the more significant when it finally came.

“She died in childbirth.”

Alex’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. Christine said no more, but long after she’d hung up Alex still stood there, her gaze unfocused, all those thoughts, possibilities, improbabilities and coincidences rattling around in her head all over again.

Childbirth.

Rainy’s eggs.

What in the hell was going on?

Chapter 14

Alex had spent a restless night and woken determined to take action. Christine had her hands full with all the new students this week. Kayla had work. Alex’s job was to pin down the Dark Angel. But where?

She had to think of him as Justin, she stopped and corrected herself yet again. If she ever let that out he’d probably never talk to her, since he likely had no idea he’d become such a famous figure at Athena, let alone one with a nickname like that.

Through Kayla she found out that Justin had talked his way out of the situation she’d tossed him into with the police. Alex sat in her car for a moment, thinking.

She’d done nothing so far this morning but dress in the lightest-weight clothing she’d brought and then run down to her car, when she should have been figuring all this out. Lot of good it did her to be sitting here in the car—other than to put the air-conditioning on full blast so she could stand to be in it—with no idea of where she was going to go first.

Mental abilities had been stressed as much as and sometimes more than the physical at Athena. And that had included understanding people. Her time with the FBI had only honed that ability. She just had to remember that although this was so very much more personal, she still needed to handle it as if it were a case she’d been assigned to.

So, think! she ordered herself silently.

What would Justin do now? She ticked off the possibilities.

The first one that came to her was that he could go back to Dr. Halburg’s office. Now that would fit the determination—or the stubbornness—of the man, or at least what she knew of him. Anyone who could hang on to a grudge for twenty years wouldn’t give up at the first sign of trouble.

She also had a sneaking suspicion it was what she herself would do, under the circumstances.

She supposed he could quietly go home, wherever that might be. Somewhere in Phoenix or a suburb, most likely. But that course of action didn’t seem very likely to her. This was a man with a mission, and going tamely home to sulk wouldn’t get it done.

He could continue his search somewhere other than the doctor’s office. Back at Athena, perhaps. She considered that for a moment, then reached for her cell phone and called Christine, who was currently in her office in the administration building.

“That subject we were speaking of yesterday?” she said. “That…returning pest?”

“The winged one?” Christine asked, quick to pick up both on her meaning and the need for discretion.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Alex said. “Keep an eye out. It may come back.”

“Oh? Do you think it will be flitting around the same light?”

“Probably. If it does show up again, catch it and hold it. I want to see exactly what it is.”

“I think I can manage that,” Christine said.

I have no doubt, Alex thought. And, she added as she hung up, good luck to anyone who thinks you can’t because you’re a bit gray.

“Now, back to the possibilities,” she muttered as she stood the phone in the cup holder of the rental car.

If he didn’t go home, to the scene of the most recent crime, or to Athena, then where would he go?

Maybe back to Phoenix and the FBI office, to try and cover his butt there should anyone from Tucson P.D. decide to make a call and let his superiors know what he was up to. Now that was a definite possibility. In fact, he might just try that first, then go on to one of the other options. Although she didn’t know what kind of story he could concoct that would explain what he was doing in a closed doctor’s office without betraying what she assumed he was keeping secret from his employer.

Maybe he’s so far gone he doesn’t care about that anymore, she thought. Maybe he’s just decided to go for broke, damn the torpedoes, throw caution to the winds, and all those other clichés men use when they wanted to justify an action they had to know was reckless.

As her own thoughts echoed in her mind, she suddenly found herself trying to picture Emerson doing anything reckless. She couldn’t imagine any circumstances under which that would happen. And for the first time she wondered if any of his great success as a surgeon resulted from playing it safe, from simply refusing to do operations that were too chancy.

Deciding that was unfair, and that she didn’t know anywhere near enough about his work to make that kind of judgment, Alex turned her attention back to the problem at hand. Finding Justin Cohen.

Christine would handle it if he showed up back at Athena, so that was covered. She really didn’t think he’d go and sit quietly at home; if he was that type, he wouldn’t have shown up at Athena or Rainy’s funeral in the first place.

That left the FBI office and Dr. Halburg’s.

“Okay, then,” she murmured aloud, “I have to drive through the outskirts of Phoenix to get to Tucson anyway, I’ll just go by way of the FBI office.”

It was only two or three miles off I-10, if she was remembering correctly. And she thought she was; while still at Athena she’d spent some time there observing.

She put the now blissfully cool car in gear and headed off the Athena grounds and toward the freeway. She took the eastbound ramp and brought the car quickly up to the speed limit. She settled in for the drive; it was fifty miles to the 7th Street ramp, so she had some time. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do when she got there…. It struck her then, the obvious answer.

“Well, duh,” she muttered.

She started checking off-ramps the moment she got into the urban sprawl that was now Phoenix. She looked at the signs of business that looked easily accessible, spotted a 24/7 convenience store and bailed off the freeway. She pulled up to the pay phone in front, wondering if soon anyone but people who had something to hide would ever use them.

She checked the phone book, then dug out a quarter. She picked up the receiver then immediately dropped it, it was so hot. She really was out of the habits she’d learned here to deal with the heat.

She stepped back to the car and grabbed the linen jacket she hadn’t put on because of the soaring temperature. She draped it over her hand and then picked up the receiver again. She took the quarter, slipped it into the slot and dialed.

“FBI,” a deep male voice answered on the second ring.

“Yes, is Agent Cohen in?”

“I’ll check. What’s it regarding, please?”

She’d known that was coming. “I have some information he wanted, about some property I had stolen.”

She hoped that would be enough, that the man who answered the phone would assume it was the receiving stolen property case and leave it at that. To her relief, he did.

“Hang on just a moment, please.”

If she’d been smart, Alex thought, she’d have found a pay phone inside. Inside someplace air-conditioned. It was true that most times ninety-five degrees here didn’t seem as hot as ninety-five in more humid D.C., but once it broke one hundred, it didn’t matter much anymore.

As if on the thought she spotted a thermometer hanging outside a bank building. It read one hundred and nine. And as she watched, it rolled up to an even one hundred and ten. She stifled a groan and hoped the coolant system in her rental was in good shape, that the—

“I’m sorry, but Special Agent Cohen is in the field.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I’d guess not until tomorrow. I’ll be glad to take the information for him or have him call you.”

“No, I’ll call back tomorrow. Thank you,” she said, hanging up quickly before he could protest or insist—or ask her what her name was.

She got back into the car and started the engine so she could turn the air back on. For a moment she sat there and pondered, wondering if he were really gone or just not taking calls at the moment. But her gut was saying that her first guess had been the right one, that he would go back to Dr. Halburg’s. Probably after business hours. She got back on the freeway and settled in for the two hour drive down to Tucson.

After a few miles with her mind racing in too many directions at once, she resorted to a time-tested tactic. She turned on the radio. It was tuned, loudly, to a station that made her wince, and she quickly hit a button. That put her on some classical music, which she left on. She didn’t know enough about it to know this piece by ear, but she knew that classical sometimes worked best when she had a lot to think about. She guessed it was the lack of lyrics to distract her. Whatever problem she was facing got pushed just far enough back for her subconscious to work on.

But this time, when she reached Tucson she wasn’t any closer to figuring this all out. There was no scenario she could come up with that fit all the scattered pieces they had that didn’t also stretch her ability to suspend disbelief to beyond the breaking point.

It was easier, she thought, for those on the outside to believe in huge conspiracies. Those in the agencies that investigated such things knew how rare they really were, which was why they were so much harder to convince.

She was too early for the end of the day, so she stopped by the Carrington house and paid her respects again to Marshall, and to Rainy’s parents, who were staying through the weekend.

She reached Dr. Halburg’s office building hours later, more determined than ever to find the man who might have answers about Rainy’s senseless death. At this hour, as the business day ended, the parking garage was emptier, and she saw as she went down the ramp that she would have almost her pick of spaces. She parked much closer to the elevators this time. She got out and turned to lock the rental’s door. And froze midmovement.

She turned to stare down the row of parking spaces. She took three steps out into the lane and looked closer. She was sure of it, it was the same car. That same nondescript dark blue sedan she’d seen here before, between the Mercedes and the BMW. Nondescript enough to be a government car.

Only now it was parked in a different spot. All the way back near the entrance, which was why she’d missed seeing it until now. Backed in, in fact, as if someone were already feeling eager to leave.

Or escape.

She leaned back into the rental car to punch the trunk release and grab her linen jacket. She walked back to the trunk and opened it. She tossed in her bag, but before she locked it away, she took out the Smith & Wesson model 386 she favored not only because it held seven rounds instead of five, but because it could fire both a .357 magnum or the nearly universally available .38 special ammo. She slid it into a small clip holster, fastened the weapon at the small of her back and slipped on the linen jacket to cover it. She locked the trunk and the car, then slipped the keys into her pocket to free her hands completely.

She was glad now she’d worn lightweight, flexible canvas shoes. Contrary to the scenes on television or in movies that made her laugh and wince equally, running in high heels was never wise, not when one wrong step could result in a broken ankle for you and an escaped quarry for the Bureau.

Or in this case, an escaped quarry for herself.

Which makes me, she thought, as she took the same path she had this morning, just like him, in a way.

Maybe, she amended silently. She wasn’t out for revenge, or retribution, just answers. Of course, she couldn’t promise that when she got those answers her quest wouldn’t change.

She retraced her route of yesterday. As she entered the cool marble lobby, she wondered how many times Rainy had walked this same path, perhaps praying for good news as she went, hoping against hope that this time there would be new life growing within her.

Alex’s stomach tightened, and she fought off a shiver as her dear friend suddenly seemed so very close. It only pointed out to her how far away Rainy was in reality, and the shiver eventually won out. She picked up her pace.

She crossed the lobby at a trot. She spotted an office labeled Information just down the hallway. She decided to risk taking a moment or two to see if they knew anything about Dr. Halburg’s absence.

The woman behind the desk was a friendly, grandmotherly type. Fortunately, she seemed to be the type to mind everyone else’s business, as well. And was more than happy to share what she knew, even though she’d been about to leave for the day.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Halburg is on vacation. Well-earned, may I say. She works far too hard. She’s an excellent doctor, the best in the city in her field, so she’s very much in demand. But she needed this break, she was looking a bit weary. And I think this is the first vacation she’s had since she moved into this building three years ago.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, escaping before the woman could start prying into her business there.

This time one of the elevators was already on its way down. She glanced around, wondering where she could hide if her quarry happened to be using this public exit.

There was a ladies’ room just down the hall, and while she couldn’t see the elevators, anyone who came out of them would have to walk through her field of vision. She ran quickly that way and ducked inside. She grabbed a paper towel and rapidly folded it into a small, thick square that she used to prop the door open a tiny fraction of an inch, just enough to press her eye to.

A well-dressed woman, elegant and imperious enough to fit the building, was the only person who came out. A woman who reminded Alex of her mother for more reasons than one. She waited a minute to be sure, then went back to the elevators.

The doors slid silently open when she reached the seventh floor. Alex peeked around from where she’d hidden in front of the control panel. The foyer was empty. She stepped out of the car. Knowing now where the exit door was, and its proximity to the doctor’s office, she paused there. As she expected, she wasn’t able to open it from the outside.

It suddenly occurred to her that there was another unlabeled door a bit farther down the hall from the patient exit, and she wondered if it could be a direct exit from Dr. Halburg’s personal office. She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the layout of the suite as she recalled it. She’d only gotten a brief glimpse of the office yesterday, but as she reconstructed it in her mind, it seemed possible.

Best if she assumed it was, she decided. Assume he had two exits, which complicated things. Of course. She went down the hall.

This time the door to the office suite was closed. And locked. He was being more cautious this time. Assuming, of course, he was in there.

It took her about ninety seconds to do this lock. She was too rusty, she’d have to get in more practice. Then again, at the rate she was going she’d have plenty of practice before this was over.

This time she was the one who left the door open, so she could hopefully hear if he somehow got past her and went out the back way. She crept inside then stood and listened. She heard nothing, either in the reception area or back toward Dr. Halburg’s office. She moved with exquisite care down the long hallway, pausing before the door to each examination room, listening, barely breathing herself before she risked a look inside, verified the room was empty, and went on to the next.

Finally she reached the doctor’s office. The door was closed. She stopped to consider. There was no sign he was here this time, but she didn’t think that meant much. He’d either been careless the first time, leaving those doors unfastened, or he’d done it intentionally in case he had to make a quick, silent exit. If it were her, she’d probably close the doors after herself, making the office appear untouched from the outside to any casual observer.

Which meant he could be anywhere. Behind any of these many doors, in any examination room or back in Dr. Halburg’s private office. And if he was, testing the knob to see if it was locked could alert him and send him out that back door into the hall.

She leaned forward, pressing an ear to the tiny space between the door and the jamb and keeping her own breathing as quiet as she could. She heard nothing, no movement from inside.

Remembering the bright sunlight from the doctor’s window, she glanced downward. Indeed, light spilled out from under the door. She knelt down and, knowing it was a bit risky, rested her head on the floor until she could peer under the door with one eye. She watched for movement. Nothing disrupted the flow of light, no shadow cut across it.

It was time. She’d done all she could from out here. It seemed the room was empty, but she had to work on the assumption an armed man, very likely with interests contrary to her own, was on the other side. So the only question left was whether to try to maintain secrecy for as long as possible, or go for the surprise—and noise—of speed.

Surprise, Alex thought. I’m tired of stealthing around.

She reached out and let her right hand hover just above the doorknob. Her fingers curled. She took a deep breath. Exhaled it until she was fully relaxed.

In one swift motion she grabbed, turned and pushed hard on the doorknob. It went easily. She dodged to one side, out of a possible line of fire. There was no reaction from inside, and she looked around through the opening door into what appeared to be an empty office.

She waited. No sound came, no movement.

She took one step inside.

An arm snaked out and grabbed her shoulder from behind. A voice, low and masculine, spoke.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chapter 15

Alex reacted instinctively and instantly. She spun around, breaking the grip on her shoulder before it could tighten. Face-to-face with her attacker, she moved her right knee. He reacted as quickly, pulling his hips back against an expected hit to the groin. The movement brought his chest slightly forward. Just as she’d hoped.

She grabbed his shoulders. Used his own forward motion to jam his chest downward. His position made it impossible for him to resist. She shot her knee upward, as hard as she could into the target he’d presented to her. Hit him just below the sternum.

Bull’s-eye, she thought as she heard his breath whoosh out. He doubled over. She gave a slight push backward. Felt his balance go. Released him and stepped back. Out of his reach. He hit the floor on his backside. Given the muscled shape of that backside, she didn’t think he was hurt much.

She put one hand on the butt of the gun at the small of her back. She didn’t pull the weapon on him, even though she was positive he was armed. Drawing on a fellow agent was more than she was willing to do.

Yet.

“Now,” she said coldly, “you and I are going to have a little talk, Special Agent Cohen.”

One arm still crossed tightly over his abdomen where she’d kneed him, he slowly looked up at her. She was more than a little pleased that it took him a moment to gather the wind to talk.

“Suckered me…didn’t you?”

“Men,” she said dismissively, “always think a woman’s going to go for the groin.”

His mouth twisted into a wry, pained smile, and he looked about to say something. Then she saw him notice the position of her right hand behind her back. The smile faded.

“That’s not necessary,” he said.

“Isn’t it? You’ve become a chronic trespasser at Athena Academy, you show up at my friend’s funeral, and then here, where you were obviously lying in wait and attacked me the moment I came in the door.”

“I didn’t attack you,” he began.

“I’m a woman alone, you’re a man,” she pointed out. “What was I to think?”

His mouth twisted then, giving her a look she supposed she deserved. “Oh, please,” he said. “Like you couldn’t handle any guy that came along.”

“How was I to know that you knew that? Besides, you’re armed. But don’t change the subject. What are you really doing, Special Agent Cohen?” She purposely used the full title again.

“Look, can I get up?”

He had the brains to ask, at least, she thought, and nodded.

“Well?” she prodded when he’d eased his way back onto his feet. The backside, she noted, was as fine as she’d remembered. And uninjured, apparently.

“I’m…on a case,” he said finally.

Her fingers tightened on the grips of the pistol. “I doubt very much if you’re going to find any leads on your stolen property case here in a doctor’s office. A fertility doctor’s office.”

For an instant surprise glinted in his eyes. Likely at her knowing about his official case, she guessed. But to his credit, he didn’t try to deny her words.

“Why do you think I just waited here for you to show up?”

“Good question,” she snapped. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been trying to get you alone, so I could talk to you.”

“You had a chance to talk to me back at Athena.”

“Not before that…woman arrived.”

He snorted inelegantly. Not that it detracted from those smoldering, dark good looks. If she’d had to imagine how the gorgeous boy she’d seen that night would have turned out, this would be it. He was standing straighter by now, and she could see he was well over six feet. And solid. Very solid. She realized how lucky she was to have landed that knee in the exact spot necessary to wind him.

“Look, I meant what I said. I wanted to talk to you. I figured you’d come back here, and—”

“I only came back here because I figured you would.”

“Exactly.”

Temper jabbed at her at the idea that she’d been so predictable to him. But then, he’d been predictable to her, as well.

“So, we both want answers,” she said. “You go first.”

His mouth quirked upward at one corner. For an instant he looked like the Dark Angel again, that intense, impassioned young man who had branded her consciousness by his very existence. He took her breath away now just as he had then, and when he spoke again, it took her a moment to tune in to the words.

“—both get what we want.”

If he knew what she wanted, she thought in that moment, they’d likely both be embarrassed beyond belief. She was, simply by thinking about it.

Snap out of it! she ordered herself sharply. “What do you mean?” she said, figuring that was safe enough.

“I mean, can we go somewhere and talk?”

She glanced around the office, but still kept him in her peripheral vision. “Don’t you want to tidy your mess?” she asked sweetly.

“It’s not my mess.”

Her gaze snapped back to his face. “What?”

“It was like this when I got here the first time. Why do you think I had my gun out? I didn’t know if whoever it was was still here.”

Her gaze darted quickly around the room. The only thing out of place was the pile of tossed folders, apparently patient files, that covered the mahogany desk and spilled over onto the floor. Instinctively her mind shifted into crime-scene mode, and she found herself thinking it would take light fingerprint powder and dark cards to lift anything off the very dark wood of that desk.

As for the folders and papers, she’d be looking at DFO and then maybe ninhydrin, the reagents that reacted with the amino acids in the sweat that caused fingerprints to be left. She grimaced at the thought. The chemical was hazardous, irritated the eyes, skin, respiratory system, and since it meant using the fume hood, it was one of her least favorite processes.

And lifting prints without destroying any writing on the documents was tricky. Not that she would expect, considering these people seemed to be pros, to find any prints.

Except perhaps those of Special Agent Justin Cohen.

“And here I thought it was just for my benefit.”

“If it was, it failed miserably, didn’t it?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re FBI, too.”

She blinked. He’d obviously done some checking of his own.

“A buddy of mine in the office said somebody from D.C. had called, asking about me,” he explained as if she had actually asked. “Tried to pass it off as a woman with a personal interest, but I haven’t met a woman in years I haven’t managed to piss off.”

“Obsession will do that to a woman,” she said easily.

“Obsession?”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You still have some crazy idea that someone at Athena is involved in your sister’s death.”

He seemed surprised at her knowledge. And this time she answered him as if he’d asked.

“You became rather a legend at Athena, after the first time you broke in. Everybody knew the story.”

“Everybody,” he said, as if through gritted teeth although his jaw didn’t seem to clench, “knows nothing.”

“Apparently you think you know something.”

“I do. I always have.”

“Funny, and here I thought the FBI beat fantasy out of its agents.”

“It’s not a fantasy. Look, I’ll tell you the whole story. Then you decide.”

She raised one brow. “And why am I any different than that ‘everybody’ who knows nothing?”

He hesitated. “I saw you that night. The second time I broke into Athena, seventeen years ago.”

It was her turn to be surprised. She grimaced. “I was a kid then.”

“Your hair hasn’t changed much. When I saw you again it didn’t take me long to connect you to the girl with that mass of red-gold hair.”

“When?”

“What?”

“When did you see me this time? How long have you been watching us?”

“Since I read about the crash, and who the victim was, in the paper.” He shrugged. “I’ll tell you the whole thing, but we’d better get out of here. I’m not sure I can talk my way out of getting caught here again.”

She hesitated just a moment longer, looking at him assessingly.

“Want me to give you my service weapon?” he asked, lifting one dark brown eyebrow.

“Not a bad idea,” she said easily. “But I’ll just keep mine handy.”

“An armed truce, then?”

“Peace is best maintained between those evenly matched, someone once said.”

“Lady, you’ve run me ragged since you got to Arizona, not to mention putting me on the floor just now,” he said, his tone dry. “I’d say we were even, with or without sidearms.”

She didn’t miss the compliment, but chose not to respond. “What about whatever you were looking for here?”

“I told you, it was like this when I got here. These files are all Cs. But,” he added, “there’s no file here for Lorraine Carrington.”

It didn’t surprise her, she’d expected something of the sort. She highly doubted this was just some filing that hadn’t been done. Judging from Cohen’s tone, he doubted it, too.

“I saw a coffee shop across the street,” she said suddenly, not certain what had sparked the suggestion.

“That’ll do, if we can find a quiet table away from everyone.”

As it turned out that wasn’t difficult; even iced-coffee drinks weren’t selling briskly on this meltingly hot day. They left their cars in the cooler garage and walked across the street.

“I’ve gotten out of the desert heat habit,” she muttered as the welcome blast of air-conditioned air hit her as they stepped inside.

“It’s tough if you weren’t born here.”

She studied him as they sat down, him with a frappuccino and she with a lemonade iced tea.

“And you were?”

“Yes.”

“And your sister?”

His fingers tightened around the plastic cup that held his chilled drink. “Let me tell you about her.”

Alex opened her mouth to say she only wanted to know what his business was here and now, so she could decide if he was a threat to Athena, but just as quickly she closed it again. She did want to know what had driven the Dark Angel.

“All right,” she said instead. It was what she’d come after him for, after all.

For a long moment he fiddled with the stir stick in his drink. “Crazy,” he muttered. “I’ve thought about telling you this for days, but now I can’t seem to figure out where to start.”

“Tell me about your sister,” she said quietly. “What was her name?”

“Kelly.” He looked up at Alex then. “She was…incredible. Our parents were killed in a car crash when she was eighteen. I was only thirteen. They stuck me in foster care. But she worked like a dog, sometimes two jobs, trying to save enough money to convince the state she could take care of me.”

“She must have loved you very much.”

“She did. She was the only one who did.”

“What happened?”

“She found a way to get enough money. More than enough. She didn’t tell me that at first, though. She only told me she couldn’t see me for a few months, but after that, we’d be back together for good.”

“A few months? What did she have to do?”

He looked at her steadily, as if trying to calculate how she would react. Finally he said bluntly, “Be a surrogate mother.”

Alex sucked in a harsh breath. Her mind began to race, and she had to rein it in.

“She took money for it, to help me, and it killed her.”

“You mean…she died giving birth to someone else’s child?”

“Yes.”

A surrogate mother. Rainy’s eggs. A shiver ran through her and she was glad when he began to speak again, because she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“She saw it as a way to get the money she needed to get me out of foster care.”

No wonder he was so obsessed with his sister, Alex thought. She’d essentially died for his sake.

“They paid her fifty thousand dollars,” he said.

“That’s a lot,” Alex said neutrally. “And it was even more then.”

He nodded, staring down at his cup as if the answer to life was floating by. When he didn’t go on, Alex prodded slightly.

“Why couldn’t she see you?”

His head came up. He looked at her intently. One corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been smile or grimace. “Bingo,” he said softly.

“What?”

“That’s what was fishy about the whole thing. She said they couldn’t know about me. That it was crucial they never find out I even existed.”

“They?”

“The people who set it all up, and who would take care of her when the baby came.”

Alex frowned. “What difference could it make if they knew she had a brother?”

“That’s what I wanted to know. She couldn’t tell me, she just said that they insisted she had to be single, with no ties.”

Alex pondered that for a moment. “Maybe they just thought there would be less chance that she would change her mind and want the baby herself.”

“That’s what I thought, at first. But after she died…”

He stopped. He stared down at his drink. She looked at him, at the dark semicircles of thick lashes, in the unfair way of nature more beautiful than most women’s.

“After she died,” he went on, his voice low and taut, “I got to thinking that maybe they had wanted her not to have any ties for another reason. That maybe they just hadn’t wanted her to have anyone who might come looking for her, or ask questions.”

Disposable, Alex thought, the first word that popped into her mind.

She realized she’d become caught up in his story, and to be honest, a tiny bit fascinated with the idea of sitting here across from the Dark Angel as if it were normal. He was still every bit as intense and dramatically handsome as he’d been then, and after all those years of hearing the legend repeated it was difficult to believe he was really here.

A flash of heat shot through her, startling her. It was a moment before she realized that the attraction it had taken her a long time to admit to had morphed into something else, something hotter, stronger, deeper. She stared at him, the one part of her mind she could still call sane at this instant hoping fiercely he wouldn’t look up and see her gaping at him like a landed fish.

What was happening? She was going to marry Emerson, she had no business going into heat over another man. Especially this one. She tried to quash the burgeoning feelings, told herself she was indulging in some adolescent fantasy gone amok, but she knew better. She’d been attracted to him before, yes, but it had only changed to this after she’d come to know him, admire him.

She knew then she was in big trouble. It was a tremendous effort for her to refocus on his story.

What he’d told her so far was so awful that it was with a great effort that Alex brought the conversation back to her main concern.

“What,” she said, “does all this about your sister have to do with Athena?”

“I’m getting to that.” He ran a finger through the condensation on the side of his plastic glass. “When the time came, Kelly called me from her apartment. Said the baby was coming, fast, and she’d be on her way to the hospital as soon as they came to get her. She sounded scared.”

“They? Not medics or an ambulance?”

He gave her a sideways look. “No. Another fishy part of the deal.” He paused, took a breath like a rider about to start a cross-country run, then plunged ahead. “The next day I hadn’t heard from her. I called the hospital and they wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone. So I went down there. Raised a ruckus, but they wouldn’t let me see her.”

Alex could picture it all too well. The young, desperate boy, helpless against an adult system that decided for him what he should know, where he should be, what he should do. It made her own gripes about her childhood and her mother seem pretty shallow and pointless. And that helped her wait quietly for him to continue when he could.

“Finally a doctor came, and he told me she and the baby hadn’t made it. That there had been complications, bleeding….”

He stopped, and Alex stayed silent again; the memories were piling up on him, she could sense it, and knew this was not the time to prod him to hurry, even though she was impatient to find out what on earth all this had to do with Athena. Or at least, what it had to do with Athena in his mind.

Besides, she was feeling a bit of a pang herself, at the thought of a scared young girl, dying alone, in pain, surely feeling the whole world had turned against her when all she’d been trying to do was keep what was left of her little family together.

After a couple of moments he continued. “The hospital called the authorities, to take me back to the foster home.”

“You just find out the only family you have died and they couldn’t wait to turn you back over to foster care?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Oh, the nurses were really nice, and were worried about me, but what else could they do with an angry teen? Anyway, while I was sitting at the nurses’ station—so they could keep an eye on me, I guess—before the child welfare people came to take me back, I heard them talking.”

“The nurses?”

He nodded. “About the private nurse who had been taking care of her, and what a…a pain she was, ordering everybody to stay away from her patient.”

Alex couldn’t even begin to imagine what his feelings had been, a fifteen-year-old boy left alone in the world like that. No wonder he’d been looking for someone to blame, someone to hate. Life had not been kind to the young Justin Cohen. First his parents, then his sister. It really was amazing that he’d pulled himself together enough to end up where he was now. And perhaps not so amazing that she’d gotten all tangled up over him.

“And then, later, I found out about the fifty thousand in her bank account, which she’d instructed was to be mine if anything happened to her. Even after she was dead, she was still taking care of her little brother.”

And suddenly Alex wished she hadn’t called the cops on him yesterday. She didn’t want him to lose what he’d managed to gain despite such a rocky start.

But there was still one question he hadn’t answered.

“I understand, Justin,” she said gently. “But I still don’t know what all this has to do with Athena.”

He looked up, met her gaze levelly. And answered. “That nurse I mentioned? The private one taking care of Kelly, and ordering everyone else to stay away from her?”

An idea leaped into her mind in the moment before he spoke and confirmed it.

“It was Betsy Stone.”

Chapter 16

The cool air in the coffee shop, which had been so welcome when they’d come in, seemed icy cold to Alex now. It crept over her like the cold of the morgue. She rubbed at her bare arms, barely managing to suppress a shiver. She welcomed the distraction when her cell phone rang. She had planned to ignore it until she saw it was Kayla.

“Excuse me,” she said, a mechanical expression of manners drilled into her from childhood.

Justin nodded, and she picked it up, wondering what Kayla would say if she mentioned who she was with right now, and what he had just told her.

“Nothing,” Kayla said, before Alex could ask. “I saw the guy, and whatever kind of arrogant jerk he was before, the Arizona State Prison system has taken it out of him. A real reality check. He’s just humbled enough that I believe him.”

“Good enough for me. Can I call you later?” She would need to let Kayla know as soon as possible that she knew now who the Athena connection was.

“Sure. I’m heading back to the department.”

“I’ll reconnect with you there,” she said.

After she’d hung up and set the phone down on the table, it took her a moment to bring herself back to the reality sitting across the table from her. Justin was looking at her as if he knew perfectly well that the call she’d just received had something to do with what they were sitting here talking about. But to his credit, he didn’t demand that she tell him. He was apparently smart enough to realize she didn’t trust him yet and wasn’t about to tell him anything until and unless she did.

Instead he merely looked at her, a glint in his eyes she couldn’t quite decipher, except that it held a hint of challenge.

“Afraid somebody might realize you’re with me?”

She shoved her phone back into her purse with more force than necessary. “Hardly,” she said, more vehemently than she’d wanted to.

He arched one dark brow at her. “Afraid of yourself with me, then?”

She just stopped her jaw from dropping. “Oh, please,” she said. But behind the effort at sarcasm was a niggling doubt, and the fear that maybe he was right.

She forced herself to focus once more. She had no business wondering if she was falling for this man when there were far more important things for her to be concentrating on.

Betsy Stone, his dead sister’s nurse. It all seemed so incredible, but really, was the story of Kelly Cohen’s horrible death really any more unimaginable than Rainy’s death was to them? Weren’t the Athenans and this man dealing with the same kind of horrible nightmare, two decades apart?

“Go on,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from her tangled emotions.

After a moment Justin nodded and picked up his story. “I could never prove Athena had anything to do with what was done to Kelly or her death. But I knew Stone worked there. It was all I had to go on.”

“You were only fifteen,” Alex said, because she felt as if she needed to say something.

His mouth quirked. “Believe me, I know. I was never allowed to forget that fact. Nobody wanted to take me seriously. No one even wanted to talk to a kid about it, especially a wildly angry one.”

Something in his tone got through her chill. She remembered the young man she’d seen that night, a few years after the first time he’d gone to Athena, could imagine how much angrier and fiercer he must have been the first time, immediately after his beloved sister, his only relative, had died.

“And a scared one?” she suggested softly.

“Oh, very,” he admitted easily. And she liked him for that. Among other things, some of which she hadn’t admitted even to herself. “I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.”

“Did they send you back to your foster home?”

He nodded. “It’s not that they were that bad, my foster family, they really weren’t. I’ve heard of much worse. But after all this had happened, they kept me on a pretty tight rein. They were ordered to, I think.”

“I’m sure they were worried about you.”

“About being responsible for what I did, anyway,” he said. Then he shook his head as if at his own words. “No, that’s not fair. They did the best they could, and they were genuinely trying to help.”

And again she liked him for saying that. It would have been easy for him to have come to hate everyone associated with that time. That he didn’t, or wouldn’t let himself, said a lot about him. It seemed there was much to admire about him besides the looks that made her pulse kick into overdrive.

His words also told her he was more rational about it all than perhaps she would have liked. If he wasn’t a crazed obsessive, then there was more likely some foundation to his story and he couldn’t be dismissed outright. Nor could his suspicions about Athena.

“So you went back?” she asked.

“I had no choice. I wanted to run away, because I knew if I stayed they’d be watching me like a hawk. There’d be no way I could go to follow up any clues. I thought if I could get away I could use the money they’d paid her for having the baby to find them.”

“That seems rather fitting.”

“I thought so. But I knew if I ran away and then tried to access the money myself they’d find me, catch me and take me back or throw me in juvie. I was between the proverbial rock and a hard place.”

“What did you do?”

“First, I tried to hire a private investigator.”

She blinked. “You did?”

The idea of that determined fifteen-year-old boy walking into some private investigator’s office floored her. At fifteen, getting through her courses at Athena had been her biggest problem. And if she’d had any trouble, she had her grandfather to turn to. Justin had had no one. She felt another tug of that growing admiration and began to wonder just how much trouble she was in.

“For a while, anyway,” he said. “But I couldn’t find a P.I. who’d take me seriously, either. Finally I went back to the nicest one and asked if he would at least make some phone calls for me. I told him all I needed was an adult to ask the questions, and I’d pay him as if he were out doing real P.I. work.”

“And he did it?”

“Finally. That’s how I found out Betsy Stone, his part-time nurse, also worked at Athena. And that all the hospital records showed that Kelly and her baby had died from complications during the birth.” He let out a long, compressed breath. “The P.I. said Dr. Reagan had a small, exclusive practice, and there was no breath of scandal attached to him. No one had anything negative to say.” He paused. “I looked into Reagan myself, once I finished FBI training and was assigned to Arizona. Dr. Reagan had died a few years back from heart failure.”

Alex stopped rubbing at her goose bump-covered skin. “Do you have a first name?”

“Yes. It was Henry. Dr. Henry Reagan. Why?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, “just trying to keep everything straight.”

But inside she was shaken. Very shaken. Although he likely didn’t know it, Justin had just added a solid and very heavy block of credibility to what had seemed to be far-out and very unlikely speculation. But no longer could he be written off as simply an obsessed man driven by some childhood conspiracy theory. Nor could she deny that his sister’s death and Rainy’s were somehow connected.

Because Dr. Henry Reagan had been the name on the medical charts about Rainy’s appendectomy.

“I’ve kept track of Athena Academy for years, hoping for a clue. I knew who Lorraine Carrington was. When I read about her death, I checked into it,” he said.

“Rainy,” Alex said. “Call her Rainy. She hated being called Lorraine.”

“Oh.”

He seemed disconcerted by that, as if knowing her nickname made her more than just a name in a newspaper.

“And you?” he asked. “Are you Alex instead of Alexandra?”

She eyed him warningly. “For those I’m on a first-name basis with, yes.”

“Okay, Ms. Forsythe,” he said with a wry smile. “I saw you on television. That obnoxious bimbette of a reporter who cornered you all at the funeral.”

Okay, points for that, Alex thought. Most men just saw the good-looking blonde part.

But she hadn’t realized Shannon had actually put anything on the air. “She actually ran some of that tape? What could she possibly have used? We all creamed her, and surely she wouldn’t put Tory’s face on the air, when they’re in such hot competition on rival networks.”

“No,” Justin said, “she got around that by just showing all of you on film and voicing over it herself. The only real sound bite she used was from you.”

“Me?” That startled her.

“You don’t seem the type who’s hungry for notoriety, or to get her face on television.”

Alex blinked. “What?”

“She played a clip where you asked—too disingenuously if you ask me—if you were really going to be on the news. Her voice-over implied that you were eager to be on TV, because most Athena graduates were upset that they weren’t as famous as they had expected to be. Not in so many words, but the inference was definitely there.”

Alex smothered a disgusted groan.

“I assume she edited you?” he asked.

Alex grimaced. “Oh, not much, only the part where I pointed out she’s the only person ever to be kicked out of Athena, for incompetence, lying, stealing and trying to frame someone else for it.”

His brows rose. “Really?” He looked thoughtful. “I didn’t know she’d ever been a student at Athena at all. So, then, the subtext she was trying to plant must be that you’re all jealous of her, because she’s got face time on the little screen and you don’t?”

Okay, more points for picking up on that so quickly, Alex thought. He was piling them up at a rapid rate.

“Probably,” she muttered.

“Now isn’t that just too interesting.”

“What’s interesting to me,” Alex said, “is how she found out about the funeral at all. It wasn’t announced or advertised.”

As soon as she said the words, all the points she’d been mentally tallying for him suddenly weren’t worth as much, and she asked him the question she now realized she should have thought of long ago.

“Which brings me to how you found out about it, in time to show up.”

“Simple,” he said. “I called the Pinal County sheriff, where the accident occurred. They knew.”

“So you badged it out of them?”

“I hardly had to push. They had no reason not to cooperate,” he said mildly.

“Of course not,” she said dryly. Then another thought occurred to her, and her gaze narrowed as she looked at him. “What about the morgue?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The morgue. What were you doing there?” Her voice rose a fraction as the memory of that hand reaching for Rainy’s body came back to her with the force of a blow. “What were you doing to Rainy?”

He frowned then. “I didn’t do anything. I was never at the morgue, or even at the hospital. I thought it would call too much attention to my poking around on this. I’m already skating a fine line.”

She stared at him for a long, silent moment, trying to decide if she believed him or not. She wanted to, and that scared her a little, given the effect he had on her.

“I won’t say I didn’t think about it,” he admitted. “But I figured I’d just get a copy of the autopsy when it was filed, and that would be one less place I’d have to stick my nose into.”

“Especially since you’re not supposed to be sticking your nose in anywhere near this case.” She didn’t miss the faint grimace that tightened his mouth. “So how much trouble are you in?”

“Some,” he said with a half shrug. “But not a lot. Not yet, anyway,” he amended wryly. “Although you didn’t help any, with that stunt yesterday.”

“At the time, I thought you had it coming.”

“And now?”

“Now, I haven’t decided yet.”

So, she thought, if he hadn’t been the one in the morgue, then there was no way—or should be no way—he could know about the egg mining. And if he didn’t know about the egg mining, then there was one more obvious question.

She asked it.

“What makes you think Rainy’s death has anything to do with what happened to your sister?”

“I don’t know if it does. I just know that anything suspicious having to do with Athena or anyone from Athena was something I wanted to check out. And then I heard the rumor that you and the others suspected it was murder—”

“Where did you hear that?” she asked sharply.

“Well, I didn’t hear that in so many words, exactly,” he said. “I heard from the locals that you were…having trouble accepting that it was an accident, I think was how they put it. And then when the reporter said you thought it was murder, I put it together.”

“I’d like to know where the bimbette heard it,” Alex muttered.

A trace of a smile flickered across his face before he continued. “Anyway, the more I dug, the stranger the whole thing got. And when I found out your friend had been going to a fertility specialist that occasionally recommended surrogates….”

He ended with a shrug, and Alex felt a little burst of relief. He really didn’t know about the egg mining. Assuming, of course, that he was telling the truth. But he’d been honest so far, at least as far as she knew. And while what he’d told her was hardly the basis for a rational investigation, she supposed it was enough for a man obsessed.

“So that’s why you were poking around in Dr. Halburg’s files?”

“That’s why I went there. But like I said, the office was already a wreck when I got there today.”

“So why were you at Athena?”

“Which time?” he asked.

She felt a drip of moisture from her glass run over her finger as another piece fell into place. “It was you, wasn’t it? The other night at Athena?”

“You mean when you rode off into the mountains and were gone until daylight?” he asked sourly. “Yeah, that was me. All I wanted to do was talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you simply say so, then?”

“I knew that the fewer people who saw me on Athena grounds, the better. I didn’t want to get caught there again, and be facing harassment charges or something. And you weren’t alone that night in the barn.”

Alex stifled a grin. “But I was.”

“You were what?”

“Alone.”

“Well, after the other woman left, yeah, and I started toward the barn, but by then you were coming out on that horse and I couldn’t catch you on foot. So I—”

“There was no other woman.”

“—watched and waited, until…. What did you say?”

“There was no other woman.”

“I mean the woman who came out of the barn right after you went in and—” He stopped himself abruptly. He stared at her. “That was you? With the drawl? But she was smaller, shorter and—”

At her nod, his expression went from disbelief to sheepishness, followed by a slow shake of his head and the most rueful chuckle she’d ever heard.

“Damn,” he said, “you’re good.”

“Okay, you get your points back,” she said, and even when he looked at her quizzically she didn’t explain. She didn’t think she could, not without betraying more than she was ready to about how she was coming to feel about Agent Justin Cohen.

She drank the last of her tea with lemonade. She stirred up the ice that remained in the plastic cup. He’d already drained his frappuccino a few minutes ago. They sat in silence for a long time before he spoke again, and when he did his voice was quiet, almost gentle.

“From what little I’ve been able to find out since Kelly died and I’ve been focused on Athena, I’ve learned that it’s a very special place.”

“It’s more than that,” Alex said, responding to his tone. “It’s a way of life, a goal, an achievement, a touchstone and…home.”

She’d not often put it into words like that, and that she’d done it now, to a virtual stranger, surprised her. She was used to not talking about it to anyone on the outside at all, so this seemed doubly odd. But also necessary; perhaps if he understood, he would realize what he might be damaging with his relentless crusade.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I don’t mean any harm to that. But I’m going to find out what really happened to my sister. I wish that it wasn’t all tangled up with Athena, but I’m certain that it is.”

Alex wished she could deny it, so vehemently and positively that he would be forced to believe it, forced to go away and leave them alone.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny it at all, not with the knowledge she had about what had been done to Rainy. Athena, or someone there, could very well have been involved, just as Kayla had suspected.

And that tore at the very foundation of her life.

Just like his sister’s death had destroyed the foundation of Justin’s life?

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, tugging at the heart of the girl who’d once woven midnight fantasies about a darkly passionate young man.

And she told herself she’d better remember that there were two sides to all this.

And both sides had already lost a great deal.

Chapter 17

Alex felt numb. She went through the motions, got back into her car, slipped off her jacket and put her weapon back into the satchel holster, got in, started the engine, put it in gear, released the brake, exited the parking garage, negotiated the streets of Tucson, got on the right road to get to I-10 and back to Phoenix.

But she did it mechanically, feeling little, not even the heat. If she hadn’t left it on when she’d turned off the car, she doubted she would be able to think clearly enough to turn on the air-conditioning.

She tried to think of a time, any time, when she’d felt this way. There was none. The closest she could come up with was when she was nine and they had feared G.C. was having a heart attack. The thought of losing him had been devastating, and the first real trauma of her sheltered life. She’d never really known her father, had seen little of him since he’d never been close to her or her brother, and his passing years ago had made barely a ripple in her life. The only thing she’d learned from it was that death was indeed final and forever, but since she’d never had to apply it to someone she really, truly loved, the lesson lay dormant, waiting.

But G.C. was something else, he was the cornerstone, the core around which all else had revolved in her child’s world. She hadn’t even had Athena then, not yet, so her grandfather was also the only center her life had had. As a child she had lived for the weekends and summers she and Ben spent with him, and only much later had she realized what he must have had to do, arranging his busy and complex business life, to be able to spend that much time with his grandchildren. And how he must have been trying to make up for the absence of his son, their father, in all of their lives.

The thought of losing her grandfather had terrified her beyond dealing with, and she had gone into complete, total denial, refusing to admit even to herself that it was happening at all. She had hidden from it, immersing herself in reading, music, television, even sneaking out of the house at night, wanting the intense concentration it took to get out unheard, anything that would help her pretend that grim reality wasn’t out there, hovering.

But it had turned out to be something benign, she couldn’t even remember now what, and her life had quickly settled back into its pleasant course as she pretended it had all been a bad dream or a mistake.

When the time came, after her brief rebellion, she went to Athena, and it gave her what had always been missing in any relationship outside of hers with her grandfather and sometimes her brother, a sense of tightly knit family, of people you could count on no matter what, of the kind of bonds built by choice rather than by familial ties.

Now that was being threatened. Athena was the place where she’d grown up, the place that had provided her the stability and structure she needed. It was the place her grandfather had helped fund and build, it was the kind of home she’d never had with her mother, the place closest to her heart outside of the farm.

It was everything she’d told Justin it was, and more.

And she was too old now to go into denial. Rainy was dead, and the answers to why were tied somehow toAthena. She would have to deal with it, not just hide out in her room and hope that it all went away. But she was honest enough with herself to admit that that was exactly what she wanted to do.

The only way that would be possible would be if she refused to believe anything Justin had told her. And while she still didn’t trust him—he’d gone about this whole thing too crazily, and she was wary of anyone with an obsession, especially one that had lasted nearly twenty years. While she wasn’t one hundred percent convinced everything he’d told her was the truth, she couldn’t dismiss everything he’d said out of hand. If for no other reason than that single name of Doctor Henry Reagan.

Images unwound in her mind, images that could have been from a childhood dream come true. Sitting across a table from the Dark Angel, his attention focused completely on her as he poured out the story of his life. How many times had she—and countless others at Athena, no doubt—fantasized about just such an event? Dreamed of being the one, the only, that the Dark Angel trusted enough to tell the truth to? Of what it would feel like to be that chosen one?

But like so many childhood dreams that one day came true, this one had become real long after she’d stopped caring about it.

Oh, now there’s some denial, that little voice in her head cried.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Admit it, she told herself with the first spark of real feeling that had burned its way through the numbing chill, you don’t trust him because you don’t want to. Because then you have to face the effect he has on you. And the fact that you already feel more connected to him than to the man you’re supposed to marry.

Once the burst of emotion had passed she was able to look at it more rationally, to realize that her undeniable attraction to him was only part of it. That she had more solid reasons not to take on faith everything Justin had told her, not the least of which was that people with obsessions rarely saw things regarding that obsession clearly. And since his had started so young, who knew what false assumptions he had made along the way that had brought him to the conclusions he’d reached?

She knew she was flailing, trying desperately to make sense of it all, to decide what to believe. But no matter what she did, no matter how she twisted and turned it, the same thoughts stubbornly kept returning. Not the least of which was, if it hadn’t been Justin at the morgue that night, then who had it been? And what was Betsy Stone’s part in it all?

By the time she got back to Athena, she had a theory. A horrific one. But it fit all the facts. And most of the conjecture.

She parked and went straight to her bungalow, still hardly feeling the heat. Once there she began to pace, running it all through her mind over and over again.

She needed to bounce this off someone. Someone who understood the importance, someone she didn’t have to start from square one with.

Only one person came to mind. The same person she had once bounced all her big ideas off of. Kayla.

This was too big to let some old spat get in the way. She started toward the bungalow’s phone, to avoid using the cell. That thought reminded her she’d turned her cell off after Kayla had called while she was with Justin, and she ran back to grab it out of her satchel and turn it back on. It immediately beeped a message at her.

Restraining her impatience she dialed her voice mail. And got what she’d half expected; an order, thinly disguised as a polite request, that she get back to D.C. ASAP. Like yesterday. They’d been swamped with new cases, and they needed her.

Not now, Alex groaned inwardly. There was nothing worse than stumbling just when you were hitting your stride over the jumps.

For an instant, she toyed with the idea of just calling in her resignation and staying here until this was finished. She hardly had to work for her living, after all. But she’d worked hard to get where she was, harder than many, simply because of who she was. She had to be better than everybody else before anyone would believe she or her grandfather hadn’t bought her way in. And even then she ran into that prejudice so often it made her tired.

But she had also had her supporters, people who didn’t care about the Forsythe name, people who believed in her and her abilities. She couldn’t let them down.

The bureau had put a lot of time and money into training her, and had a reasonable expectation that it would pay off for them. She had also given her word, by swearing that oath, that she had entered into this office without any mental reservation. That was not a promise she would break easily or lightly. A Forsythe was always as good as their word, G.C. often said. And she’d die before she’d let him down.

Later, she told herself. Worry about that later. Deal with the here and now.

She called Kayla’s cell. She answered just before it went to voice mail.

“Lieutenant Ryan.”

“It’s Alex. I need…some of your time.”

Kayla read the undertone in her voice. “Urgent?”

“Yes.”

“Can you give me five, maybe ten minutes to wind something up here?”

“Good enough. Can you call me back on a secure phone?”

Bless her, she asked no questions. “I’ll use the scrambler on my end. Where are you?”

“The bungalow.”

“Got it.”

It was a bit less than five minutes when the phone rang. Alex grabbed it in the middle of the first ring.

“What’s up?” Kayla asked.

“I had a long talk with the Dark Angel today.”

She hadn’t meant to start there, but that’s somehow what came pouring out first.

“What?” Kayla almost yelped.

“His name is Justin Cohen. He’s the FBI agent who broke into the infirmary, the one I told you about. And I found him at Rainy’s doctor’s office today.”

Kayla let out a low whistle. “The Dark Angel is FBI? How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know. We never got to that, there was too much else.”

“This isn’t good news about the Dark Angel reappearing again after all these years, is it?”

“No. Very little of this is good news.”

“I closed my door. Let me lock it and close the blinds, so no one’s tempted to interrupt.”

Alex heard her set the phone down, heard the tinny sound of metal blinds being flipped closed. Then Kayla was back.

“Okay. I’m sitting down and ready.”

“First of all, I’m convinced now there’s no connection to Rainy’s legal work. There’s just too much happening on the other front, and my gut’s telling me that’s where the answer is.”

“All right,” Kayla said, “we drop that and focus on the rest.”

Just that easily, she took Alex’s word. Alex took a breath, then plunged ahead. “Kayla, I need you to listen, hard, to a lot of stuff. And not say anything until I’m done.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

And in more or less the order she’d learned it in, Alex told Kayla everything. It took a very long time. And Kayla was as good as her word, she said nothing but “Go ahead,” whenever Alex had to pause to organize her thoughts or untangle something that had come out confusingly.

Alex tried to keep her opinion and suspicions and conjecture out of it, merely telling her friend what had been said and what she’d learned elsewhere, differentiating between fact and supposition.

At long last, she was done.

“Damn.” Kayla said nothing more for a very long time. But finally, in her organized fashion, she said, “All right, let’s break it down. If we take what he told you as true, what do we have? Facts, Rainy is dead. Cohen’s sister and her baby are dead.”

Alex fell quickly into the old method they’d used long ago to work their way through complex problems. “Supposition, Rainy’s eggs were mined. Fact, Kelly Cohen died being a surrogate.”

“Supposition, Rainy’s eggs were used.”

“Fact, someone broke into the morgue and tried to steal Rainy’s body.”

“Supposition, it was to cover something up.”

“Fact, someone broke into Rainy’s fertility doctor’s office. Supposition, or maybe probability, since it was the C files that were disturbed, is that they were looking for her file.”

“And throw in the sizable coincidence that said doctor is out of town unexpectedly at the very moment we needed to talk to her,” Kayla said.

“Yes, there’s that, too. Then, fact, Rainy’s supposed appendectomy was faked.” Alex was pacing again, quickly, as if the speed helped her stay controlled as they batted through the incredible list.

“Also to cover something else up. Supposition, the egg mining.”

“Fact, the same doctor that faked the medical records on Rainy was Kelly’s physician.”

“Supposition, they’re connected somehow. Which means this is very long-term.”

“Fact,” Alex said, her voice tight, “Betsy Stone was involved in both cases.”

She waited, and at last Kayla said it. “Supposition…Athena is involved.”

“And the Dark Angel has been right all along.”

Alex could think of nothing else to say, and it seemed Kayla was in the same boat, for the silence spun out over the line like an almost palpable thing. It was as if they were both sitting there watching the world they’d known and loved crumble around them.

“Alex?” Kayla’s voice sounded small, as if she were weary beyond believing. Alex knew that feeling, all too well. “What if…there were more?”

Alex let out a long, compressed breath she hadn’t really been aware of holding as Kayla voiced the thing she hadn’t yet had the nerve to put words to.

“They mined a lot of eggs,” she said. “More than they would ever need for just one fertilization.”

“My God,” Kayla whispered. “Stolen eggs, surrogate mothers…”

“Indeed.”

After a moment Kayla asked, “Does he know all this? Cohen?”

“Not about the egg mining, or Rainy’s connection. I wasn’t about to tell him anything yet. His sister’s baby died, so I didn’t think he needed to know Rainy might have been the biological mother.”

“All right,” Kayla said briskly, “we need to plan what we do next.”

“I,” Alex said, “have to get myself back to D.C. or I won’t have a job left. I got a rather fervent voice mail from my boss, and an e-mail to back it up.”

“Then you’d better go,” Kayla agreed. “I’ll keep checking the files at Athena, and keep tabs on Rainy’s doctor and go see her as soon as she returns.”

“Good,” Alex said.

“I’ll question Betsy Stone, too,” Kayla said. “I’ll ask her about that Dr. Bradford Christine mentioned, see how she reacts. It’ll probably be easier for me, you’ve had more personal contact with her than I, from when you—”

Kayla broke off suddenly. And with a flash of that old intuition that had always worked so well on two girls closer than sisters, Alex knew what had just hit her friend.

“Oh, Alex,” Kayla said, her voice full of an emotion that warmed Alex. “I didn’t remember until just now. You had an operation, too, when we were at Athena.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause before Kayla asked quietly, “Do you know?”

“No. Not yet.”

“God, I’m sorry. How you must be feeling!”

“There’s no use panicking until I know for sure,” Alex said. Then, wryly, added, “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“I wish I’d remembered in time to give you a hug,” Kayla said, for the first time since they’d reestablished communication sounding like her old, impulsive self.

“So do I,” Alex said softly, acknowledging in tone if not so many words these first tentative steps back to their old friendship. But they had other decisions to make, and she went quickly back to the matter at hand. “What else?”

Kayla responded quickly. “The other possible surrogates. Let’s call Darcy on that.”

“I was going to call everyone, but why Darcy in particular?”

There was a moment’s pause. “You didn’t know? No, I guess you wouldn’t have heard, she told me on the drive, before we all connected at the funeral. Darcy’s running a private investigations business.”

Alex blinked. “She is?”

“It’s new, but off to a good start. She can check out the surrogate angle.”

“Does that have something to do with her disguise at the funeral?”

Kayla’s pause seemed slightly accusatory. “Darcy left her husband. He was abusive. But he’s a powerful man, and she’s hiding while she figures out how to legally be free of him.”

Alex drew in a breath. “We’ll help her. There must be something we can do.”

“She hasn’t accepted help so far.” Kayla’s tone had softened. “But I think starting this agency is part of her taking her life back. She’ll let us know if she needs us.”

“All right.” Alex hesitated, then said quietly, “Kayla…if there were other surrogates, and things went differently…”

“I know. That’s what we have to find out.”

“I know. And we have to find out why.”

They hung up, and Alex sank down into the chair beside the phone, her knees suddenly not strong enough to hold her. If and if and if…

Rainy could have a child.

Chapter 18

The flight from Phoenix back to Washington, D.C. had never seemed so long to Alex. And the last thing she wanted to do was go back to work, to hours in the lab wrestling with bits of trace evidence on cases from all over the country.

What she wanted was to stay on this case, this case that was lodged painfully near her heart. This was the case that counted, that mattered.

You sound like Justin, she thought. And didn’t have the energy to deny it.

She had made the promised calls, but had only connected with Darcy. Josie was still on extended temporary duty and Tory was back on a news assignment and unreachable. She’d sent an e-mail to Sam, and would check later for a reply. But right now, it was up to her, Kayla and Darcy.

By the time she landed in Washington, she was exhausted mentally and felt physically beaten. She even thought about taking a cab home so she wouldn’t have to drive, but the hassle of coming back for her car later made her decide against it.

On the flight she had considered calling her grandfather when she arrived, but right now it was just too much to even think about telling him what was going on. He would be as devastated as she was over the grim possibilities of treachery and murder at Athena. And she just couldn’t deal with that right now.

It wasn’t until she had actually made it to bed that she remembered she couldn’t have called him anyway, he was in Tokyo until tomorrow.

She told herself it was just as well, and laid her head on the pillow. She immediately went to sleep, but had she realized how haunted her dreams were going to be, she might have put it off a little longer.

Alex studied Emerson across the elegantly appointed formal dining table that her mother insisted on using even though there were only three of them.

Dinner with her mother was the last thing she wanted to be doing. But since she hadn’t seen her in several weeks, and since she had caught up on her sleep last night, she had no real reason to say no. So she had dutifully agreed.

Her mother had requested that she invite Emerson, and that was a request Alex was glad to fulfill. She wanted the buffer. Her mother, predictably, adored Emerson, and Emerson made no secret of the fact that he thought Alex would do better—at what she wasn’t quite sure—to emulate her mother more.

Right now the two of them, Emerson seated at her mother’s right hand, her mother at the head of the table of course, were involved in an animated discussion. It concerned, as near as Alex could tell, the presumptuousness of some people. What particular group they were on now, she didn’t know; she’d tuned out when they’d started in on those who wanted to join the DAR when their ancestor had been on the other side. Next would probably be upstart newcomers who wanted their grubby children in the pony club.

She supposed she could think of something she cared about less just now, but it would require more energy than she had to spare. And it was only worsened by the fact that she wanted desperately to be back in Arizona, digging deeper into Rainy’s death.

“—are you, Alexandra? You seem miles away. Don’t be rude, dear.”

Really about two thousand miles, she thought. “I’m sorry,” she said, belatedly spearing a bite of the asparagus with hollandaise that Margaret, the cook, was so very good at. “I was thinking about Rainy.”

“I see,” her mother said. “Well, that’s understandable, I suppose. But really, it does no good to continue to dwell on the negative.”

“Absolutely,” Emerson said with a nod of agreement. “These things happen, but you have to move on.”

If her mouth hadn’t been full of asparagus, Alex was certain she would have gaped at them both. She wasn’t really surprised at her mother, but Emerson’s callousness had caught her off guard. It was probably just as well she had to swallow before she could speak; it gave her a moment to calm down. So when she spoke, looking at Emerson, her voice was carefully level.

“Is that what you tell the families of your patients that don’t make it?”

Emerson had the grace to look abashed. “Of course not!”

“So you feel you don’t have to be as kind to me as you are to them?”

“Alexandra, whatever are you saying?” her mother broke in, sounding more upset than she had when Alex had told her of Rainy’s death in the first place. “Emerson said no such thing, he was merely pointing out that one can only grieve for so long. As I should know.”

The reminder that she was a widow didn’t come as often as it once had. Alex didn’t recall her being particularly grief stricken when her husband, Alex’s father, had died, but she had always tried to give her mother the benefit of the doubt by assuming she had been too young to really realize how the adults around her were reacting. Now, however, she was feeling less charitable, and more given to thinking she’d been right in the first place.

“No, Veronica,” Emerson said, very gently. “Alexandra is right. I was unforgivably dismissive about the death of someone dear to her, something I would never do to a patient’s family. I apologize, my dear.”

And just like that, Alex remembered why she was engaged to this man, who could in a moment shed the air of quiet superiority and become one of the sweetest men she’d ever met.

“Accepted,” she said, and he reached across the table to take her hand in his, those hands that had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him, even before his golden blond good looks. Hands you would expect on a world-class surgeon, long-fingered, lithe, supple.

They could be exquisite lover’s hands, as well, and once she had looked forward to finding out if they were. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now she was questioning the entire relationship, all because she was having a highly inappropriate reaction to a certain FBI agent.

She had expected his heart and mind to match those hands, and had only belatedly realized that he was so good because when he was in the O.R., the patient was no longer a person to him but a case history. She supposed that was the way it had to be, for him to continue to function on that kind of level.

Now she wondered if she’d just been rationalizing, going too far in her effort to see Emerson as the man she wanted him to be.

“Now that we’ve gotten over that,” Veronica said, “are we ready for dessert?”

How very like her, Alex thought, to slide in that little dig at me, making my protest to Emerson sound like a childish whine.

“Your mother—” Emerson said as they finally left, or escaped, in Alex’s view “—is the most charming woman. My mother already thinks a great deal of her. I think they’re going to get along famously.”

Alex winced inwardly at the idea of a mother-in-law as bad as her mother. Birds of a feather. But she managed to say evenly enough, “I imagine they will become very good friends.” Perhaps his mother will help keep my mother busy, give her less time to interfere in my life.

With an effort she set aside her irritation with her mother, something she’d learned to do very well in her life. Something else Athena had given her—the self-control to choose her battles.

They drove back to her Alexandria home in Emerson’s large Mercedes sedan. Alex relaxed into the rich leather front seat, letting the stress she always incurred visiting her mother seep away. Emerson drove competently, conservatively, and she knew they’d arrive safely.

When they arrived, he parked in her driveway near the steps and sidewalk to the front door. She no longer suggested he pull around back where he could park practically next to the back door. A Howland apparently never used the back door at any house he didn’t own.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” she asked.

“Thank you, no, dear. I have an early surgery in the morning.”

“You could leave from here,” she suggested. “It’s closer to the hospital.”

He frowned. “We’ve talked about this before, Alexandra. You know how I feel.”

All the irritation she’d fought down seemed to bubble up anew. “Don’t you have the least curiosity as to whether we’ll suit sexually?” she asked bluntly, tired of dancing around the subject with him.

She thought she saw his jaw tighten, but his voice was perfectly calm when he said evenly, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

She thought about trying to explain to him that she’d not been asking him for sex, but only asked him to stay because she was feeling very alone just now, that she felt as if life were careening out of control and she simply wanted someone there to talk to.

But with Emerson it smacked of begging, and she wouldn’t stoop that low. She hid her tangled emotions behind a mask of mockery.

“A less confident woman rejected like that might question her own appeal.”

“It has nothing to do with your appeal, Alexandra. You’re a lovely woman, as I’m sure you know. But I’m hardly a boy who can’t control his sexual appetite.”

As if to prove his own words, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a cool, gentle kiss, pleasant and affectionate but hardly full of passion. Alex kissed him back, rather fiercely, determined to see if she could wrest some sign out of him that this wasn’t as easy as it seemed to be for him.

And then he straightened, smiled at her as if he’d noticed nothing out of the ordinary, said good-night and walked down the steps and to his car. He gave her a casual wave as he drove away. Only then did she admit she’d been trying to fire, in at least one of them, the same kind of passion that flowed in her each time she saw Justin Cohen.

Out of everything he’d said, one word echoed in her mind after he’d gone.

Control.

If she had to describe Emerson in one word, she supposed that would be it. Now she wondered if he might consider her, as his wife, one more thing to control. The night he’d suggested she would have to leave her job if she had children came back to her now, vividly and painfully.

She went to bed alone and lay awake long into the night. When she did sleep, she dreamed of times long past, of days spent at Athena, riding the trails in the mountains, watching the sunrise paint the world impossible shades of pink and orange and blue, feeling the cold desert quickly warming to the sun once more. Of Rainy, laughing, alive and proud of the group of women she’d single-handedly pulled together into the best team Athena had ever seen.

And she dreamed of children, all with Rainy’s beauty and charm, her brilliance and her grace, helpless and lost out there in a heartless world that could conceive of such an evil plan, never knowing the joyous, wondrous person who had provided the basis for their lives.

And of Justin Cohen, wildly beautiful and passionately determined in his hunt for the truth.

She woke abruptly, and the remembered image was immediately replaced with a new one, the still charismatic, still passionate man the boy had become.

In those dark hours, she felt a kinship with him. She’d been girlishly awed by him then. She thought she understood him now. Because she, and the others, were in the same boat he’d been sailing alone for so long.

She tried to put him out of her mind, but he didn’t want to go. He lingered, taunting her, reminding her of old imaginings long forgotten. She tried to think of something else. Wisps of her earlier dreams floated to the surface, visions of the children she had seen in that lost world. Rainy’s children. Children Rainy had never known about. Children who had never known her.

Children, she thought as the mists of sleep gradually cleared, who might or might not exist.

Only then, as she came more awake, did a stunning thought hit her. All this time she’d been thinking of Rainy’s babies, helpless babies, stolen from their mother before they were even conceived, implanted in a stranger, like Kelly Cohen, to then be given to some other stranger.

It hadn’t occurred to her yet, the logical conclusion if the same thing had been done to her.

She could have children of her own out there.

She abruptly sat up. It was simply too much to get her mind around, at least right now. And, she told herself sternly, there was no point wasting energy on it when she didn’t know yet if she’d been victimized in the same manner Rainy had been.

But her babies, out there, lost, alone…

And then, as her mind came fully out of the fog of those dreams, she got her second shock. She realized the true math. That if Rainy’s eggs truly had been used for an in vitro process, and if it had been done at the time of harvesting, any child immediately implanted in a surrogate would be over twenty years old now. Rainy’s child—or perhaps more than one—would be barely younger than Alex herself.

It made the search more crucial, somehow. It seemed even more important that they find out, so if there was a child, it didn’t have to go another day without knowing about its true mother.

So she could only hope that, unlike Justin, it didn’t take the Cassandras nearly twenty years to get to the bottom of their mystery.

For the first time since she’d been given her FBI badge and been sworn in as an agent, Alex hated her work. It took every bit of her considerable discipline to force herself to focus on the cases that she’d been handed two minutes after she’d walked in the door. A murder from Chicago, the latest in a string of killings from Atlanta, a kidnapping in Florida and a possible terrorist weapons cache in San Francisco. Her boss had made it clear they all had priority, and the load had kept her running all day long.

Each case deserves my best, she told herself sternly, trying to make herself concentrate. Her co-workers were no help, albeit with the best of intentions. Several of them, seeing she was back, stopped to express condolences, ask how she was doing and inevitably ask if there was anything they could do.

She felt like telling them they could take all this work off her hands so she could go back and finish what she’d started, but she knew they’d already worked hard for several days to cover her absence.

She set her jaw and began. She tackled each case methodically until she finally hit her rhythm and managed to push other thoughts out of her mind. Not that they didn’t keep trying to pop up periodically, but she had managed to armor herself against them, knowing there was nothing she could do about them right now.

She matched the torn edge of a single piece of duct tape that had been removed from a kidnap victim’s mouth, to the end of a roll police had collected from a suspect’s garage. The DNA from the victim was already in for comparison to that found on the tape, but this would give the investigators even more evidence. When she was done she filed the transparent film that preserved the tape with the rest of the documents in the submission package from a county sheriff in Wyoming.

She moved on to the next case, and the bit of glass removed from a hit-and-run victim’s head wound. It was tiny, so this was going to take some time, she thought, but eventually she’d know if this fragment came from the broken windshield of the suspect’s vehicle.

By the end of the day she had made good headway and had a feeling of satisfaction that she was holding up her end. Even her boss seemed pleased, although he couldn’t seem to resist pointing out yet again how behind they were because she’d been gone so long. Of course, part of the reason he looked pleased was because she was still at her desk, clearly working, as he left for the day.

It was an hour or so after her boss had gone that her phone rang. She glanced at the clock, mentally crossed her fingers and reached for the receiver.

“Forsythe.”

“Hello, my dear.”

The sound of her grandfather’s voice on the phone did a great deal to ease Alex’s tension. She was glad she’d waited here at work, hoping he’d call as soon as his plane from Tokyo landed at 5:45 p.m.

“You’re back?”

“Yes, although I’m still in New York at the moment. But your message sounded a bit…urgent. I thought I’d best call the first moment I had.”

She’d called his voice mail that morning, indicating that she needed to talk to him, at length, alone and soon.

“It is urgent, but it’s also not something I want to discuss over the phone.”

“I see.” His voice told her he indeed did see, at least, the importance of the situation. “My commuter flight leaves at 7:00 p.m. I should get in by 8:15. Shall I come straight to the house?”

She let out a sigh of relief. He would be there by nine. In less than three hours she could lighten this load by talking to the one man in the world whose opinion and intellect she respected more than any other.

“You won’t be too tired?”

“I actually slept rather well on the flight,” he assured her. “I’ll be fine for some time yet. So, shall I come?”

“That would be perfect,” she said, meaning it.

“Are you all right, Alexandra?”

It was the concern in his voice as much as his unusual use of her full name that told her he’d read the tone of her voice quite well.

“For the moment, yes,” she said. “Now that I know you’re on your way.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” He paused, and then added softly, “Take care, Alex.”

“I will, G.C. Drive carefully. I love you.”

“And I you, my dear. More than I think you know.”

She hung up, wondering why she’d felt compelled to tell him she loved him. It wasn’t something they bandied about—Forsythes were not extravagantly demonstrative—but just now she’d been unable to resist the need to tell him what he meant to her. That he had returned the sentiment so feelingly told her he understood, and not for the first time she was very, very thankful she had him in her life.

Since she knew if she left now she’d only end up pacing the floor at home, she took the chance to do a bit more work. She set up everything she had to do tomorrow, so that when she came in she could go right to work. Finally at 7:30 p.m. she wrapped up, secured her desk and her lab station, logged the evidence, placed it into the security lockers and signed out.

At this hour the traffic on I-95 had eased somewhat, and she guessed barring any tie-ups, she would make it home in less than an hour.

When she arrived, she thought, she would turn on the exterior light over the back door for her grandfather. Unlike Emerson, Charles Forsythe had no problem with where he entered any house, as long as he was welcome. Then she’d put a kettle of water on the stove, because he’d probably prefer tea to coffee.

Or maybe, she thought with a sigh, she’d just go straight for the bourbon. That alone would warn him how serious what she had to tell him was.

She blinked several times to clear an odd bleariness that seemed to have affected her vision. She slowed and changed to the right-hand lane until it cleared.

She felt an odd wave of heat go through her. It was followed by a remarkable sensation of every last ounce of energy draining away from her. She wondered if the change of climate had had some odd effect. She should turn the air on after all, she thought, but somehow the knob was just too far away. Her arms were too heavy to lift. Too heavy to even move. Her legs wouldn’t move, either, not even to hit the brakes, which she had a vague idea she should.

She’d never in her life been so tired. Nor had exhaustion ever hit her so suddenly. The last thing she remembered thinking was that it was odd that the car wouldn’t stay between the lines. And then she couldn’t even see the lines.

When the crash came, it seemed a far off, distant thing.

Chapter 19

“Let me by, that’s my granddaughter!”

Alex heard G.C.’s voice long before she saw him. She also heard the sergeant who had been taking her information hurriedly tell the young officer who was trying to keep onlookers away to let Mr. Forsythe through. This was one of the few times in her life she was thoroughly grateful for the power the Forsythe name held in this part of the country.

“Hey, I know that guy.” The paramedic, who was tidying up the small cut on her forehead that was the only apparent damage she’d sustained, had also glanced up at the sound of the voices. “Haven’t I seen him on TV? And maybe in the paper?”

“Probably,” Alex agreed.

“He’s some real bigwig, isn’t he? I think I even saw a photo of him with the president!”

“Right now,” Alex said, “he’s just my grandfather.”

Charles had made his way to the paramedic van and was looking at her anxiously.

“Alex! They said you were all right,” he said, eyeing the paramedic who stood there gaping with a pair of scissors and some gauze in his hands, with something like worry mixed with anger.

“I am,” she assured him, with a dismissive gesture at her forehead. “It’s just a little cut.”

He turned to the young man, who seemed to be tongue-tied. Her grandfather often had this effect on people, even total strangers. Even if they hadn’t seen him on television, in the paper or with the president.

“Is she all right?”

“I…er…yes, sir. She will be. It bled a lot, but she doesn’t even need stitches.” He lifted the gauze and scissors. “I was just going to put something over the cut.”

She saw Charles look over toward her car. She didn’t need to see it. As the young trooper who had first arrived at the scene had told her with a low whistle, she was lucky she’d managed to slow down before losing it altogether. As it was the car was a pretty sad sight. She had centered it on an overhanging sign pole, and had she been going faster, she could easily have ended up with the motor in her lap.

“What about concussion?”

Alex had already been through this with the medic, but let him answer. “We don’t think so, there are no signs. She had her seat belt on, and that saved her from anything serious. We think the cut may just be from some flying glass.”

“I’m lucky it only hit my hard head,” Alex put in. “It could have ended up in my eye, and then I really would be hurting.”

Her wry observation seemed to convince her grandfather she indeed was all right, because he immediately took charge and began to issue orders. Alex smothered a smile, not so much because he did it, she was used to that, but because people inevitably—and usually quickly—obeyed him without even thinking about who he was or whether or not he had any authority over them. Commanding presence again, she thought. Something some people never had to be taught, they were simply born with it. Charles Bennington Forsythe was one of those people.

Within a short time he had arranged for her car to be towed to the garage of his choice, even though it was all the way up in D.C., had the sergeant expedite the paperwork so he could take his granddaughter home and had the young trooper so in awe that he could barely speak at all. And for once, Alex let him. She was more shaken than she wanted to admit, and was glad he was there to take over.

It wasn’t until she was ensconced safely in the front seat of her grandfather’s big sedan that she told him what had happened.

“It must have been stress, from all that’s been happening lately, or maybe just serious jet lag from crisscrossing the country,” she said, “but it’s never happened to me before. Not like that.”

“Like what?” Charles asked, driving, she noticed, with extreme care, as if he weren’t yet convinced she hadn’t been damaged in some way.

“Like…just this enormous wave of fatigue. One minute I was fine, and the next, boom. It happened that fast, like…”

Her voice trailed off and she gave a little one-shouldered shrug. When she tried to describe it out loud, it sounded lame.

“Well, you’re going to stay at the farm and rest, young lady, where I can keep an eye on you. And you’ll be seeing a doctor first thing tomorrow to be certain there are no aftereffects. And I’ll brook no argument from you.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said meekly.

“You’re obviously far too exhausted, for something like this to happen,” he went on tenaciously.

“It wasn’t—what did you say? For something like this to happen? Something like what?”

“To doze off at the wheel, of course.”

She went very still. She hadn’t thought of it in those words.

“That’s what they said must have happened. You obviously weren’t drunk, or under the influence of anything. Although I could have told them that without all their little breath tests.”

Alex felt like a slow-witted fool. How could it have taken her this long to realize? She fought down a shudder that came from deep inside her.

She’d just had an accident nearly identical to Rainy’s.

And it was truly only luck, location and timing that had kept it from having the same fatal result.

“My God,” she whispered.

She’d been tired, but not that tired. Not tired enough to just doze off while driving. In fact, anticipating the upcoming meeting with G.C., she’d been awake and alert.

And she’d never fainted in her entire life, so that was out.

Fainted. Blacked out.

One minute I was fine, then everything sort of faded away.

Kayla’s words, describing how she had blacked out while checking the files at Athena, came back to her now. She remembered the odd sensation of distance she’d felt just before the crash.

Rainy.

Kayla.

And now her.

This was insane. It made no sense.

What the hell was going on?

Her mind asked the question, but her gut screamed it already knew the answer.

Once is happenstance.

Twice is coincidence.

Third time is enemy action.

She tried to deny it, tried to tell herself it was silly, that she was becoming melodramatic, that she’d lost all sense of logic and reality. But no matter what she told her reasoning mind, her gut was screaming again, utterly, totally convinced of one thing.

The Cassandras were under attack.

When they arrived at the house, it was her grandfather who went straight to the library for the bourbon. He poured himself a glass, began to reach for a second, presumably for her, then stopped.

“No,” he said, putting the Waterford Westhampton decanter back on the polished silver tray. “I think tea will do for you,” he said.

Alex started to tell him that she was fine, but she really didn’t want alcohol fuzzing up her mind just now so she didn’t protest. She also started to say she could fix her tea herself, but realized her grandfather needed something to do, so she let him.

The sight of him puttering around in the kitchen with a teakettle faintly amused her, as she was certain it would amuse others who knew only his sharp, brilliant, incisive public persona. When he opened the tea box and all he could find were tea bags, she saw one of the very rare glimpses of their aristocratic British ancestors in him when he wrinkled his nose.

“Sorry, G.C.,” she said, stifling a smile, “I just don’t have time to do it properly these days.”

“Hmm. There’s always time to do tea properly,” he said, but fished out a bag nevertheless. “You go sit down in the library, and I’ll be in directly with your tea.”

She obeyed, with a quick side trip she was glad to be able to hide from him, into a bathroom for a look at the damage. She peered at her reflection. She looked a bit haggard, she noted honestly, but the cut really was small. She grimaced at the blood spattered on her silk shirt, but compared to the alternative outcome of being dead, it didn’t matter much.

She hurried back to the library and curled up on the end of the sofa, leaving his preferred wing-chair recliner to her grandfather.

She loved this room with its hunter-green walls and rich-wood trim, precisely because it was the one place in this house where her grandfather’s taste had reigned supreme. He had refused to let her grandmother “frill it up,” as he put it, and banned any and all floral prints, functionless knickknacks, and curvy, delicate furniture. If it was in this room it served a purpose, whether a simple function like the carved jade pen cup, or the more intangible function of pleasing the eye or the hand by form or weight or being pleasant to the touch.

When he came in and handed her a teacup, she could tell by the aroma alone that he’d added her preferred honey and lemon.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. The first sip warmed her throughout, and she let out a long breath, relaxing at last. But not for long, she knew, because it was time. Time to tell him the story that had ripped at the very foundation of her life. She knew it would do the same to him, but he had to know. Especially since that story may well have led to whatever had happened to her tonight.

As she had with Kayla, she asked him to just let her get it out. He nodded and she began. His expression gradually became more solemn, then severe, but as Kayla had, he only interrupted her a couple of times for clarification.

She mentioned Justin and was surprised when he recognized the name as the boy who had been caught at Athena so long ago. And her grandfather was surprised in turn when she told him Justin was now an FBI agent, had managed to get assigned to the Phoenix office, she suspected mainly to keep an eye on Athena.

And she pointed out that apparently Justin had been right all along.

“Vision, determination, passion and perseverance,” he said. “Good qualities for a man. Or a woman.”

He said nothing more, and she picked up where she’d left off. It seemed to take forever. When she was done, he asked another couple of questions, about things she only then realized she’d forgotten to include.

For a long time silence reigned in the elegant, masculine library. Alex stayed quiet, knowing by the way her grandfather had steepled his hands before him and the slightly unfocused look in his eyes that he was pondering, processing. That brilliant mind was at work, and she was content to simply sit and wait for the result.

She hadn’t told him about her own fears, that her own reported appendectomy might have been a sham like Rainy’s. She wasn’t sure he even remembered that it had happened. It had been so long ago and he’d been out of the country at the time. And there didn’t seem to be any point in burdening him with her fears when she wasn’t yet certain there was any truth to them. She would see a doctor for more than just a post-accident checkup, have whatever tests were necessary, and then she would know. Then and only then would she add that into the confused mix. Or, if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to.

She sipped at her tea, a second cup her grandfather had prepared when she’d needed a break in her long discourse. It was well after midnight now, she noticed with surprise when she glanced at the heavy, cherry-framed clock above the mantle. She should be more tired than she was. She wondered with a little shiver if it had anything to do with whatever had happened to her just before the crash.

“All right,” her grandfather said abruptly, and she immediately focused on him. “We have a string of mostly circumstantial evidence, some logical extrapolations, two confirmed deaths and three incidents or attacks on Athenan women that may or may not be connected. Out of that, we have a theory that, while it fits, may not be the only explanation for what has happened.”

Leave it to him to sum it up in a mere fifty words, Alex thought. “That about covers it, yes,” she said.

“So, what is wrong with the other explanations?”

“They require we accept a lot of coincidences.”

“To play devil’s advocate for a moment, isn’t it a bit much to presume all these things are connected, part of some sort of conspiracy?”

“Yes,” she said. It was nothing she hadn’t thought of before. But in his life her grandfather had dealt with stranger things, with those rare genuine conspiracies of one sort or another that had spanned the globe, and she knew he was merely probing all the possibilities, not passing judgment.

“Before we accept this theory,” he said, “there is one very large piece of information missing.”

She knew there were gaps, but nothing that seemed so huge to her. “What’s that?”

“The reason. The final goal. If it’s true that babies were produced, from eggs harvested specifically from an Athenan woman…why? For what purpose?”

Alex went still. His questions smoked in her mind as if branded. Why indeed?

“We didn’t take it that far,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We were so focused on the outrage of what had been done to Rainy, and wondering if she had a child out there, and if so how we would find it, that…we never took it to that logical conclusion.”

“The range of possibilities is somewhat limited by the nature of what you’ve learned,” he said.

“One is that someone is stealing eggs to produce babies for some kind of gain. Black market, perhaps?”

He nodded. “It’s a possibility. Probably the most logical one. It’s a big business, sad to say.”

“Very sad. But…why Athena? Why Rainy?”

“I can only surmise the same answer applies to both. They chose Athena because that’s where the best and brightest were, and they chose her because of her stellar attributes, even among those best and brightest.”

It made sense. “I suppose if you’re going to sell babies, you might as well sell good ones,” Alex said, her voice sizzling with sickened contempt.

“It does make one wonder about the father, does it not?” her grandfather asked.

The father. She hadn’t even thought of that. What man had been chosen as good enough to father the children of the finest example Athena had to offer? The whole thing smacked of something dark and twisted and evil, and Alex had to suppress a violent shudder.

“I wonder if he knows,” she said when she was back under control once more.

“Another good question.” He looked thoughtful again. “I wonder,” he began, then stopped.

Alex’s mouth twisted. “That’s all I’ve been doing for days. You wonder what?”

“I wonder if Athena is the only place they did this?”

That was another one that hadn’t occurred to her. She thought about it for a moment. “I suppose they could have done it elsewhere. Any private boarding school could be a target, I guess.”

“And Athena is hardly an easy target.”

“No. Unless they had someone inside.”

“Who could be Betsy Stone.”

Or, as they’d discussed, Betsy could have been an unwitting pawn herself. Kayla would find out, one way or another.

When the silence stretched out for several minutes, he stood up. “It’s time for you to rest.”

She doubted she would sleep, not with all this tumbling around in her mind.

“I know it’s difficult, my dear. Athena is as much a part of your life as mine, albeit in a different way. An attack on it is an attack on our very foundation. You must comfort yourself with the knowledge that this will not stand.”

He said it with such confidence, such certainty, that Alex felt a slight relaxing of the huge knot of tension she’d been carrying around inside.

“You go to bed. I have some calls to make.” Alex hesitated. “I’ll report anything of relevance or interest to you in the morning,” he promised, and at last she agreed.

She went upstairs pondering the marvel that was her grandfather. How many men his age could fly nearly seven thousand miles, fly some more, deal with a car accident, stay up later listening to and digesting an incredible story, process it and then make phone calls that would no doubt start the process of bringing the world—Athena, in this case—back into proper alignment?

Not many, she would guess. Not many half his age could do it.

Justin Cohen popped into her head. Now there was a driven man.

As she at last climbed into bed, she found herself thinking it was rather amazing that he had been so certain he was right at the tender age of fifteen. Certain enough to fight for his belief for nearly two decades.

Vision, determination, passion and perseverance.

Her grandfather’s words echoed in her mind as she adjusted her pillow and let her head sink into it.

There it was again, she thought drowsily. That word. Passion.

Something Emerson seemed to lack.

And Justin had in abundance.

Chapter 20

Alex sat in Dr. Deanna Jorgenson’s office, ordering herself not to get up and pace. So far it had worked, but she didn’t know how long she could hold out. She knew the doctor had a lot of tests to go over—she’d spent an entire day undergoing them, after all, from X rays to ultrasounds to scans she wasn’t even sure she knew the right name of, applied to every part of her. And the doctor had already pushed hard to get the results all back to her by today, so Alex couldn’t complain about the wait, not really.

But that didn’t stop her from feeling antsy now, wanting to get up and move.

You’re waiting for news that could change your entire life, destroy your entire vision of your future, she told herself. No wonder you’re on edge.

She had tried to concentrate on the mechanics of what she’d done today, had asked questions about each procedure, how it was done, what it would or could show. All to keep herself from thinking about the end result of it all. True, she wanted to know, but she also didn’t want to know because of what it might do to her plans for the rest of her life, even those she hadn’t made yet.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to give up her quest to stay calm that had her leaping to her feet, rather she was already there and then surrendered to the need. She walked over to the window and looked down from the eleventh floor vantage point to the busy street below. This building was in a prime D.C. location.

Dr. Jorgenson had her own practice, but took referrals from the Bureau, and often did other work for them. She also managed to effectively walk the fine line between doctor-patient confidentiality when seeing an agent on a personal health matter, and reporting back when seeing them on an official Bureau referral.

Besides, Alex trusted her. And right now, that meant a lot. More than it ever had before. She’d never been so wary about who to trust before.

She heard the sound of the door behind her and spun around. Dr. Jorgenson, a petite woman with a bob of ash-blond hair touched with silver at the temples, walked into the room with a stack of folders and large envelopes of the kind that usually held X rays or other films. She plopped them down on the desk, sat down in her office chair and turned to look at Alex with a smile.

“Well, Alex, I could drag all these out and show them to you, and read you all the reports, but it would be rather pointless. With the exception of that cut on your forehead, and the safety belt bruise on your shoulder, you’re in very good health.”

Alex frowned. “I am?”

“Well, that’s hardly the reaction I would hope for after giving a patient a clean bill of health.”

“No, it’s just…why did I nearly pass out the night of the accident?”

The doctor tapped a finger on the stack of documents and test results. “I could find no physical reason for that. At least, not a biological cause. Likely it was a combination of jet lag and stress, as you first suspected. Don’t underestimate the effect they can have.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Alex would have gladly accepted that explanation. But these circumstances were hardly ordinary.

“Dr. Jorgenson, I told you about my two friends,” she began.

“I know. Believe me, I looked for anything suspicious that might explain what had happened to you. Even, as you requested, any sign of a mechanical device. It would have shown up on one of the scans. There was nothing, Alex.”

Alex leaned back in the chair. She’d hoped for a simple explanation, but as with everything else that had happened since Rainy’s call had brought the Cassandras back together, there was no such thing.

She supposed she should be glad that Dr. Jorgenson had taken her somewhat odd requests so matter-of-factly, not questioning but just doing. Perhaps she’d had stranger ones, over the years of dealing with the FBI.

“Now, about your other concern,” Dr. Jorgenson said, and Alex sat up straight once more.

“Yes?” She waited, barely breathing.

“Your appendix truly has been removed.”

There’s the first hurdle, Alex thought.

“And, your reproductive organs seem perfectly healthy. No sign of abnormal scarring, and an appropriate number of random egg follicle scars for your age.”

Alex drew in a long, deep breath and let it out, her body sagging into the chair in relief. Her future righted itself, and the thought of children of her own out there, somewhere, unknown to her and she unknown to them, receded.

“Thank you, Dr. Jorgenson. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. It’s always better to deliver good news.” She tapped again on the stack of data. “But if you have any symptoms recur, anything even vaguely like you had that night, I want you to get in touch with me immediately. Don’t brush it off. All right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex said dutifully.

When she finally left the office, she felt a new lightness that was almost heady in its intensity.

She was all right. Whatever had happened to Rainy, it hadn’t happened to her. There would be children, if she wanted them.

Nothing could ease the pain of losing Rainy, and nothing could stop her from finding out the truth about what had happened to her, but for right now, Alex was nearly giddy with relief.

Instead of driving all the way back to the lab at Quantico as she’d originally planned, she called and let them know she’d just finished at the doctor’s and was going home. She knew she was pushing the limits of her boss’s patience, but one more day wouldn’t break him. Besides, she’d pushed so hard since she’d come back from Arizona that she’d nearly cleared up her backlog already, so he had little reason to complain.

When she arrived at the house, she was surprised to find her grandfather there.

“I hope you don’t mind, my dear.”

“Of course not,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “It’s your house, after all. I was just surprised.”

“I had business in the city, and it will continue into tomorrow, so I thought I’d come here and make sure that you were all right. You’ve just come from your appointment?”

“I’m glad you’re here. You can help me celebrate.”

“Celebrate? It was good news at the doctor, then?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. In excellent health in fact,” she said. “Barring any recurrence of symptoms, I’m free to go about my business.”

“Excellent,” he said, as if he’d expected no less. But the way his gaze lingered on her for a moment told her he’d been more concerned than he’d let on.

“Can I fix you some dinner tonight?”

“I thought we might play in the kitchen together,” he suggested. “We used to do that rather well.”

She grinned. “Yes, we did.”

“I picked up some ground sirloin and ricotta.”

“Ah. Do I smell lasagna?”

“Indeed you do,” he agreed.

They fell into old routines easily, and as they worked a memory came back to her, an image of her ten-year-old self, working in the kitchen at the farm with her grandfather, solemnly telling him that unless she found a man just like him she was never going to get married.

Emerson Howland might be of the same social strata but he was nothing like Charles Forsythe.

Later, over a slice of celebratory cheesecake her grandfather had bought in anticipation of good medical news, Alex toyed with the glass that held her last sip of wine. And then, without even realizing it was on her mind or that she’d been about to say the words, she asked, “G.C.? What do you think of Emerson?”

He focused on her in an instant, and she felt as if his gaze was burning through her, analyzing why she had asked this particular question at this particular time.

“You’re certain you want my answer to that?”

She hesitated, but that in itself made her realize she needed to hear what he had to say. “Yes.”

“What do I think of him as a person, or as your fiancé?” he asked.

“Both,” she said, still thinking perhaps she should have let this one lie. But she’d asked, so the least she could do was listen to the answer.

“I think he’s a fine doctor, and likely a good man. He’s bright, responsible and dedicated. He does good work that helps people.”

“Is that the ‘as a person’ answer?” she asked, with some trepidation.

“In part, it’s both. In fact, he’s the kind of man I’m sure most men would be happy to see their granddaughters end up with.”

She did not ask the obvious, did not question that “most,” knowing he would get to it in his own time. It took him a few moments, but he did.

“But most men are not fortunate enough to have you as a granddaughter.”

“You’re saying…the thought of us together doesn’t make you happy?”

“Whether it makes me happy isn’t the issue. Your happiness is my main concern here. Which is why I’m giving you my opinion, now that you’ve asked. If you hadn’t, I would never have spoken about it.”

“Why?”

“You’re an adult, Alex. Entitled to make your own decisions, without being preached to by your elders, no matter if they have your best interests at heart.”

“You’ve never preached,” Alex said. Her mother, on the other hand…

But if her grandfather had an opinion about his daughter-in-law, and Alex was sure he did, he kept it to himself, as he had for thirty years. The closest he’d ever come to admitting he didn’t care for his only son’s choice of a wife had come after that son’s death, when Alex had begged to come live with him. He’d told her then that he understood why she asked, but that her place was with her mother. He’d promised her she would have as much time with him at the farm as could be managed. Then he had rearranged his entire life to accommodate her frequent visits.

“And the other part?” she finally asked.

“I feel that part of the reason Emerson is good at what he does, at least from my impression, is that he views the procedures as mechanical. Heart A powers body B and if valve C fails you do procedure D.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Despite having grown up with him, her grandfather’s keen powers of perception still managed to astound her now and then.

“I’m very much afraid he would approach marriage in a similar fashion. And that, I fear, would not be enough for you, Alex.”

Alex released a pent-up sigh. “You know me too well, G.C.”

“You’re not like your mother. Society and its niceties are not of primary importance to you.” He didn’t express an opinion, not really, but it was there in his voice. “You believe life is for living, and while the niceties are fine in their place, if they interfere with the way you wish to live, you quite properly jettison them. For some people, the social rules are their life.”

“And you think Emerson is one of those?”

“I don’t know him well enough to say, but I do know his parents and so suspect it, yes. He hasn’t the fire you do, Alex. And I’m afraid it would result in you scorching him, or him trying to douse you.”

Alex sighed.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but you did ask.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’ve only put into words what I’ve been feeling myself.”

And that night, when she went to bed, she once again found herself thinking of that child who had sworn never to marry unless she found a man just like her grandfather. She’d meant it then, and in some ways it was an ideal she’d never quite surrendered. Her own thought of just the other day arose to haunt her, and she wondered if she’d been right to be half convinced they simply didn’t make men like Charles Forsythe anymore.

But as she felt drowsiness at last begin to steal over her, the image that formed in her mind was of a dark-haired young man with the flare of passionate conviction in his voice, being led away in handcuffs. The image segued smoothly to the chiseled face of FBI Agent Justin Cohen.

Her final thought in the last moments before she slipped into a deep, calm sleep was, Maybe they do still make them, after all.

Chapter 21

Emerson’s reaction when she met him for coffee after work and told him she wanted to break their engagement went a long way toward reassuring her that she’d made the right decision.

She hadn’t expected him to make a scene—a Howland never would, of course—but he took it so calmly that it was almost an insult.

“I see. May I ask when you reached this decision?”

“It’s been coming for some time. But to be fair to you, and to me, I needed to be sure.”

“If I may hazard a guess, this began when your friend was killed?”

“What makes you say that?” she asked. It had probably started before, but Rainy’s death had brought it to a head.

“Because after that you became so distant and impatient.”

The irony of this jabbed at her. “I thought you always said I was expecting too much closeness from you.”

He had the grace to color slightly. “Well, yes, that’s true. I’m merely remarking that the change in you was quite noticeable after you left for Arizona.”

“If one of your dearest friends was murdered, wouldn’t you be changed by it?”

“I suppose so.”

He supposed so? Alex thought incredulously. And she began to feel a sense of startling relief.

“However,” Emerson went on, “I would leave the investigating to the professionals, I wouldn’t feel compelled to take it over myself.”

She managed, barely, not to point out that she was a professional.

Positive—and now thankful—that she had made the right decision, Alex said, “I don’t know what else to say, Emerson. I’m sorry, very sorry, but it’s better to find out now than have to go through a divorce, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

“It’s just not the right thing for me.”

“I think I know that. I begin to think it wouldn’t be right for me, either.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, but was curious enough to ask, “It wouldn’t?”

“Quite frankly, Alexandra, I didn’t know how much longer I could wait for you to settle down.”

“Settle down?”

“Into a more seemly life for one of your position.”

“Seemly?” she said, aware that she was beginning to sound like a parrot with only the ability to echo.

“Yes. More appropriate to your station in life.”

She bit back the My station?

“More like your mother,” Emerson said.

Ah, there it was at last.

If you’re waiting for me to turn into my mother, you’ll have a long, long wait, she thought. And realized for the first time that that was likely why he’d proposed in the first place, because he assumed she would turn into a younger replica of her mother.

“You mean give up my work completely, and concentrate on social events, being the famous physician’s wife, entertaining your colleagues perhaps, nights at the ballet or opera, with some charity work on the side?”

“Exactly,” he said with a smile of the kind you gave a child when it finally understood the lesson.

Alex sat there silently for a long moment, marveling how a man she’d known for so long, a man she had actually agreed to marry, could possibly know so little about her.

Of course, to be fair, she hadn’t realized how far apart they were herself. Hadn’t realized they were not just poles apart, but solar systems.

“Tell me something, Emerson,” she said finally, “did the age difference between us ever bother you?”

“Not particularly, why?”

“So you don’t feel twelve years between spouses is too much?”

“Not at all, once you’re past a certain age.”

“Good,” she said, standing up and tossing money for her coffee on the table, seeing paying her own bill now as the seal on her new freedom. “Then you’ll have no problem and can marry the woman you really want. She’s only eleven years older than you are.”

His regal brow furrowed. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

She grimaced. “My mother.”

Alex walked out of the coffee shop and felt lighter than she had in months, as if she’d cut the last cord holding her to the world she’d never really wanted to be part of.

Only two things to juggle now, she thought as she got into her car. My job, and what happened to Rainy. And, she amended firmly, not necessarily in that order.

She’d hate to lose her job over this, but if she had to make a decision between it and pursuing the investigation into what had been done to Rainy and how it had led to her death—and the now very real possibility that there might be a child of Rainy’s out there somewhere—then she knew which way she would choose. Luckily, she could afford to.

She frowned. Yes, she could afford to. But she wouldn’t have the option if she were living solely on her rather paltry—relatively speaking—FBI Forensic Scientist II salary. The other Cassandras weren’t all so lucky. Oh, Tory was of course, but she had a career no one would ever expect her to give up and that could help in almost any case. And Josie was wedded to her career. But Darcy was obviously struggling, and Kayla didn’t make a huge salary as a small-town police lieutenant. Sam she wasn’t sure about. She had no idea how much the CIA paid.

If they paid by the IQ, Sam should be making more than the director, she thought with a wry smile.

It hit her then, how to solve several problems, including her own dilemma, one that she’d been wrestling with more frequently as her thirtieth birthday and control over her trust fund came closer and closer. Up until now, all she’d known was that she wasn’t about to throw away those millions the way Ben was doing. She’d planned on turning a large portion of it over to her grandfather’s financial planner; the man had managed to build G.C.’s fortune even through various economic downturns. She’d planned on buying a house of her own, eventually, although she was home so little she was in no rush. And of course she would donate back to Athena, she’d already planned that. Beyond those things, her wants were few.

She finally got the chance to pull out into the traffic on the street. She smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in so long it felt strange to be doing it. But she had made more than one decision this afternoon. And she liked them both.

She would take part of that multimillion dollar trust fund of hers and put it in a new fund for any of the Cassandras to draw on as needed. She knew she’d run into a brick wall if she ever tried to give any of her Athena sisters money, but this would be different. A sort of community kitty, mainly to handle any emergencies like this mess with Rainy, or heaven knew she could imagine them all having to go rescue Sam some day. But it would be a lot easier if none of them had to worry about money to do it. The traveling on Rainy’s case alone was costing all the Cassandras money, and if there was a fund for that kind of thing, it would be one less thing for them all to worry about.

The more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it. She would bring it up with G.C. tonight at the house, she thought. He’d said he would still be there. He could advise her on the feasibility of it. And she thought he would like the whole idea, as well.

The next morning Alex arrived at work revved and ready, excited about her new plan, and about her release from what she could now clearly see would have been a disastrous marriage. G.C. had approved both, which meant a lot to her.

“You’re finding your way, my dear, and I believe it’s the right path,” he had said. “I’m proud of you.”

Nothing could have made her happier than hearing that from him.

On the other hand, her ears were still ringing from her mother’s reaction.

“You what?” Veronica Forsythe had shouted.

“I called it off, Mother.”

“The wedding? Impossible.”

“Quite possible.”

“You will change your mind, immediately.”

“No, I will not. Ever.”

“How dare you?” Her mother’s shock had quickly turned to outrage.

“I dare,” Alex said steadily, “because it’s my life. Because it would have been a disastrous mistake, for both Emerson and me. Because half the reason I said yes in the first place was to do something right in your eyes.”

And because there’s somebody else who makes my senses hum in a way Emerson never could, she added silently, the image of Justin vivid in her mind.

“Don’t be a fool, Alexandra. Emerson is the catch of the decade.”

“I’m sure he will be, for someone.” Unexpectedly amused at the idea of Emerson as a stepfather, she added, “I’m sure he’d appreciate you inviting him over to commiserate about your foolish daughter.”

“Foolish and very imprudent,” Veronica said. “As you always have been.”

And proud of it, Alex muttered to herself. “Call him, Mother. He’d love to help you pick me apart.”

And having done her part, she’d hung up, the old axiom about being able to chose your friends but being stuck with your family echoing in her head. And then she turned her attention back to other matters.

On her way in this morning she had made calls to Kayla and Darcy, to find out if anything had turned up in their investigations so far. Reaching only Kayla’s voice mail and Darcy’s answering machine, she left messages for both of them, indicating she had something to talk about, but making clear it had nothing, unfortunately, to do with the case.

She’d had little time to pursue that since she’d been home, and that was bothering her. She knew her boss—who had apparently already been here and had dumped another batch of cases on her desk—would give her that long-suffering, pained look if she asked for more time off, but she’d think of something, even if it meant flying cross-country every weekend. And in between she’d give her work here her focused attention, using the mental discipline she’d first learned at Athena.

She opened the first file, a child kidnap and murder case from Minnesota. She winced anew at the photographs. She’d vowed that, if she was ever able to look at the horrific evidence of what human beings could do to each other without feeling that instinctive recoil, she would quit.

She reviewed the evidence list. Thorough, she thought with approval. Sometimes those small agencies didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing, but it appeared whoever had done the crime scene here knew what he was doing.

She’d already examined the hairs, of three different textures and colors. One they had identified as the victim’s, which had been simple. The other two were unknowns but were likely from the suspects. At least, that’s what the submitting agency thought. She hoped it would make their investigation easier when she told them the different colored hairs were actually from the same person, that their potential suspect had two-toned hair. Or had at the time of the murder, anyway.

The exam on the splinters of wood, found in the victim’s hands, was going to take longer. She could only tell them so much, such as the species, without something to compare it to. According to the reports, the child’s body had been found in a Dumpster, far from any trees, and they hadn’t found the murder scene yet. But if she could tell them if it was maple or elm or ash or whatever, it might narrow down their search. Anything to help put the monster who had done this to a child away forever. She would start—

“This is more like it.”

The deep voice from her doorway startled her.

“Much better than chasing each other all over, isn’t it?”

Alex stared, unable to quite believe Justin Cohen was standing in her doorway.

He looked different in his deep-blue business suit, even though his position, lounging with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, reminded her of the man she’d seen in Arizona. The suit made his eyes seem more blue, less green, but they were still striking. And in that instant, perhaps because she’d so recently seen Emerson, she saw the gaping difference between the two men. Emerson had little passion in him, Justin had enough for three men.

He stepped into the tiny office and closed the door behind him. Alex lifted a brow. It went up farther when he pulled over the single spare chair in the room, reversed it and straddled it. She wondered if he just wanted the back to lean on, or if he wanted it between them as armor of sorts. The way their previous encounters had gone, it could be either, she thought.

“You were just in the neighborhood?” she asked.

“I had a conference at headquarters, and thought I’d come by to see the new lab. They encourage us all to do that, you know,” he pointed out reasonably.

She did know. And agents from all over were often in and out of the D.C. office for various reasons. She wondered if perhaps they had crossed paths sometime before and she just didn’t realize it, because she wouldn’t have known who he was. It had taken her long enough to realize it as it was.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I don’t think we’ve run into each other here before.”

“Maybe we have,” she said, “and just don’t remember.”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Not likely.”

“Oh?”

“Running into you is not something I would have forgotten. Ever. Even if I hadn’t spotted you that night at Athena seventeen years ago.”

In that many words he had knocked the breath out of her in a way Emerson had never even come close to. The roughness in his voice sent a shiver racing along her nerves, startling her.

“I see,” she said, suddenly realizing why Emerson had so often taken refuge in the phrase.

“I don’t think you do,” he said, his voice going husky as he added, “yet.”

For a moment she simply stared at him, at a loss for words for one of the few times in her life.

“I’m here with a proposition for you,” he said.

“So it seems,” she muttered.

He grinned. It was devastating. Who would have thought the wild, grim Dark Angel would have such a killer grin?

“Well, that, too, eventually, but that’s not what I’m talking about now.”

She managed not to blush, but it was an effort. “Then what exactly do you mean, Mr. Cohen?”

“Justin, please. I mean, we’ve known each other nearly twenty years.”

“We didn’t even speak.”

“Did we need to?”

Involuntarily Alex sucked in a breath and tried to conceal the movement. Somewhere along the way, the Dark Angel learned to be very, very smooth.

“Would you mind terribly getting to your point, if you have one?”

He lifted one dark brow at her, as if he somehow knew she only brought out the blueblood accent she’d grown up with on occasions when she was feeling personally threatened. Physically, she knew she could handle just about anything. Mentally, she dealt with most challenges with ease.

Emotionally, she had nowhere near that much faith in herself.

But when he answered, to her relief, he dropped the flirtatious bantering.

“I want to work with you.”

“You do,” she said, gesturing at the FBI ID hanging around his neck, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant.

“Okay, maybe I had that coming. But I mean it. We all want the same thing, don’t we?”

“We?”

“You and your friends from Athena Academy. We all want the truth. Don’t we?”

If the implication they might not want to find the truth was supposed to get a rise out of her, she was determined it would not.

“I’m still waiting for that point.”

He stared at her, and slowly a smile curved his mouth. She didn’t know if it was amused or amazed, but she couldn’t doubt it was genuine.

“They grow them tough at Athena,” he said softly.

“Keep it in mind.”

The smile faded. His expression was solemn when he spoke again. “I want us to work together.”

“On?”

“You know what I mean, but if you insist I’ll spell it out. What happened to my sister and what happened to your friend are related. I’d stake my life on it.”

“At a guess, you’ve already staked your career.”

“As,” he said, “have you.”

She couldn’t deny that. “What do you mean by work together?”

“Coordinate. Share information. Not sneak around each other, tripping over each other, with any one of us maybe having the one bit of information or evidence that could break it wide-open if it was combined with the rest, but not realizing it.”

She couldn’t argue with that. And he had a point. A good one.

“Not to mention,” he said, his tone wry, “you and I being able to maybe space out asking for time off so neither one of us ends up on the carpet.”

“There is that,” she said, for the first time unable to resist a smile.

As if sensing he was wearing her down, he reached into an inner pocket in his suit coat. He pulled something out and leaned forward to put it down on her desk. She looked down at it.

It was a photograph. Slightly dog-eared, as if it had been taken out and looked at often. It was of a laughing, beautiful young woman with Justin’s eyes. And in front of her, with her arms around him protectively, was a boy who was unmistakably Justin himself. But this Justin was also laughing, his face free of the tension and grimness it carried now. She’d seen a flash of this boy when he’d grinned just now, but only a flash. And she felt a sudden wish to have known this boy then.

Or to restore that joy to the man he was now.

“I will find out what happened to her. And I will not stop until I do.” She looked up, met his steady gaze. And had no doubt that he would do exactly as he said. “And I believe none of you will stop until you find out what really happened to your friend.”

“No, we won’t.” He had the measure of the Cassandras, all right.

“Then let’s work together. We can do more, cover more ground, save time that might be wasted duplicating effort, and avoid antagonizing people who might get tired of being questioned twice.”

“And avoid alerting those who might let something slip once, but would be suspicious about twice.”

“Precisely.”

Alex leaned back in her chair with her elbows on the worn arms, and steepled her fingers in front of her. He didn’t hammer at her. He’d presented his case, now he waited for her decision. She appreciated that. Too many men would march in and start giving orders. Nothing was more guaranteed to get a Cassandra’s back up than that.

“I can’t speak for the others,” she said.

“But you can speak to them.”

“Yes.”

“And your opinion will carry a lot of weight.”

“Yes,” she said, not bothering to deny the truth. “I’ll talk to them.”

“That’s all I want.”

“I can’t guarantee how they’ll feel about it.”

“I understand. But what about you, Alex? How do you feel?”

She didn’t comment on his use of the nickname that had been an issue between them before. They were beyond that at this point, she thought.

“I think we can probably work together,” she said. “And that it would be beneficial to learning the truth about both Rainy and your sister.” If I can keep my head where it’s supposed to be, she added to herself.

He let out a relieved breath as he nodded, as if the entire issue was decided. As perhaps it was; he’d been right when he’d said her word would carry a lot of weight with the others. She knew if one of the others came to the group and said “We need to work with this guy,” she and the rest of the Cassandras would trust her judgment.

Even, Alex realized, Kayla, whose judgment about men had once been highly suspect. And she realized thankfully that she was thinking she could really let go of that past now. Everyone made mistakes—she’d almost married Emerson Howland, for heaven’s sake—and Kayla had obviously learned from hers. And as she’d said, if it wasn’t for that big mistake, she wouldn’t have Jazz, the best thing in her life.

Alex stood up. “I’ll discuss it with those I can reach—we’re all kind of scattered right now—and let you know what they decide.”

Justin nodded. He turned to go. Took two steps toward the door. Alex had come out from behind her desk, intending to go out the door behind him, when he turned again. She nearly ran into him.

He didn’t move out of her way. He just stood there, looking down at her. Alex was tall enough that she noticed when that happened. When he spoke, his voice had that rough edge that had sent a shiver up her spine.

“Remember when I said that was all I wanted?”

Almost numbly, she nodded.

“I lied,” he said, and lowered his head.

She could have dodged it, could have stopped him, but she was so startled she didn’t move. And the moment she realized what he was going to do a raging curiosity filled her. It was only in part fueled by the childhood imaginings of what it would be like to be kissed by the Dark Angel. The rest was purely and simply the man here before her now, darkly handsome and fiery with deeply felt passion. That he would have that same strength of passion in other areas was something she hadn’t consciously thought about—perhaps hadn’t dared—but she knew it had to have been there in her mind somewhere, near the surface, because when his mouth came down on hers, her first thought was one of recognition.

There it is.

It was also the last coherent thought she could muster. It was as if every nerve in her body awoke at once, some that had apparently been sleeping her whole life. They awoke and began to carry the heat he was generating with his mouth. She couldn’t believe it was happening like this, it was just a simple kiss, he wasn’t even pressing for more, wasn’t pushing the kiss to a more intimate level. He was simply kissing her as if trying out the taste, lingering as if he liked what he’d found so far but was in no hurry to devour.

When he finally pulled back, Alex simply stared at him. He was breathing as though he’d run the FBI 10 point, six minute mile. She was pulling for air a bit herself. She thought he might do it again, thought in a rather scattered way that this was not the best place for this, but couldn’t think for the life of her how to stop him. If she even wanted to.

“I’ve learned a lot of patience in the past twenty-one years,” he whispered. “And right now that’s a damned good thing.”

This time he did go. Alex stared at the back of the office door he’d closed behind him, as if he’d known it was going to take her a moment to recover. She hoped it was because he’d been feeling like this himself, shaken and stirred, and a little stunned.

She couldn’t remember where she’d been headed. So instead she went back to her desk and sat down. For a long time she stayed there, her mind racing in so many directions she gave up trying to clamp down on it. The only thing she could remember clearly was her own thought on the day he’d followed her at Athena, before she’d known who he was. She’d thought then that whoever he was, he was a threat to someone or something she held dear. She never would have guessed it was she herself he would threaten, and that he’d do it with a single kiss that would about knock her socks off.

When she finally reached for the phone to call the other Cassandras, to tell them that they were no longer alone in their hunt, she was smiling.

And somehow she thought Rainy would have approved.

ALIAS

AMY J. FETZER

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

To the women of the United States Marine Corps
Our often forgotten heroines,
mothers, sisters and daughters
who strap on a helmet, a nine-millimeter,
shoulder a rifle and heft a sixty-pound pack
just like their male counterparts.

For walking into danger
and being willing to die to protect and defend
the freedom of a nation.

If that’s not a true heroine,
I don’t know what is.

Semper Fi

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Amy J. Fetzer for her contribution
to the ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Somewhere in northeast Texas
10:00 p.m.

Eli Archer’s world was about to change.

If he’d had any smarts, he’d have left for his usual Friday night out with his pals by now. Instead, he’d stuck around his house, drinking too much too early—and that turned a redneck bully into two hundred pounds of mean and nasty.

His mistake was in taking his temper out on his small, barely nineteen-year-old wife while Darcy was less than a hundred yards away.

At the first scream, Darcy’s long legs ate up the dry, flat land, each step on her toes to make as little noise as possible. She hitched over the porch railing and stopped short of rushing through the half-open back door, then flattened against the wall. The floorboards creaked but Eli couldn’t hear the noise over his own shouts. Over the degrading insults he threw at his wife, Mary Jo.

Darcy reached up and gingerly unscrewed the back-porch light, throwing the area into darkness.

She’d been watching the isolated country house from the tree line since sundown. Up close, it was worse. Sacks of garbage torn open by animals were stacked against the house. The stench of rancid grease and rotten food hung in the night air, which pulsed with swarming flies.

Darcy’s eyes watered. The place reeked more of hopeless neglect. Its sagging porches and roof begged to be put out of their misery with a well-placed wrecking ball. Paint barely colored the wood exterior, the stains of the rusted tin roof streaking the sides of the building like bars caging in its inhabitants.

But a shiny new pickup truck sat in the dirt driveway, a full gun rack clear in the rear window. Easy to see where Eli’s priorities lay. Darcy had already unloaded the weapons and removed the firing pins. But that didn’t mean Eli Archer didn’t have more. Men like him always had more weapons than guts. Predictable morons. Eli drank heavily, worked little and, for recreation, tortured stray cats and spotlighted deer. That Eli beat his wife was a character flaw that put him just below amoebas.

A real prize.

Inside the house, Eli shouted for his boots. He was leaving. Men like him always left long enough to work up some twisted reason as to why they pounded on women—she had personal experience to back up that theory. Darcy prayed Eli went out the front door without hurting Mary Jo again. Confronting a drunken wife beater was not in her immediate plans, but she couldn’t let him hurt the girl. If his mood was any indication, he’d kill her.

Darcy spied through the window for a sign of Mary Jo Archer. Shadows moved behind tattered curtains, and her heart pounded a little harder as the people inside drew closer to her position.

This was stupid. Normally, she snatched abused women while the men were gone. She could be shot for being this daring, but she couldn’t abandon Mary Jo, either. And where the heck was Jack? He should have been here by now to back her up.

She moved to the open doorway, peering inside. Despite what the Archer place looked like on the outside, the interior was tidy and clean. But then how else would Mary Jane spend her time as a prisoner in her own home?

Darcy flinched when another door slammed somewhere inside, shaking the windows. She heard Eli’s voice, harsh and deep as he hurled foul words at the woman he’d promised to love, honor and cherish.

Three days ago, Darcy had been woken by Mary Jo’s call around midnight, the voice on the other end of the line sounding achingly familiar, hushed, terrified. Sobbing. The caller had heard from her only friend, Tomas, a worker at the local grocery store, that Darcy helped women like her. Darcy had driven like a madwoman to get there, to find Tomas and discreetly learn all she could about the Archer household. It paid to be aware of routine.

Eli met his pals at the Bullriders Saloon like clockwork every Friday night, leaving his wife locked inside the house like a punching bag he stored for his rage. He was so terrified of losing her that he’d installed latch locks better suited for a storage shed.

Pig.

That pissed Darcy off more because she understood exactly what Mary Jo was feeling right now. Terror, hopelessness. A loneliness that imbedded itself deep into her bones. And the constant worry over which insignificant detail would provoke another battle for your life.

It ends tonight.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh then a cry of pain came through the open windows and doors. Without a choice, Darcy took a breath, then stepped through the back doorway, into the kitchen. No one noticed.

Mary Jo was on the floor, scooting back out of her husband’s reach, but Eli kept coming, a growling bear intent on his kill. Man, he was a big one.

Darcy slipped her knife out if its sheath. “Touch her again, Eli, and you’re a dead man.”

Eli whipped around, scowling mad. “Who the hell are you? Get the fuck outta my house!”

Darcy stood on the threshold. “Leave her alone.”

He latched on to Mary Jo, holding her off the floor like a limp rag doll. “She’s my wife, I can do what I want with her.”

“No, you can’t, actually. Legally or morally.”

Darcy inched closer, gripping the knife, point down to slice faster and with greater accuracy. Eli didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the nine-inch blade. Guns were his deal. Darcy didn’t like guns. They were noisy and registered. And though she didn’t really want to stab Eli, he wasn’t looking very cooperative right now.

Dangling in Eli’s grasp, Mary Jo whimpered, her lip bleeding.

Darcy couldn’t spare a look at the woman. She kept her gaze on the man threatening them both as she moved the blade slowly back and forth, waiting for the knife to catch Eli’s attention. When it did, he let his wife go, grinning as he headed toward her.

He charged like an angry bull going after the red cloak. Darcy stood her ground till he was three feet away, then sidestepped out of his path. He plowed past her into the kitchen table and landed hard on it, shattering the table legs and crashing to the floor.

Darcy rushed to Mary Jo. Keeping one eye on Eli, she grabbed the bruised, bloodied woman and tugged her to her feet, then pushed her toward the back door. “Get out of here.”

“He’ll kill you!”

“I’m right behind you. Go!” Darcy put herself between Eli and Mary Jo.

Mary Jo was nearly at the door when Eli rolled over, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “You bitch!”

Oh, no. For a big man, he was fast. Darcy sidestepped again, circling, forcing his attention off his wife stumbling toward the back door. Darcy’d run out the front if she had to and circle back.

Eli charged again, this time with a table leg in his hand. He swung. Darcy ducked. The table leg sang past her head, the impact driving it into the plaster wall. Eli tried jerking it out and with her elbow, Darcy clipped him in the kidney. He howled, arching with the pain, then sank to his knees. She backed toward the door, but not fast enough. He grabbed her ankle and yanked.

She hit the floor so hard her teeth clicked. The knife flew from her grip and spun across the floor.

Oh God.

“Run, Mary Jo!”

But Mary Jo, a slim blonde dressed in shorts and a T-shirt meant for a twelve year old, huddled on the edge of the room, too scared to move.

“Yeah, run, Mary Jo,” Eli taunted, “so I can hunt you, too.” He lunged at Darcy.

As he came down, she drove the heel of her hand up into his nose.

Cartilage shifted, bone cracked. Blood poured.

Eli Archer lurched back on his haunches, swearing and clutching his bleeding nose. “I’m gonna kill you!” he shouted, swiping his sleeve under his nose, smearing blood before grabbing for her.

But Darcy rolled away, springing to her feet, glancing around for her knife. She spotted it, but he was there, lumbering, big and hound-dog ugly.

She dove at the knife, landing on her side, grappling for it as he neared. His meaty hand latched on to her calf. He dragged her.

Darcy kicked out, struggling to reach her knife.

Eli pulled her closer to him. One smack from him and it was over. Her face would be hamburger and the latex mask hiding her identity shredded.

A crash sounded at the front of the house, the door banging against the wall just as her fingers skipped over a piece of wood. She grasped the splintered table leg and with every bit of strength she had, she swung it at his head and connected with a solid thunk.

He dropped like a stone. Darcy didn’t move, breathing hard.

She heard the distinct click of a bullet moving into the chamber and looked up.

Jack Turner stood in the doorway to the living room, a huge .357 Magnum pointed at Eli’s head.

“You’re late.” She tossed aside the wood, then crawled to her feet, annoyed with him, but glad he was here.

“A bounty got loose.” His gaze flicked to her, switchblade sharp and angry. “Why the hell do you have backup if you don’t wait for it?”

“He started early,” she said as she retrieved her knife. Mary Jo was still in the corner, staring at her motionless husband. “You know, that was highly illegal—” she nodded toward the shattered front door “—unless there’s a bounty on him.”

“Oops. Wrong house,” Jack said, deadpan, his weapon still trained on Eli. “That disguise is hideous by the way.” His voice was low, for her ears only.

The short frosted wig and carefully applied latex face mask made her look homely. “Helps to ugly up a bit. People tend not to notice you.”

His gaze moved over her body with an intensity that rivaled static electricity. “Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to wake the sleeping giant.”

But Eli still hadn’t moved.

“Oh, hell.” Assault was one thing, manslaughter in self-defense was quite another. She inched close enough to gingerly check his pulse, but Jack stopped her.

“Leave him. He’s breathing like an engine. He’ll wake soon enough.”

Darcy hurried to Mary Jo, pulling her off the floor.

“Who—who are you people?”

“You called me, remember? Come on.”

When Mary Jo started for Eli, Darcy stood in her way. “Look at me. Look at me!” When Mary Jo did, she said quickly, “It’s now or never, Mary Jo. You stay, he’ll kill you.”

Mary Jo nodded sharply, and Darcy pulled her to the door. They ran down the porch, and Darcy directed her toward the woods.

“Go, straight that way.” She pointed, pushing her on. “Run, girl.”

Mary Jo looked back at the house she’d shared with Eli for two years and her expression grew angry. Good, that’s what Darcy needed to get her out alive.

Mary Jo took off, and Darcy backed up, sweeping branches across the ground to cover their tracks. Eli was a hunter, and word from the townsfolk was that he could track anything. His hunting dogs were feasting on some prime, sedative-laced USDA beef right now to keep them quiet. But that wouldn’t last.

Jack rushed to her. “Go! Dammit! I’ll do that.” He took the branches. “He’s waking up.”

Darcy froze, met his gaze. “Already? He must have a head like a rock.”

“So do you.” Jack pushed her toward the tree line.

Darcy ran, snatching up her equipment pack, then ducking under low branches. Mary Jo was only a few yards ahead of her, crying, but moving. Darcy called softly and the girl froze, a ragged silhouette against scrubby trees. Darcy raced past, grabbing Mary Jo’s hand, pulling her along, then pushing Mary Jo ahead of her. She still had to do some fast moving to get the girl safely away undetected. The two women ran, batting dry branches and skidding on crumbling ground. Then they were out in the open, vulnerable.

Darcy and Mary Jo headed straight to the edge of a ravine, stumbling down the dirt hillside to Darcy’s Jeep. Darcy pushed Mary Jo into the passenger seat, tossed in her bag, then slid behind the wheel. The engine started up on the first try and she gunned it, racing away from the Archer place.

“Is he dead?” Mary Jo asked.

“No.”

“Then he’ll find me, I know it!” she cried.

Darcy smothered her impatience, understanding coming quickly. “He won’t find you, Mary Jo.” Even if Eli had the balls to go to the police, with his record, they’d be slow to react to his claims. “I’m taking you someplace safe. Within twenty-four hours, someone will come to you at the safe house and document your abuse with photos and a statement.”

She’d helped a hundred women in the last three years, from women who drove Mercedes to ones who’d never seen the inside of a hospital before and would be scarred for life. Each time, the situation seemed more desperate. More hopeless. Often, Darcy was their last chance. For some, the legal system had failed them, letting wife beaters out on bail to find the women and do it again—often resulting in death. Some were too scared to venture into the unknown without support. Or worse, they’d become so brainwashed by verbal abuse that they thought they needed these men to survive.

Mary Jo Archer had a right to be scared.

Darcy understood that kind of fear only too well.

It made her an expert at evasion and deception. Five years as a Hollywood special-effects makeup artist made her unrecognizable even now. Using disguises at every leg of a rescue protected the women’s lives, as well as hers.

Darcy coveted her privacy like a fanatic. With good reason. She was a kidnapper. Plain and simple. She’d taken her baby son from his father and hidden from the world. From her perspective, the end justified the means. Saving a life. In her case, it was two lives.

But in the eyes of the law, she was the criminal. It wouldn’t matter that, before she’d escaped her abusive husband, she’d gone to the police and filed reports. Maurice’s influence had a long reach. The cops had dismissed her accusations, just as Maurice’s family and their friends had. Maurice had money, power and a stellar reputation as an executive film producer behind him, and in Beverly Hills and Hollywood that put him above reproach. Above the law.

Darcy had had nothing, and Maurice had made sure she was trapped from all directions. Till she escaped with her friend Rainy Miller Carrington’s help.

Suddenly her throat tightened with unspent grief. Rainy was dead. Killed in a car crash only weeks ago. With Mary Jo’s call coming soon after the funeral, Darcy hadn’t even had a chance to mourn.

Rainy would be mad that I’m still hiding, Darcy thought morosely. Even the Cassandras, her schoolmates from the Athena Academy for Women, didn’t know the full extent of her ugly past. Rainy had known. And she’d told Kayla some of what Darcy had gone through to escape. The others knew she was no longer with her husband, and to them she was still Darcy Allen Steele, hairdresser and owner of the Chop Shop Salon. She was ashamed to admit the full truth to them.

To the rest of the world, including Jack, she was Piper Daniels, an alias she’d been using for nearly three years.

Everything in my life is an alias.

A forgery, a mask to keep herself and her son, Charlie, safe and hidden. She did nothing that would alert her husband to her whereabouts and was certain he was still searching for her.

Maurice wasn’t the kind of man who gave up control. Ever. Power and control were the root of who he was. And you didn’t cross him without consequences.

She took a deep breath, searching for calm. She needed a clear mind for the next hours of the journey.

At least Mary Jo had a fresh chance.

“You’ll file a report with the police,” Darcy said, her eyes on the road, “and then disappear till Eli is behind bars.”

“He should be in prison,” Mary Jo muttered bitterly. “See how he likes it.”

Darcy glanced her way. The girl’s face was a mess.

Maurice had never struck her face—it would have been proof to the public that he abused her. No, he had more deadly ways of keeping her under control.

“Eli kept me in a prison for years,” Mary Jo said, oblivious to Darcy’s thoughts. “That house might as well have had bars.”

The comment hit Darcy square in the chest.

A prison without walls. She was still locked in hers.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep.” She spoke quickly to bury the feelings struggling to surface. “It’s a couple hours till we make it to the safe house.”

Mary Jo snuggled down into the seat. Darcy drove, aware of every flash of light in her rearview mirror. Every car they passed. Tonight, Mary Jo had her freedom.

After three years, Darcy didn’t.

Because Maurice was out there. Waiting for her to slip up. Hunting her.

A pearl of fear slid down her throat.

She hated it. It tasted foul and pitiful.

And Darcy knew she couldn’t live like this anymore.

But even after three years, she hadn’t figured out a way to outsmart Maurice. Legally, he still had the power.

And she wasn’t giving up her son, not even for her freedom.

Chapter 2

Nevada

Just past the state line, Darcy pulled into the Sleep Easy Motel parking lot, wishing it was her own driveway. But she was still hours away from Comanche, Nevada, and at two in the morning, she was bone tired, her eyes gritty.

She turned off the engine and leaned back into the seat. Mission accomplished. Mary Jo was at the safe house in Utah, and she’d zigzagged her way toward the motel to make sure that no one followed her. She’d removed the mask and wig somewhere in between when she’d stopped to grab a bite to eat. Her skin itched from the glue and all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.

Grabbing her bags from the back seat, she climbed out, locked up, then headed toward her room. She stopped short when she saw a figure braced against the overhang support post outside, smoking a cigarette.

Jack Turner.

No man wore a black cowboy hat that easily.

Just seeing him made something under her skin shiver. But Darcy didn’t want to be anywhere near Jack tonight. Hours in the car with her own unpleasant thoughts for company, she felt combustible. Rainy’s death, the grief she’d shelved to help Mary Jo and leaving Charlie again when she just wanted to cuddle up with him and be safe had left her riddled with a mountain of emotions just waiting to crush her. Succumbing to them anywhere near Jack would just make a bigger mess of her life. He’d want to know too much, and right now, she felt weak enough to slip up.

“Well at least you didn’t get arrested,” she said.

He stared at her hard for a second, then pitched the smoke onto the pavement. “Don’t do anything that stupid again,” he said coldly.

She didn’t need a reminder of the danger she’d put herself in. The bruise on her hip would do that. “I didn’t have a choice. And I can take care of myself.”

He sent her an arched look that said after the stunt she’d pulled tonight, he wasn’t so sure. “Why do you keep doing this, Piper?”

Piper. God, what she wouldn’t give to hear her own name. “Because no one else will help them.”

“That’s what the cops are for.”

She scoffed. They’d been down this route before. Ever since that night nearly two years ago when he’d busted through a door to apprehend his bounty and found her helping a woman escape, he’d appointed himself her protector. She almost laughed. If he knew the truth about her, he’d be outta here. Or hauling her in to the police.

Darcy’s only advantage was that Maurice had never filed kidnapping charges against her. She knew why—it would mean giving up control of his life if he was investigated.

“If that always worked, then they wouldn’t be calling me, would they?” Or you, bounty hunter.

Jack moved away from the post, stopping inches from her. From under the dark hat, his China-blue gaze bored into her. He gently pinched her chin and turned her face to the side, looking for marks. “Did he hurt you?”

She stepped back, yet was touched by his concern. He looked as if he’d just about burn rubber to go avenge her.

“No, he never got the chance,” Darcy said. “I had the advantage of surprise and he was tanked already.”

He folded his arms. The motion made him look bigger. “You should know by now that booze just makes them stronger, meaner—”

“But slow and off balance,” she cut in. “Besides, you know that most of the time when I rescue a woman, the man isn’t home.”

Jack snarled something she didn’t get, then said, “Were you thinking of Charlie when you confronted that ape?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t lecture me, Jack. You know I was. Charlie’s all I have. And if you don’t like the way I do things, then why are you always shadowing me?”

She didn’t expect an answer. She’d asked once. He never explained and wasn’t open to prying. Neither was she, so she dropped it. Though she’d tried skirting around him, he always found a way to be near. It was simply less aggravating to include him in her plans, and she admitted she felt safer with Jack and his big gun close by.

“Charlie needs his mother alive, not in a damn grave!”

His sharp tone stung, felt chastising, and she stiffened. “You think? Jeez, Jack, you act like I wanted to face down Eli. I waited as long as I could! He was going to kill her.”

“And then you.”

“Then be on time!”

His head snapped back, his expression taut.

She arched a brow. The air between them felt charged. Darcy felt so brittle and angry, she was spoiling for a fight.

“I’m capable of defending myself and you know it.”

What he didn’t know was that she’d graduated from the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, a private high school in Arizona that recruited exceptional girls and trained them mentally and physically to become anything they could imagine. Many Athena graduates went on to do government work, or joined the military. Darcy knew more about survival, self-defense and investigating than the average woman. While she’d never thought of herself as exceptional, she had good reflexes, strength and a sharp mind. Of the rest of the Cassandra team, two worked for intelligence agencies, one had joined the police force, one had become a national newscaster who had been recruited for government operations on the side, and one was rising fast in the ranks of the U.S. Air Force. What Darcy did for abused women was dangerous enough, but her skills were in deception. By altering her face and hair and using her acting talent from UCLA Drama, Darcy could deceive her own mother. She’d never regretted not going into the CIA when they’d come to recruit her. She had Charlie because of that choice, and though the rest of her life wasn’t perfect, she wouldn’t trade being his mom for any of it.

Maurice was her only regret now. He’d taken control after she’d married him, but then, she’d given some up for him to do that. Never again, she thought, even if it meant ignoring her attraction to Jack.

“Yeah, but fast and agile doesn’t always match up against big and brutal.”

“Don’t I know it,” she muttered. For a second the cool ice of his gaze softened.

He was powerful without saying a word. His rare smiles made her stomach pitch, and Charlie adored him. That alone warned her that Jack Turner was in her life too much already. Yet Jack was so unlike Maurice. He respected her views, cared less what people thought and dressed more for comfort than style—his black hat was shaped with wear, his brown bomber jacket a relic from the fifties. He was rarely without either. Or his gun.

Like her, he played everything close to the vest, as if testing people. He didn’t play games. Didn’t waste time or words. If she succumbed to even a scrap of her feelings, he would take her heart. And she’d made too many mistakes to invite more trouble.

“You’re thinking too hard, I can tell,” he said softly, his gaze riveted to her.

His gentle tone rippled over her skin, making it tighten. “Yeah, I know.” She shifted, hitched her bag on her shoulder, stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “I have a lot on my mind.” Before he could lend those big shoulders to lean on she said, “Go to your room, Jack. You must be tired, too. I’m fine.”

He frowned, his gaze scouring her features as if he could see into her soul. It unnerved the hell out of her.

“You sure? You haven’t been still for two seconds since you got out of that car.”

She pushed her fingers into her short layered hair, unknowingly making herself look a little wilder. “Yeah, but it’s nothing that some sleep won’t cure.”

He didn’t look satisfied, yet he took her room key, opening the door and pushing it wide then leaning against the doorjamb.

Across the parking lot, the Sleep Easy neon sign sputtered and flashed, splashing blue light over him. He looked her over, long and slow, the single glance telling her he knew what she looked like naked. Darcy’s insides clenched with bubbling need, her nerve endings raw near him, her body too aware of his. Desire spiraled and she closed her eyes, wishing him away, wishing he’d come to her.

She felt suddenly lost. Disconnected to everything.

No Rainy.

No freedom.

No solutions.

She raked her fingers through her hair again and gripped the back of her neck. Her eyes burned.

Damn, damn, damn.

“Piper?”

She slammed her eyes shut, craving to hear her own name. Darcy, she wanted to shout at him. I’m Darcy Allen. I’m here, behind all these disguises and lies, I’m here!

Then he was there. Up close. She didn’t have to look to know. She could feel him, warm and male. And oh, he smelled good. Hunger flushed through her body, begging for a man’s touch, to be a woman and not someone else’s savior when she couldn’t even be her own.

She opened her eyes, snared by the blue patience in his.

“I’m down there.” He gestured to the long corridor of street-front rooms.

She didn’t look. That made him too accessible—and tonight she was so on edge, she could feel it scraping up her spine and dancing on her last nerve.

She moved into the room, pulled the key from the lock and faced him.

He stayed where he was, a gentleman despite his jagged edges.

“Thanks for watching my back, cowboy,” she said.

“Anytime.” No pushing, no prying, just accepting as he stepped back. She closed the door. He didn’t leave till she locked it behind herself.

Darcy sighed, more with relief that she hadn’t done something stupid than at the prospect of a hot shower and some rest.

She dropped her bags and headed straight for the bath.

For nearly a half hour, she let the hot spray of the shower beat down on her body, washing away the tension in her muscles. With her hands braced on the wall, head down, she forgot about Mary Jo, about Eli Archer, and let her mind wander.

It was a mistake.

Her thoughts went immediately back to Rainy. The last time she’d seen her. In a coffin. Knowing Rainy was gone forever. Having to face it. Her heart broke all over again, and she relented to her pain, sinking to the floor of the stall and sobbing like a baby.

She missed Rainy. She missed her Athena sisters. And she felt very alone and worn.

Rainy had been the best, leading the Cassandra squad when they were young, coaching them, pushing them to be stronger, better. Without Rainy, the chain felt broken. Darcy didn’t have many people in her life, even fewer who knew who she really was, but Alex, Josie, Tory, Kayla and Samantha were the people she could count on in a crunch. They were bound together by more than an oath to each other. They were bound by the trials of Athena.

Pushing her hair off her face, she tipped her head back. Her heart felt like a wounded prisoner in her chest. Captured and hurting.

Turmoil boiled inside her and exploded.

She smacked the tile floor.

She wanted her life back, dammit! She wanted to hear her name spoken aloud, to stop being suspicious of everyone new in her life and constantly looking over her shoulder. She wanted to tell the Cassandras the whole truth about her marriage and wash away the shame of her weakness. She deserved better.

Charlie deserved better. Yet her own fear of losing her son kept her from finding a way to take her life back with both hands. It was by skill, caution and a hell of a lot of luck that Maurice hadn’t found her yet. There was no telling what he’d do if he did. He had it in him to kill her. She’d seen that when he put a knife to her pregnant belly and threatened to kill his own child if she didn’t behave. For the sake of her unborn child, she’d backed down then, smothering the urge to hit her husband.

Charlie was nearly four now, a happy, lively little boy and her entire world. He was the reason she’d planned her escape from Maurice’s estate. Charlie was the reason she had bitten back her pride and called Rainy for help.

Her throat tightened, knotting like old rope.

I can’t live like this anymore. With this crippling fear. Because without her freedom, she was just a shadow hiding in Piper Daniel’s clothes.

Maurice Steele strolled through his home, inspecting the staff’s work, then setting the alarms for the night. He was reluctant to go to bed just yet, with the house feeling extraordinarily empty. He supposed he should have gotten used to it, and a starlet in his bed would have eased his solitude, but he wasn’t in the mood. Besides, he didn’t want to look at some well-used wanna-be in the morning.

He tightened the sash of his silk robe, walking into his library, then to his desk. He collected his papers, sliding them into his briefcase and setting it precisely to the right of his desk before pouring himself a brandy. He lit the warmer and set the snifter in the holder on its side, counting off the seconds toward perfection. The TV droned in the background.

He lowered himself onto the sofa, propping his feet on the table, and supposed that he was anxious for the reviews of his latest production. He’d have to wait. He had a fortune riding on it, and though he was certain it was spectacular, critics had their heads up their asses most of the time and rarely understood the entertainment potential of an action-spy thriller.

He sipped, holding the brown liquor in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He rarely drank more than one and never drank in public. Some people speculated that he was a recovering alcoholic because no one saw him drink liquor. Maurice never responded to the gossip. It was his personal feeling that too much explanation gave them more to speculate about, and too much drink took away the edge on the brain, the command he had of deals and productions, on or off the set.

He was leaning forward for the TV remote to turn off the set when the news anchor, relaying the recap of lead stories for the past few weeks, said one word that made his attention snap to the screen.

Athena.

He turned up the volume and listened.

Attorney Lorraine Miller Carrington was dead, a car crash. Police didn’t suspect the death of the Harvard alumni attorney was more than an accident, yet gave no significant details. Maurice’s eyes narrowed when they flashed a picture of “Rainy,” as his wife used to call her. A pretty thing. The last time Maurice had seen her was at his wedding. They showed pictures of her in life, then one in death.

A film clip of the funeral appeared, but he didn’t hear the commentary. He only saw a group of women standing outside the church. His attention focused on one, a little boy clasped in her arms. He watched, his heartbeat gaining speed. She didn’t turn toward the camera, in fact, as soon as she spotted the camera she avoided it and left immediately. But Maurice had already recognized the woman’s delicate profile. Her stance.

Darcy.

Well, well. The little rebel has surfaced.

He hadn’t had time to study the child and he watched the clip roll to its end, hoping for another glimpse. He switched channels and after a few moments, it appeared again on another late-night station, the kind that had nothing to report but other stations’ news.

Maurice leaned back, tossing the remote on the table. So. Darcy had been in Phoenix two weeks ago. With his son. Maurice had sent a half dozen private investigators after her, giving them the story that he didn’t want the press to know. That she’d left in the night, with his son. But the press had found out. So had his friends, and he was left with the humiliating task of explaining away his very pretty wife’s disappearance. He’d complained to his friends that he’d given her everything he had and it wasn’t enough. And yes, he wanted her back. They believed him, thankfully, and he still wore his wedding ring to keep up the pretense. Maurice never hurt for feminine company—women found affairs with married men enticing—but seeing Darcy on the TV, he suddenly wanted her back under his control. Desperately.

She was too much of a rebel under all that beauty. He blamed Athena Academy and those Cassandras for that. He should never have married her, but she was poor and struggling and so lovely. He’d seen her as an uncut diamond, just waiting to be shaped and molded. He’d had to compete with a couple of men for her attention, but money made it easy. He’d seen her clothed by the finest designers, her hair styled by Hollywood’s star makers. For a time, she was the perfect wife, a beautiful, sexy bride to show off.

In the back of his brain the reminder that he’d been cruel to her—that he’d shoved her down the stairs and threatened her—tried to push to the surface. But it was overshadowed by the sight of the woman who’d dared defy him. Who’d run off with his son.

She was nothing but white trash, he thought with a flash of sudden sharp anger. With a drunk for a mother and no father she could claim. And look at her—that long black dress and dark wig. Haggard, skinny. Frail. Yes, yes, it had to be her. Clearly she couldn’t function well without him. He smiled slowly, pleased, knowing there was a lush, shapely body under that shapeless dress, plump round breasts on a petite frame. Dove-blue eyes in a delicate face. His little elfin princess, he thought, and for a moment he remembered having her beneath him, making love to her, nurturing her into a butterfly who had made him the envy of Hollywood.

He’d made her. She owed him.

And she was going to pay.

No one left him. No one smeared his reputation.

She’d evaded him for nearly three years, but now he had a trail. Weak, but still—it was a start. He reached for the phone, dialing, knowing exactly who owed him a favor and how to use them.

Chapter 3

Megan Pinchon’s front door sprang open and Darcy couldn’t get out of the Jeep fast enough as her little dark-haired boy came racing across the lawn in his Scooby Doo pajamas.

“Mommy!” He leaped at her and she caught him, crushing his body to hers, and her eyes teared as he pecked her face with kisses and made her laugh. Oh, she loved him so much. She’d been gone only overnight but it seemed much too long.

“I missed you, Mommy,” he said, cupping her face and squishing it.

“I missed you, too, baby. I love you.”

“Me, too. We’re having doughnuts!”

She pushed back the urge to say that wasn’t a healthy breakfast. “I’ve been dreaming of having doughnuts and I’m starving.”

Megan was on the doorstep, smiling, wrapping her robe a bit tighter around her thin frame.

Darcy walked with Charlie in her arms and met her gaze. “Thanks, Meg. I love you for this.”

“I know you do, honey. Come on in.”

“Yeah, come on, Mom, you gotta see the puppies.”

Darcy looked at Megan. “Puppies?”

“They’re the neighbor boys’. Six of them.”

Darcy gave her a “don’t even think about pawning one off on me” look as she put Charlie down. She couldn’t have a pet in a beauty salon, and since Charlie was in the salon in his play area during the day, that wasn’t happening. She walked a thin line with the state board of cosmetology because while her schooling and initial license were real, the license posted in the salon was a forgery for Piper Daniels.

In the kitchen, Megan pushed a mug of coffee into her hand. “Everything okay? You look—I don’t know. Different.”

A good cry did that sometimes, Darcy thought, but hoped it was her new determination to break free of Maurice that showed. “I got some good sleep, I guess.”

Megan wasn’t fooled, but didn’t push it. “Well relax, your first appointment isn’t till ten this morning.”

Darcy was watching Charlie roll around with puppies. She turned to look at Megan. “How’d you manage that for a Saturday morning?”

Megan grinned. “I have my gifts.”

Darcy smiled as Meg went to dress for work, feeling fortunate just then.

Megan Pinchon was the only person she trusted with her son. Megan had been the common-law wife of an abusive husband and was the first woman Darcy had helped. By accident. Megan had been trying to climb out the bathroom window of a fast-food restaurant to get away, and Darcy had switched clothes with her and helped her escape. She’d given her a job as her receptionist and a place to live till she could support herself. They’d done some healing together and Megan had been a huge help with Charlie. She was also the only person in Comanche, Nevada, who knew that Piper Daniels was really Darcy Allen Steele.

She’d trained Megan to defend herself and, while Darcy was away, to defend Charlie. She didn’t have a single doubt that Meg would protect her boy with her life, and it made leaving a lot easier.

Darcy sipped the coffee, watching Charlie and the six puppies again. She couldn’t imagine life without him, and she had to make his world safer.

Megan came back, dressed and eating another doughnut. The woman was rail thin no matter how much she stuffed in her mouth. It was maddening.

“Ahh, now there’s a grin.” Meg pointed with the half-eaten doughnut. “Since Rainy’s death, I didn’t think I’d see that again.”

Darcy turned to her, pushing her hair off her face. “Me, either.” It was hard to believe the funeral had been nearly two weeks ago.

Her brows knit as she freshened her coffee, the night Rainy died rolling back.

“I’m calling on the Cassandra promise,” Rainy had said on the phone. They’d made the pact as teens, that when one of them called for help they would come, no questions asked. “Meet at the Christine Evans bungalow.” Christine was the principal of Athena Academy, and her bungalow was on school grounds. Darcy had bought tickets to Phoenix, Arizona, the nearest city, immediately.

Rainy had insisted on secrecy. That alone told them something was up. Alex, Kayla and Josie were there before Darcy had arrived with a sleepy Charlie. Christine hadn’t known what Rainy wanted to talk to them about and only mentioned searching the school records.

Exactly why Rainy wanted to meet with them at the principal’s house they never learned. She was killed in an accident just an hour before the appointed time. Darcy swallowed, holding back new tears. Car crash my fanny, she thought, growing angry again.

None of the Cassandras believed the doctor’s report that Rainy had fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed.

Alex, a forensic scientist with the FBI, had observed Rainy’s autopsy. Alex had discovered that the appendectomy Rainy had supposedly had during her first year at Athena had been a fake. She’d also noticed severe scarring on Rainy’s ovaries.

Rainy’s husband, Marshall Carrington, had revealed that he and Rainy had been trying for years to have a baby. Recently Rainy had begun fertility treatments. Her doctor had told them Rainy had scarring on her ovaries that would make it hard for her to conceive. The doctor had thought it the result of a natural physical problem. The Cassandras now suspected, as Rainy must have, that her eggs had been harvested when she was only a girl and the scarring was a result of that monstrous crime.

Automatically her gaze swung to Charlie rolling around on the grass with another little boy and six fat black puppies. She could almost feel her heart break for Rainy. Charlie was her whole world and she understood her friend’s need for a baby.

But it was depraved that someone would violate a twelve-year-old girl for her eggs. And the Cassandras were certain that someone had taken the eggs for a reason. God, with the technology, it could be any number of options and experiments. The thought turned Darcy’s stomach.

Rainy’s doctor had also left town suddenly, and Alex and Kayla’s efforts to find out her whereabouts had so far come to nothing. And what about Kayla fainting while on Athena grounds just before the funeral?

Darcy made a mental note to call Kayla sometime today to see if she’d learned something more. The one thought repeating in her mind was, if someone had fertilized Rainy’s harvested eggs, in-vitro or perhaps via a surrogate, then there was a real possibility that Rainy had a child out there somewhere.

Darcy’s skin chilled. If Rainy found out and had been killed to keep it quiet, then it was murder. The questions the Cassandras had to answer were who had harvested the eggs and why.

Oh, Rainy, she mourned, covering her mouth and fighting fresh tears. You knew, didn’t you?

Before you died, you knew.

Her throat tightened, and suddenly, Darcy pitched her coffee and stepped off the back porch. Kicking off her shoes, she called to Charlie and plopped down in the grass. The puppies hopped all over her and she lay flat, letting them lick their fill.

But it was Charlie’s sweet giggles that melted the pain in her heart.

The Chop Shop was humming, with four stylists hard at work and more clients waiting to be pampered. The atmosphere in the fifties garage-style salon, complete with cheesecake posters and retro fittings, invited fun and drew a wide variety of clients.

The doors on the stylists’ work stations were old car doors, cut to fit, the handles authentic. The chairs were comfy car seats upholstered in electric blue. Even her appointment desk was the chopped-off front end of a Cadillac, complete with windshield. The walls were high gloss with four-foot-wide tear stripes in hot pink, electric blue and neon green between wide paths of black, toned down by the black-and-white checkerboard floor. Neon signs with the shop’s name hung outside and in the front window.

Darcy had put her mark on everything, from the black work aprons with the shop’s name emblazoned in hot pink to the play area for Charlie and her customers’ kids. Yet she longed for the day when she could add her real name to the proprietress sign tacked near the front door.

She passed the picture of the previous owner, Crystal Hart, smiling, knowing Crystal would approve of the new look and name. Darcy loved the salon because Crystal had taken her in, given her a job and kept her secrets. The older woman had been more interested in helping her with Charlie than doing hair and to Charlie, she’d been more of a grandmother than Darcy’s own mother. Which wasn’t hard, she thought, sectioning off a client’s wet hair for a cut. Delores Allen had her nose deep in a fifth of scotch by noon every day. Darcy shook off thoughts of her mother and started cutting.

For less than two short years, Darcy had been graced with Crystal’s wisdom and kindness. Then Crystal had been diagnosed with cancer. When her health declined, Darcy took over the business for her. Crystal’s dying wish had been for Darcy and Charlie never to have to hide behind an alias again.

Darcy was determined to get her life out of this holding pattern.

Around her, blow-dryers whined and the strong scents of tint and bleach permeated the air. Fifties music played in the shampoo area in the back of the salon while the television entertained the clients in the front.

She trimmed her client’s hair, not paying attention to anything but the cut. Charlie was corralled in his play area with another customer’s child, coloring.

Her client spoke up. “Oh, there’s that thriller movie that’s coming out. I want to see it. Ben Collier is to-die-for cute.”

Darcy barely glanced up at the TV as the entertainment segment came on. She kept trimming hair. When she glanced up again, she saw the Steele Productions Presents logo and her heart slammed in her chest.

Maurice.

There was a brief theatrical trailer for the action-spy thriller before the commentator said, “Critics are calling the high-budget film Dead Game the action thriller of the year. Ben Collier delivers a surprisingly stellar performance that some say will make him the next box-office king. The film combines a tremendous script, daredevil action and breathtaking locations. The film world is breathlessly awaiting this release because recent Pegasus-backed films involving Ben Collier and executive producer Maurice Steele haven’t had the expected box-office draw in recent years. Sources tell us that Steele cofinanced this film himself with financier Porche Fairchild.”

Darcy went still, listening. In the past, Maurice had used his business assets and connections to back a film that studios didn’t want. Most often they came crawling back to him when the film was nominated for Oscars. She had to give him credit, he could spot true talent. He liked to have enough money invested that he had control of the film, too.

But it wasn’t until the reporter again mentioned production financier Porche Fairchild that Darcy excused herself from her client and moved closer.

She turned up the volume.

“Ms. Fairchild has been on sabbatical in Europe, and while her sudden disappearance was at first suspicious, authorities say the doubt has been clarified. Yet, since October three years ago, the reclusive Ms. Fairchild has yet to come forward and show herself.”

A picture of Porche Fairchild flashed on the screen. Small, blond and sophisticated. And missing?

“In the financial world, Miss Fairchild was known for bankrolling large-scale productions, but her decision to finance this film with Steele Productions, whose last few films had flopped, became gossip for the rumor mills.” Darcy saw pictures of Maurice and Porche Fairchild shaking hands. Three years out of sight? Didn’t anyone miss this woman? The police must have investigated, Darcy thought, and proven her existence.

“Maurice Steele had no comment other than how delighted he was to work with Porche and would love to again, and that he hoped she’d make the premiere. The good news for Ben Collier is the prerelease reviews are tremendous. The widely publicized premiere is scheduled for later this month and Nightly Entertainment will be there to show you all the glitz and glamour of the event.”

“Piper? You okay?”

Darcy nearly dropped her scissors as a niggling memory flashed in her mind. She looked around. Customers and stylists were staring at her. She flashed a brittle smile and excused herself, hurrying to the back supply room.

Megan stepped in after her, closing the door.

“My God, Darcy, you’re pale.”

She waved that away. “Do you remember those plastic bags of stuff in your deep freeze?”

“Yeah, they’re still there. It’s clothes and papers, isn’t it?” Megan put her hands on her hips. “I never understood why you kept that stuff.”

“Because they’re Maurice’s clothes, his papers and a computer disk of pictures from when he beat me. It’s evidence I thought I could use someday. After all this time, I just forgot it was there.”

“So what’s got you so jittery?”

Darcy peeked out and told her client she’d be right there, then moved away from the door.

“Three years ago, Maurice was out very late one night. That was nothing big, he was always wheeling and dealing with actors and directors till dawn sometimes. But this time, when he came back, he was hugging his briefcase like a lifeline. When the maid tried to take it for him, he refused.”

“I’m still stunned you had a maid, you know. I’ve seen you scrub toilets.”

Darcy smiled, realizing she’d indeed come full circle since then. “Maurice snapped at me not to disturb him, then went to his library. Then he started drinking.”

“I don’t see your point. From what you told me, Maurice was controlling.”

“It’s not the briefcase or his attitude, but the drinking was odd. Normally he’d nurse one drink all night, because he never wanted to be drunk and lose control over himself. But what I noticed was that he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d left in that morning.”

“Okay, that you didn’t mention.”

“He often went to the gym with a client after work, so I didn’t think much of it until I found him passed out in the chair and the clothes in the fireplace.”

“The fireplace? He burned his clothes? Was he passed out naked?”

“No, he burned the clothes that he left wearing that morning. They must have been in his briefcase.”

“Is that what’s in my freezer?”

“Yeah. And he had scratches on his hand, too.”

“Could it have been a bar fight? Or something with an actor or whoever?”

Darcy roared back. “Maurice? He wouldn’t dare make a public display like that. He’d rather die than lose his cool or his reputation.”

Megan folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. “See, that’s the difference between Saul and Maurice. Saul wouldn’t have thought for a second about bashing me in a bar full of people.”

Darcy touched her arm, sympathetic. “Maurice would. He rarely raised his voice. He was all about threats and locks and hitting me where no one else could see it.”

“So why was he burning the clothes, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Darcy paced in the small room, driving her fingers through her short, dark hair. “I wanted out, Meg, and I’d been planning it for a while.” She’d stolen enough of his insomnia medication over the last months to knock him out, had stashed money and clothes and was just waiting for the moment when she could call Rainy and disappear with her baby. “When I saw the burned clothes I thought, if he’s burning a two-thousand-dollar suit and a silk shirt, something must be up. So I took them. Then I copied his date book for that week and replaced the burned clothes with something similar I was giving to charity.”

Darcy laughed uneasily. “I even burned them to make it look good. He woke when the maid was cleaning it up in the morning and made some excuse that I didn’t hear. She dumped them in the trash.”

“The maid thing is still throwing me,” Megan said with a smile. “We can get the bags out tonight after closing. But what do you think you’ll find?”

“I don’t know. Rainy came and helped me get away a couple days after that, so I was spending all my time with Charlie and trying to get my strength back.”

“So give me your best theory.”

“Porche Fairchild committed millions to a movie deal with Maurice. I heard him talking to her on the phone a few times. And she’s been missing since October, three years ago.”

“Missing?”

Darcy told her about the entertainment news report. “They say she’s accounted for, but no one has seen her. I left Maurice in October, Meg. And Maurice made the deal with her in October and she vanished right around the same time.”

“You think he killed this woman, don’t you?”

“He had it in him. If I can prove Maurice had something to do with Porche’s disappearance, he’ll go to jail and Charlie and I will be free.”

Megan wasn’t convinced. “That’s a really big if, Darcy.”

“A huge one, I know. It’s a lot to prove.” Short of going to Europe to find the woman, which she couldn’t afford to do, Darcy had to prove the connection between Maurice and Fairchild that night, and well, sadly, hunt on the premise that Fairchild was dead.

“I need to get back to work.”

“Yeah, and you need to stop drinking so much caffeine, too.”

Darcy laughed softly as they left the room, but she had a hard time concentrating on anything but those freezer bags of evidence to a crime Maurice might have committed.

That’s as weak as it got, she thought, but it was a start. She had to move quickly. She couldn’t say why, but she had the distinct feeling that time was about to run out.

Chapter 4

Sunday was a day of rest for most people, but Darcy was anxious to start searching.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she tracked Maurice’s recent activities easily, bringing up pictures of him coupled with the starlets in his films. She didn’t doubt for a second that he’d cheated on her back when they’d been together. He had his hands up a lot of skirts and in too many pockets. It was one of the reasons she couldn’t get help. Too many people owed Maurice and he owed just as many. Asking the wrong person would have alerted Maurice to her plans.

This morning, she’d already investigated the pages she’d copied from Maurice’s date book, but there wasn’t anyone listed who wasn’t still alive and visible. She dug deeper, Web Detective helping her along. Flipping through the archived pictures of Variety, she saw one with Maurice’s chauffeur in the background. He’d never gone anywhere without the driver—the man was his paid muscle, content to stand by the car and wait till needed. Darcy hadn’t paid much attention to him because Maurice never allowed him to speak to her directly. She wondered how loyal he really was to Maurice and made a note to find out somehow.

She almost considered calling Jack for help, but it was still early. He’d been teaching her how to investigate so she was better prepared to rescue women and bring them safely into the underground network. First rule of investigative work, he’d taught her, was follow the money trail and document it on paper. And Maurice had a path a mile wide behind him.

She worked the Internet, looking through the new movie’s Web site, the past film sites; pulling up his public financial status, she almost laughed. Maurice was rich as sin, but the report showed that he was just comfortable. Oh, yeah, pay for a four-million-dollar estate in Beverly Hills on that, and bring the IRS in full force. It proved to her that Maurice was clever, and devious. Capable of anything.

And just why did I marry this man? The same answer came. He was handsome, rich, a powerful movie producer, and while he could have had any woman, he’d chosen her.

He’d had his reasons, though she hadn’t seen it then. He thought he could mold and control her and, in a way, he had. He’d given polish and sophistication to a girl whose father was just a scribbled name on a birth certificate and whose mother was a drunk. Since Maurice still kept her mother loaded and in luxury, Darcy didn’t consider calling her. She’d tell Maurice just to keep those cushy surroundings.

And why not?

Life on Maurice’s estate was a far cry from Darcy’s youth of living in cheap apartments and being evicted when her mother lost jobs because of her drinking. Delores had constantly mourned the loss of her beauty, spending more time with “I remember when” than working to improve herself or at least get into a rehab center. Delores had been married three times and thought she needed a man to be whole. Darcy knew otherwise. Sometimes, when it was really bad, she’d lashed out at Darcy, blaming her birth for all her troubles. It was painful to hear, and the booze was doing the talking, she knew. But for a long time, she’d believed it.

She pushed herself to make good grades, as if that would win her mother’s love and make her stop drinking. Of course, it hadn’t. When she was invited to attend Athena Academy, all expenses paid by the school, she’d thought she’d been granted asylum in a foreign country. Athena made her see her own potential. Maurice had slowly taken that away.

God I was a sap, she thought, disgusted, and she focused on finding information on Fairchild.

An hour later she learned something surprising.

Porche Fairchild was not who she seemed. Though the name said money and affluence, Porche’s real name was Patty Fogerty. She’d changed it legally just before receiving her MBA and stepping into the business world. Like Darcy, she’d gone to college on scholarships and had worked a job, as well, interning with William Morris Agency. From the records of investments, Porche had done some creative financing, and while Darcy couldn’t see anything wrong in the numbers, it made her wonder how she’d become so rich so fast and why she’d then vanished. Was she into something illegal, something that had forced her to skip out before she was caught?

There wasn’t a single article or mention of Porche in any magazine or newspaper in three years, and the two she did find were about her sudden absence from the financial world. An undisclosed spokesman’s statement said that Ms. Fairchild was on sabbatical.

Bunk. It was sad that the absence of a bright young woman with a great mind would go unnoticed for so long. Porche didn’t have any family. Darcy wondered if there’d been anyone she could depend on, someone who might have cared enough to file a missing person’s report.

The image hit a little close and Darcy grew more determined to find out what happened to the woman.

The only other mention was an old piece in Variety and a production notice. So if Fairchild’s finance business was closed, what had happened to her accounts, her money? Her home? Checking her last known address brought up a real-estate listing. The house had been sold three years ago and was up for sale again.

Nice digs, Darcy thought, noting the Bel Air address. She called the real-estate agent but the woman wasn’t forthcoming on the circumstances, which raised her suspicions. Darcy made another call to Porche’s former office number and got a deli somewhere in Fremont, CA. She found an old staff listing and called Fairchild’s assistant, Marianna Vasquez, but the woman worked for a bank and was away on business. She made a note to call her later.

She struck gold when she surfed free credit reports and learned Porche’s last open personal transaction was two nights before Maurice had come home hugging his briefcase.

While film and movie finances weren’t public record, Darcy went out on a limb and tried to access the personal accounts she’d shared with Maurice.

Maurice had changed the pass code, but after a few tries, she found that it was only by two digits. Idiot. She hit the key and the screen blinked to life. Pages and pages of account history scrolled past.

“Well, well, look at that money trail, Maury.”

Darcy smiled, typing in the dates to narrow the field. She kept bringing the search down tighter and tighter, and her eyes blurred from reading so many numbers.

Maurice had been a wealthy man when she married him, and she’d had unlimited funds and all the perks that went with them. Now, Maurice could afford three wives and she wondered when enough was enough. Twenty million? Thirty? Of his last three movies before Dead Game, Maurice had coproduced only the last two. Apparently the studios had lost enough confidence that he’d had to go to Fairchild for the third, Dead Game. Maurice would have had to convince her to finance the film.

Darcy’s eyebrows knitted and she sat back, remembering he’d been having trouble getting funds because, while the script was good, the star, Ben Collier, hadn’t had much success. Thirty-five million in production was a lot to ride on maybe.

She glanced at her freezer. Megan had given the bags to her last night and Darcy was so tired and busy with Charlie that she’d just thrown them in there. She knew she needed more than burned clothes to back up her theory. She had to be extremely careful. Her life and her son’s depended on it.

Darcy saved the file and printed the documents, then left her small home office to wake Charlie. She couldn’t do much else from Nevada. Though she didn’t want to be in the same state as Maurice, she had to do some firsthand snooping. She needed some special equipment, she thought, kissing her son awake.

And she knew just who to call.

Darcy threw open the door and smiled. Jack blinked as if stunned.

“What?”

“Been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that, I guess. It looks good on you.”

His gaze flowed over her body. In jeans and a strapless red top, she must look pretty silly, considering it was cold outside.

“Thanks for coming, Jack.” She pushed open the screen door. “Come in.”

Removing his hat, he stepped inside. “You going to tell me what you need all this camera equipment for?” He offered her a black duffel bag.

“No, not really. Does it matter?” Darcy really didn’t know if she was going to need it, but she wanted to be prepared.

“Just don’t implicate me in anything illegal.”

She rolled her eyes, taking the bag. “And here I thought you were the adventurous type.” She walked down the hall to the kitchen, inclining her head for him to follow. She could feel his gaze on her, as if it were rubbing over her skin. It made her insides tighten and she busied herself with getting him some coffee.

He readily accepted, groaning as he sipped.

“Tough night gathering the bad guys?” She sipped her own.

“Paperwork.” He glanced around the kitchen. “What’s all this?” He motioned to the bucket on the kitchen table, then peered into it. “Plaster?”

“I’m making faces, masks.” Her kitchen looked like a lab and she wondered at the wisdom of having him here right now.

“Mind if I hang around and watch?”

She hesitated for a second. “No, of course not. Actually I’d love a little help keeping an eye on Charlie since I’m alone.”

“No problem. Where is he?”

“Living room. Cartoons and grape juice.”

Jack set his cup down and gave her a look that said, can I see him? She smiled and nodded, following Jack into the room.

They found Charlie in his pj’s, tucked in a corner of the sofa like a bunny burrowed in for the winter. His face was smeared with jelly, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. Darcy didn’t think Jack would get a rise out of her son, he wasn’t interested in anything but the cartoons. She was wrong.

“Hey, pal.”

Charlie looked up, grinning widely. “Jack!” He shot off the couch and plowed into Jack’s knees.

Jack lifted him and her son looked so tiny in his arms. “So what’s with this?” He pointed to his chest, and when Charlie looked down, Jack nudged his nose up.

Charlie giggled and something inside her fell a little harder for Jack. He was so good to Charlie.

“You wanna watch Transformers with me?”

“Maybe later, I’m going to help your mom for a bit. If that’s okay.”

Her son looked disappointed for a second till the cartoon came back on. Jack set him down, then followed Darcy back to the kitchen.

She added more plaster powder to the water, stirring.

“So explain this.”

“I’ve got to make a fresh cast of my face in relief before I can build a mask. My old form is getting mushy.” She gestured to the plaster head and shoulders sitting on a stand that secured it to the edge of the table.

“I make a relief of my own face, then make a cast from that and put it on the head form. It’s hard and solid. Then with soft latex and foam, I build a new face on top of that. That way it fits over mine without any wrinkles or gaps.”

“Can you put that stuff on anyone?” From a plastic box, he picked up a fake nose, a chin and half a lip.

“Yeah, in a crunch, but you have to fill in the space between the skin and the latex with a fast-drying foam and it leaves it hard, so the facial features don’t move with the wearer. It has to be thin where it contacts with the major muscles of the face, so it moves with expressions. If it doesn’t fit, it sort of defeats the purpose. Too noticeable.”

He took up his coffee, his gaze moving over her equipment. “I’ve seen you in these masks a lot, but you never said where you learned all this.”

She stopped stirring for a second, then continued. “I wanted to work on movies and took a course.”

It was a bald-faced lie, Darcy thought, but she couldn’t say more. Nor could she look at Jack and say it. It was hard to lie to him, even if it was to protect herself and Charlie.

“Over the years, I’ve just gotten better at it, studied, tried different approaches.” The truth was Darcy had worked on movies for a few years before she married Maurice, then a couple after. She’d studied acting in college, and had gotten a couple of good minor roles in films, but she preferred the hair, makeup, and mostly, special-effects facial mechanics.

“Is this human hair?”

She glanced up, struggling with the mix as the plaster thickened. He held a sample from her selection of bound locks of hair. “Yeah, I have to put each hair in individually to make the hairline look authentic. Then put on a wig and blend the hair so there’s no line.”

Jack sipped his coffee, picking up the facial mask she’d used the other night, then riffling through the box of wigs and hairpieces. Darcy even had stuff to make her look like a man.

“You really think all this will protect you?”

“It has so far.” He was more interested in watching her than the process, she thought.

“I think that roundhouse kick and your wicked knife do more.”

“I do this to avoid being recognized. No one can trace me.”

“Stopping altogether would help.”

“You walk into danger every time you hunt a bounty, so just because I’m a woman—”

“A woman with a child to think about.”

Darcy groaned, stirring. “Leave it alone, Jack.”

“I just don’t want to see anything happen to you, Piper.”

“Why?”

He pulled out a chair and sat, sipping his coffee. “If I have to say, then you’re not as smart as I thought.”

She met his gaze and wondered why she always felt stripped naked when he was near. “Must you stare?”

“You’re an exceptionally pretty woman, why shouldn’t I stare?”

She gave him a dry look. “It’s confirmed, your taste is all in your mouth. I look like a drowned rat.” She fluffed her hair and Jack leaned over the table.

“Why is it so hard for you to take a compliment?”

She met his gaze head on. “I haven’t had many.”

His eyebrows shot up and those intense eyes roamed her body from feet to hair. “Maybe they didn’t have the guts to say.”

“Why would you think that?”

“It could be the barrier around you that’s better than a castle wall.”

She looked him over, liking what she saw too much. “A girl has to protect herself from those unseemly types.”

“Ouch.”

She motioned him close and he set aside the coffee and came to her. “Here’s where you come in. I’d take off your jacket if I were you.”

He stripped out of the bomber jacket and hung it on a peg by the back-porch door with his hat. His T-shirt stretched tight across those massive shoulders and bulging muscles and Darcy almost lost her train of thought just looking at him.

He arched an eyebrow, the look saying he caught her staring. Hurriedly, she slipped on a headband that pulled her hair back off her face, then wrapped her hair in a turban.

“Unattractive, I know.” She sat in the kitchen chair. “I’m going to apply the first layer, but when I get to the places around my nose and mouth and ears, can you do the rest?”

“Sure. Just tell me how.”

She explained that there couldn’t be any air pockets and to tap the plaster lightly to get them out. “And I won’t be ignoring you if you talk—I can’t answer, lip movement destroys the details.”

She scooped up a blob of the plaster and started smearing it over her hairline, her jaw, throat and then down onto her chest.

“That far?” he said.

That was why she wore the strapless top. When she’d covered nearly all of her face, she inserted two straws into her nose so she could breathe, then motioned for him to add more. Jack rolled up his sleeves and spread plaster.

She had a notepad on her lap and a pencil to scribble advice. She felt his touch, the gentleness of it belying his big hands as he made sure the plaster was in and around her ears, and then down on her throat and lower.

Don’t get fresh, she wrote when his hand smoothed over the swells of her breasts. Her nipples tightened and her mind went into fantasyland when he kept smoothing the cool plaster slowly.

“I’m just doing what you want, Piper.”

Not quite, she thought, and reached to inspect the thickness and texture, making certain she was completely covered.

“How long do we wait?” he asked.

She scribbled, Till it dries, dingy. 20 mins. The fan set up close by hastened the process. Then she wrote again, Eye on Charlie, likes to jump on the couch. She heard Jack’s soft chuckle and barely made out his footsteps as he walked away.

Darcy tried to relax and be still, yet her mind was running at full speed. She didn’t like that she couldn’t see Jack or what he was doing. But she could feel him when he came close. When the mold was done, she tapped the table and he was there to help her lift it off.

“I hate that part, makes me feel like I’m buried alive.”

She stood and placed the relief in a frame padded with cotton, then excused herself to wash up and change into a T-shirt. When she came back Jack was exactly where she’d left him.

“Charlie? You want some eggs or cereal?” she said as she tipped the relief so it was level and started building barriers around it with thin sheets of metal and pins.

“Toaster tarts!” he called back and Jack chuckled.

“Oh, I so don’t think so.” Bending, she inserted metal frame pins to hold the irregular shape in place.

“Mom,” he whined.

“Pick one, kiddo.”

“Eggs,” Charlie said, sulking as she started mixing chemicals and plaster.

“You look like a mad scientist with all that,” Jack said.

“This will make the face form mine, in relief. It’s plaster, but it has a liquid plastic hardener that will make it come out of the mold and stay hard. Then I’ll just take the old head form, cut the face off, and apply a fresh one.”

“Yes, Dr. Mengela.”

Her chuckle was sinister as she slowly blended the plaster with a kitchen hand mixer. “Then I mix up the polymer clay and with some foam, start building the face.”

“Should I be concerned that you’ll develop dual personalities?” he asked, lifting a full mask of a man’s face.

She smiled. “No, I like being a woman. I put that on the women I help, Jack, so the trail vanishes and nothing can be traced back to here, and Charlie.”

“But this underground railroad you’re part of—”

“Don’t mention the illegalities, please.” He harped on that a lot.

“You said it, not me. What if something happens while you’re moving through it? It’s so secret even the cops can’t find the trail.”

“Why would they want to? Safe house means in secret. A lawyer and a cop come to the women and take pictures and statements at a different location. It’s a requirement to remain at the safe house that they file formal charges and appear in court if they have to.”

“They’d like to have authority over it. Make sure nothing gets thrown out of court on a technicality.”

“Hasn’t yet.”

Jack moved to the stove, pulling out a small frying pan. “Man, you are so stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking.” Darcy looked over her shoulder, her expression questioning.

“Charlie’s eggs.”

“Thanks. Scrambled.”

“Oh good, the only kind I can do.”

“Make some for yourself if you want.”

Darcy felt weird. He’d been here before, just not for long and certainly not cooking in her kitchen. She didn’t want to think about how comfortable it felt to have him here. When he was done, he cleaned up and took the plate to Charlie, and since the kitchen table was occupied with her latex, he had Charles sit at the coffee table. Then he plopped down beside her son and joined him.

Darcy’s heart did a little leap at the way he looked at her son. Charlie’s own father hadn’t even held him when he was born. Maurice demanded she abort and when she refused, he threw her down the stairs, hoping she’d lose the baby. Pushing her kept his hands clean. An accident, he’d say. The memory blasted through her and she flinched, feeling each bang of the steps. Curling her body into a ball to protect her baby, the cool tile floor beneath her cheek.

“Piper?”

She blinked. Jack was standing close, holding the empty plates. How long had she fazed out?

“You all right?”

Tears burned her eyes and she quickly looked away. “Yeah, fine. Got powder in my eyes, I think.”

Jack didn’t believe her, she could tell, yet he soaked a towel for her. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine now.”

“Let me see,” he insisted and tipped her face up, then blotted the wet cloth over her eyes. There was nothing there, but he pretended there was. He eased the cloth from her eyes and she opened them. Her vision filled with him.

“Okay?”

Darcy breathed him in, his strength, his scent. His face was so close, his mouth inviting. His gaze raked her face, as if searching for answers she knew he wanted. But he didn’t say anything.

Then his head dipped, his mouth a breath from hers.

“Don’t, Jack.” Yet she didn’t back away.

“Don’t what?”

“Oh, I know you’re not stupid and neither am I. Don’t take this friendship there.”

“Are we friends, Piper? I figured I was just the hired muscle.”

“Yeah, that, too.” She eased away from him. Instantly she felt more alone.

“Friends trust each other.”

“I trust you with my life, Jack.”

His look went sour. “You give that to cops and firefighters.”

“What do you want from me?”

“To know you.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.” He gestured to the array of chemicals and powders, makeup and fake hair spread across her kitchen. “I’m wondering if anyone does.”

Darcy didn’t say anything. Because it was true. No one really knew who she was, least of all her. Jack stepped away, reaching for his jacket and hat. Darcy cleaned off her hands and walked him to the door.

He had his hand on the knob when he said, “By the way, I saw Charlie on TV last week.”

And the bottom of her world fell out.

Chapter 5

“And you, too.”

Darcy froze. “You must be mistaken.”

“I know it was you, because you don’t let anyone near your son except Meg. But it was Charlie I recognized.”

Darcy felt instant and overpowering panic. Her knees went soft and she struggled for calm.

“That’s not possible, Jack.”

“It was a sound bite about a woman who was killed in a car crash. A lawyer.” He frowned slightly, thinking. “She went to that women’s school, the one that trains girls for spy work…Athena Academy, then Harvard.”

“You couldn’t have seen him.”

Jack moved closer, hemming her in, his cool stare leaving no doubt of what he saw. “I did, Piper. It was Charlie, and you were at that funeral.”

Cornered, she let out a long breath and muttered, “Yes, I was.”

“You went to Athena Academy?”

“Me? No, no I didn’t. I knew Lorraine Carrington from college.”

His gaze thinned. “She went to Harvard.”

“Only for law school.” Another lie, she thought, a thousand problems shooting through her mind.

Jack was scowling now. “You can’t even give me a straight answer, can you? Why can’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” she snapped and stepped back. “And butt out of my private life, Jack. Or I’ll start prying into yours and you can tell me how you got that bullet hole in your shoulder.”

His expression shuttered, he moved to open the door. “Fine. But I want you to know I’m here to help you if you need it.”

“With what? I don’t need it.”

“Yeah, sure. When you’re ready to tell me why you constantly look over your shoulder, why you’re terrified right now, we’ll talk again.”

“No, we won’t.”

Jack cast her a dark glance that made her shiver. Not talking wasn’t up for debate in his eyes and Darcy wondered how long she could avoid it. He left and she shut the door after him, sinking against the wall.

Oh damn. Damn.

What were the chances of anyone else recognizing her and making a connection?

Darcy headed back into the kitchen, her hands shaking. She’d covered her tracks, she knew she had.

Pay cash, use disguises, don’t make conversation with strangers for long. Check everyone out. The last thought reminded her that she hadn’t done that with Jack. All she knew of him was what she’d learned since the moment they’d collided on a rescue till now. And now he knew she’d been at Rainy’s funeral. She hadn’t worn a mask when she’d gone to Arizona, because she’d been among friends, not rescuing a woman from a dangerous attacker.

This pushed her plan to go to L.A. next week to sooner than she wanted. She had to work fast in case Maurice had seen the broadcast and found a way to track her from Arizona to here.

If he did, she was history.

One week later
Hollywood

Dressed in a berry-colored designer skirt and top she’d bought at a secondhand store on Rodeo Drive, Darcy sat under the covered porch of a bistro, sipping her soda and watching the people stroll by.

She recognized several: a couple of agents, one action-adventure actor who shouldn’t be wearing leather pants anymore. She remembered making him look as if he’d been burned for his third film. She brought the glass to her lips, liking that men were noticing her, but then she wore another’s face. A little closer to Julia Roberts today.

This morning she’d been a bag lady pushing a shopping cart outside Maurice’s offices. She’d gone there to watch his daily routine, and fortunately, it hadn’t changed. She was almost nabbed when the cops showed up, but instead of hauling her in for vagrancy, they’d escorted her to a women’s shelter. If she wasn’t so terrified that Maurice would spot her, she’d be amused that she could slip around the city within thirty yards of the man. She’d no intention of getting any closer.

From her position, Maurice’s chauffeur wasn’t hard to spot. He wore a gray uniform while all the others lined up on the street in the hills wore black. He was the same man who’d worked for her husband when they’d married.

Oh goody. She paid her bill and stood. She’d used everything at her disposal to do what she needed, and right now she had it all displayed in a slim hip skirt with a matching top, cut low and fitted to accent her waistline. Time to put the ball into play, she thought, walking toward the limo, aware that Maurice was inside a restaurant just up the street.

A little nervous twinge swept up her spine. She was afraid that if she saw him, she’d walk up to him and punch his lights out. Instead she strolled toward the driver, hips swaying, and her long legs in spike-heel sandals drawing attention. She rarely showed her body off like this, it practically screamed available and desperate.

She stopped, waiting till the driver noticed her. When he did, her resolve slipped a little.

It’s a role, she thought, and everything had to have a purpose. Coyly, she chewed her lip, glancing left and right, then sauntered up to him.

“Hi, there.” A French accent did nicely this time.

“Hey yourself.” He squinted through the smoke from his cigarette, then straightened, obviously thinking she was that actress.

“No, I’m not her,” she said. “But I want to be.”

His attention dissolved. “So does everyone else, kid. Beat it.”

She took a step nearer, eyes wide and hopeful. “But isn’t this Maurice Steele’s car?”

“Yeah, so.”

She giggled. “I was hoping to have a chance to speak with Mr. Steele.” What she wanted was the driver, a man Maurice kept waiting for his beck and call, to give up some details. Old ones.

“Send him your portfolio.”

Clearly, he wasn’t interested. She had to make him want her, then. “I have, but I need the edge, n’est-ce pas?”

The driver, Mike something, she recalled, eyed her from shoes to hair.

“You sure look like his type.”

“Really?” she said brightly, toying with her hair. “You think so?”

“Breathing is his type, lady.” Then in a moment of concern he said, “You sure you want to be near this man? He could make or break you.”

“I want him to make me.”

“Oh yeah?” Clearly he thought it would be the latter choice.

She cocked her head. “You don’t like him much, do you?” Her voice was sexy and smooth, her accent just enough to intrigue him.

“Baby, what’s to like?”

“I heard he was tough, but very smart.”

The driver scoffed, pitching his smoke.

“I’d do anything to get the chance to speak with him. Privately.”

“What’s anything?”

Darcy swayed up to the driver, letting her breasts and hips do the talking for her. She blushed, but the facial mask hid her embarrassment. She touched his arm, leaning into his side and whispering in his ear as if she were sharing an intimate secret.

“Oh mon cheri, what wouldn’t I do.” She could feel his muscles tighten and hoped his imagination was going wild. “And I’d do anything with someone who’d get me there.” Her voice was breathy and a little sound worked in his throat.

“Thinking of the casting couch, are you?”

She glanced pointedly at the silver-gray limo and let that speak for her.

He arched an eyebrow, practically smacking his lips in anticipation.

The sun was setting and he checked his watch. Maurice loved long, slow dinners, Darcy knew. All she needed was enough time to get this guy to talk.

“He’s with a director and a couple writers going over the last draft of a new script. He’ll be there awhile.”

They’ll be there half the night, Darcy thought. “And that means what to you and me, cheri?”

He simply popped open the car door, and she climbed in. Through the window, she could see him checking the area, signaling to another driver before slipping inside with her. Darcy already had the mini-tape recorder in her purse turned on.

She sat primly on the velvet seat, remembering riding in this car to premieres, to appointments and dinners. Just as she remembered the ugly things Maurice had said to her while the soundproof glass was between them and the driver. Maurice thought he’d made her into a lady, that she wouldn’t be anything without his personal touch. Well, he’d touched her all right, beating down her self-esteem so badly that she’d been a shell of who she was now.

The driver leaned toward her, and she couldn’t let him get too familiar or he might sense the facial mask. It had taken her hours to get the look she wanted, suggestive of a certain celebrity’s face, but not too alike.

He tossed the hat aside and pulled off his jacket. She scooted away.

He scowled. “You teasing me?”

“No, cheri.” She gave him an innocent look laced with seduction. “But I’m not playing with you till you can guarantee I get time with Mr. Steele.”

“Honey, you can be in this car, waiting for him if you want. When we’re done, of course.”

Her stomach knotted, yet she plastered on a smile and crossed her legs. His gaze followed them up to her skirt hem. “Tell me about him first, because when I’m done with you, you won’t have the energy to talk.”

He grinned. “He’s a prick.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“He uses people and you’re better off not knowing him.”

“Then why do you work for such a man?”

“Money.” His gaze raked over her like a hungry wolf’s. “And the women.”

She behaved as if that last comment went right over her head. “But I met him once, a long time ago, three years I think. He was very sweet to me. I recognize this car.”

He scowled. “I remember every person that’s been in this car, lady.”

“Oh, I wasn’t in the car, I met him…” She chewed her lip provocatively, sliding closer to him and running her hand up his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He reached for her and with an odd tenderness, he touched her breast.

Darcy’s skin crawled as she suffered through it. She needed information.

“When did you meet him?” Mike asked.

She spit out the date. “October twenty-first. I believe it was late afternoon. I thought he might audition me for his movie—the one that’s coming out now—Dead Game.”

Mike stiffened, scowling. “That date sounds familiar. Were you at the studio, waiting?”

“Oui, I was.”

“The man never changes his schedule, but that night he’d stopped by Studio Eight, back lot.”

Studio Eight, Pegasus Studios? She knew that area. It was storage for special effects-stunt division.

“I remember because it was the only time he didn’t have me hang around.” The driver gave her a hot look. “Now I know why.”

“Oh, mais non, he wasn’t with me, not that way.” Or she wouldn’t be playing this game, dumb ass.

“If he was, he’d have had your skirts up, kid.”

Darcy doubted that. “He only said hello, and that he had an appointment. Perhaps another woman, oui?”

“Hell if I know. I came back an hour later, but no one else was there but Steele. And he was pretty eager to leave and pissed that I was two minutes late. The man doesn’t think that L.A. traffic applies to him.” He frowned. “Forget him, come here.” He pulled her onto his lap, shoving his hands under her skirt and cupping her behind. She moaned and wiggled appropriately, biting his neck and wanting to spit afterward. She ground onto his crotch, feeling him get hard, and knew she had to end this or be raped.

“Come on,” he said, “you’ve got me hard enough to crack nuts.”

Well wasn’t that graphic. “If we have time, cheri, then why rush things?” She pulled his shirt free, running her hands up his chest, then shifted, straddling his hips and gave him her version of a lap dance. He pawed her. She had to get away before his mauling wrecked her disguise.

Darcy wanted to run like hell to the nearest shower.

“I wonder who Steele was waiting for, if not me?” she murmured. “All I can remember is that he was wearing a dark suit. Looking very handsome.”

“Yeah, yeah, handsome, rich, and still a prick. And he wasn’t wearing a suit.” He stilled and frowned at her.

Before he wised up, Darcy quickly cupped him through his trousers, shaping his erection and dragging his mind into desire. He moaned, grinding her hand on him.

Men were so easy sometimes.

“Feel good, cheri?” she purred when he buried his face in her breasts. He was massaging them as if they were softballs, almost painfully, and she decided it was time to end this before he separated the facial mask from her breasts. She rose up, wrapped her arms seductively around his neck, pushing his head to the side. She pressed and squeezed and kept the pressure on. In a few seconds, his hands slowed to a stop, a few seconds more and he was out cold. She released him and sat back.

Thank you, Athena Academy.

The sleeper hold wasn’t dangerous, just cut off air supply for a bit. He’d rouse in a few minutes. She checked his pulse, then righted her clothing before she searched him and the car for anything useful. She found a supply of condoms in the bar console and a couple scraps of paper, which she pocketed, then she stepped out of the limousine. The sun had set and the streets were lit with gas lamps, and she glanced back to where the three other drivers were gathered. They grinned at her and she put her fingers to her lips, giving them a sassy wink before walking off, behind swaying and boobs bouncing.

So, the studio was where Maurice had gone that night.

That was unusual. Maurice rarely stepped on a lot unless there was trouble on a film. And he was never around the Special Effects department because he had no reason to be. He had people who did that errand stuff for him.

She had to get a look at exactly what was stored in the area, though she recalled only one large warehouse with several garagelike doors.

She hailed a cab, the driver taking her past Maurice’s production offices. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to recall the layout. While it had a side-alley rolling door to bring in equipment, Maurice’s office was on the top floor. The entire top floor.

Darcy glanced back briefly. Anything Maurice wanted to keep secret would either be there or at the house, and going to the house was out of the question. The office she could hit later tonight. First she had to get on that lot and see what was there.

In the morning, Darcy took the tour of the studio with fifty other guests to sunny California. She’d dressed like a middle-aged tourist because in her natural state, she’d probably be recognized. A half hour into the tour, they were near the same lot where the driver had left Maurice. Slipping away from the group was easy. Once she was out of sight, she hid behind a giant metal storage box and stripped out of the cheap clothes, rolling down her jean pant legs and adjusting the plain top she wore beneath. She clipped on her old IDs, which she’d altered with a couple changes to the picture and name, then slung the bag on her shoulder. She started walking. People were filming two blocks away, but Darcy was interested only in this particular spot. She moved fast, knowing that security would find her if she was seen or made noise. They took the security on sets very seriously.

The tall, wide doors to the studio warehouse building were locked. She checked behind herself before she pulled out her lock-picking set and worked the padlock. In a minute, she was slipping inside. There was little inside beyond various size crates, barrels and rows of metal cylinders. The stunt crews used the CO2 canisters for things like making a car roll over or lifting fake buildings off the ground to give the effect of earthquakes. Not as if they needed that around the San Andreas Fault, she thought cynically, moving into the dark.

She was in a restricted area. If she got caught, she’d be thrown in jail and Maurice would win. So don’t get caught, she thought. With her penlight, she scanned the areas, the odor of chemicals floating in the air, making the back of her throat feel dry. Bitter. What is that? She checked the contents of a couple of drums, jotting down the names. The element names were unfamiliar and she’d have to check them on her computer later. The smells were making her a little dizzy.

What had brought Maurice here that night?

She moved to the back of the building just as one of the wide rolling doors scraped open. She lunged toward a corner, crouching behind drums as workers filed in, grabbing cartons and cables.

Oh, hell. Oh, hell. They’ll find me.

A truck engine roared as the vehicle backed into the warehouse entrance, and the crew began loading it with supplies for stunts. There were about ten people moving in and out and Darcy considered staying right where she was till they were gone, but couldn’t take the chance of anyone seeing the side-door lock was gone and trapping her inside. Workers moved toward her position, gathering supplies. Sweat trickled under her mask, and her heart pounded as they neared.

If they saw her bag, they’d immediately think she was stealing. Stealing explosive material was a crime. God, they’d find her clothes, know she wore a facial mask. Oh, crap.

They came closer, and she shoved the bag under a discarded wood pallet, then inched her way to the doors, waiting for attention to focus on the loading before slipping out.

Immediately, she backtracked behind them and grabbed a roll of heavy cable. She loaded it on the truck. No one spared her a second look. Being around them felt familiar, though back when she was hired for a movie, she’d worked in the makeup department and, if on location, out of a trailer. It had been a cushy job, with two assistants helping her.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Darcy looked up, hefting the stack of boxes and trying to keep the fear out of her expression. “My job.”

“This is a restricted area.”

“Well, no shit,” she said, showing her old IDs and praying he didn’t look at the expiration dates. “Penn sent me over here for more blasting caps.” Luckily Darcy had glimpsed the list needed for the stunts posted inside the truck bed and who would oversee them.

“Well, get out.” The man shook his head, rubbed his mouth. “Christ, they let anyone around this stuff.”

“I know, I know, blow us all to hell and it’s your responsibility.” She handed him the heavy stack of boxes, forcing him to take it. “Then I guess you need to do it or trust us.”

The assistant shot her a hard look and pushed the box back into her arms. “Get moving and don’t come in here without an escort.”

Darcy shrugged, chewing gum she didn’t have, and walked away, then deposited the cartons in the truck. As soon as she was out of sight, she kept walking and circumvented the building. She had to go back there to get her bag and to look again. She’d smelled something familiar, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Or where she’d smelled it before. Could it be just a memory of a smell from a movie set?

The workers and set directors kept her from getting inside without being noticed. Unfortunately someone had closed the padlock on the side door. She hid till the trucks rolled away, then, pulling tools from a small black pouch strapped to her calf, she went to work picking the padlock again. The sounds of trucks and cars moving around made her heart shoot to her throat. Voices grew louder, moving closer. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t get the lock open. In one sharp moment, she took a calm breath and worked the lock. It sprang, and she darted inside, flattening against the wall.

She paused long enough to get her heart where it belonged, then flipped on her penlight. It was pitch-black but cool, air conditioners keeping the materials stable. She moved to the back, getting her bag first. Her head felt fuzzy, her limbs a little rubbery. She turned sharply, almost falling on a canister. It tipped and an odor rose up from beneath. The drum was leaking and she lurched back, staggering and reaching for anything to keep from falling. Her hand smacked on a crate and she held on.

I’m going to lose my breakfast, she thought, her mouth watering, bitterness burning the back of her throat. She was still, waiting for it to pass. But it didn’t and she struggled to reach the door, praying no one had put the lock back on, and grabbed the knob. Her head pounded, not with pain but as if it were filled with cotton and needed more room. She slipped out the door, and it took several tries to close the padlock. Darcy walked away, her steps weaving.

Unable to go another foot, she sagged against the wall and breathed deeply. The fuzzy feeling started to clear, but the taste in her mouth was still there. She dug in her bag for a bottle of water and drank, thinking that was stupid. All those chemicals in there, she could have blown herself up.

She climbed to her feet, heading toward the entrance and hoping she made it to her hotel room before she passed out.

In her hotel room Darcy slept for an hour, and her head was clear when she woke. She ordered room service, called Megan and spoke to Charlie. He was sweet and silly, and having fun with Meg’s neighbors’ puppies. When Megan got back on the line she gave Darcy the rundown on the salon’s business.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Meg.”

“You’d fall apart. I want a raise.”

Darcy laughed softly. “Take it out of petty cash.”

“Jack called here for you.”

Darcy stilled. “Oh.”

“He didn’t seem surprised you were out of town for a couple days.”

“He saw Charlie on TV, Meg.”

“Oh, God.” Darcy told her about the segment about Rainy.

“You didn’t tell him more, did you?”

“I had to tell him I knew Rainy, because he knew he’d seen Charlie. But I didn’t say more than I had to, and he left angry.”

“Let’s hope Jack keeps his mouth shut about it.”

Fear streaked through her bloodstream, tightening her features. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Maurice had millions, Darcy, how much would he pay for information on you?”

“Jack wouldn’t do that.” Would he?

“Are you ready to trust your life with that?”

“No, I’m not.” And it proved that she’d let Jack deep into her life when she shouldn’t have. “I’ll be home in two days. I’ll talk to him.”

“I’ll take care of things here, Darcy, but please, watch your back and don’t do anything stupid.”

“This is all stupid, Meg, but I have to, you know that.”

Or she’d be locked in this hell forever.

She hung up and sat on the bed, but that only lasted a few seconds. She turned on the TV, bit into a cold French fry from dinner, then flipped through channels.

Something caught her attention and she flipped back to the local news. There was a big press party at the Beverly Center for Dead Game—a fan show, stars appearing, signing autographs, doing interviews before the premiere Friday night. That meant Maurice would be there. And not in his office.

Chapter 6

Staring up at Maurice’s offices, Darcy popped a piece of gum in her mouth to help the dryness. It was as if the moisture in her mouth shut off when she was nervous.

And she was. Under her clothes she wore a synthetic catsuit, skintight and unrestricting. She felt like Jane Bond about to infiltrate a death-squad hideout.

Armed with her knife, wire cutters and lock picks, she had black nylon rope wound around her waist, just in case she needed it. She didn’t know why, but having it made her feel better when she knew she hadn’t planned this well enough. She didn’t have time, nor any way to access information other than city plans. For a second, she wished she’d asked Jack for more equipment, then instantly dismissed that—he was being nosy enough already.

Going through the front door was out of the question. The building had a guard at the desk and a security system. Maurice had boasted about it once, as if warning her that there was a part of his life she would never know.

She knew enough. She checked the lower window, finding metal-strip sensors on the glass and locks. Okay that wasn’t an option. Think. She could feel the clock ticking away her chances.

The pre-premiere party was for the staff, crew, actors and sponsors and would go on all night. Maurice would make a graceful escape soon enough, though she doubted he’d come back here anyway. But she didn’t want to risk it.

She circled to the back, her gaze traveling up the artdeco line of the building that used to house the offices of Edgar Bergen. Surprisingly there wasn’t a fire-escape ladder that reached past the third floor. She had to scale the building. Stripping off her jeans and shirt and leaving them in a ball by the trash, she grasped the end of a brick indentation and pulled herself up, glancing down to check the area again. She looked to the top.

Man, it was far. If she fell, she’d be a flying Wallenda trapeze artist without a net.

She hooked her toes in the brick work, taking her time, breathing slowly. In her training at Athena, they’d scaled rock walls and, as she moved, everything Rainy and her instructors had taught her came rushing back. Secure the footing first, don’t overreach.

I can do this. Energy surged, her confidence building as she passed the third floor. Her aim was the roof. The buildings weren’t close enough for her to risk jumping from one to the other from the top floors. Besides, the neighboring building was only three floors tall. She was in good shape, just not that good. She stretched her arms, her feet braced on the sill of an office window. If she remembered right, it was the bathroom. Even that had a sensor and she was careful not to touch it with her foot.

Darcy held on, her hands sweating, her toes curling to grip. She stretched again to reach the next brick. They stuck out at different spots, creating a pattern of sweeping curls in the wall. One more, don’t rush it.

Cars moved past on the street, voices, faint and distant, pierced the night’s silence.

Carefully she pulled her leg up, using her toes to feel the wall. When she found purchase, she pushed.

And slipped.

Her chin hit the brick and her muscles seized. She clutched the brick hard. Her breathing rushed with quick panic, and she was suddenly mad that she’d been brought to this.

Darcy struggled for five more minutes, choosing each move carefully, her fear replaced with tenacity. When she reached the top she grasped the edge, dangling like a noodle, then used her arms to pull herself up.

She swung her leg over the edge and hiked herself onto the roof. For a second, she just stayed there on her knees, catching her breath. Then she stood, looking around.

Air vents. Fire door. Glass skylight to Maurice’s sitting area. She moved to that, looking down.

The room below looked opaque, the shapes undefinable. She reached for the lock, stopping short when she saw the metal tape. She unwound the rope, leaving it behind, and moved to the vents. She didn’t bother pulling one apart, they were too narrow. Her hips would never fit through, and she didn’t know where they led.

She went to the fire door and checked it for sensors. There weren’t any. She frowned at that, double-checking, then slipping on latex gloves, she knelt, put her penlight in her mouth and used her picks to open the lock. Her hands grew slippery with sweat inside the gloves. She expected the alarm to sound.

The lock sprang. She slipped inside, padding down the short staircase that ran to the first floor right outside the guard’s desk. She moved quietly, knowing sound would echo down the narrow stairwell and alert the guard. Who was armed.

She pushed open the door to Maurice’s floor.

The hall was dark, the carpet lush and new smelling. What little moonlight there was coming through the open doors reflected off the pictures that lined the walls, shots of Maurice with actors and directors, and promo posters of movies.

Surrounded by all your glory, eh, Maurice?

She moved down the hall, silent, slow, then went into her husband’s office. There was no reason for him to lock the door. No one came on this floor unless he said so.

She shined her light over the room, which stretched the length of the building, decorated for masculine power and money. Darcy spotted several new pieces of art, a leather-sofa grouping to the left, a sparkling wet bar behind that near the window. In the center, the skylight reflected the black surface of a small conference table before his desk.

Like a king holding court.

In a small room to her far left were copiers, fax machines and a bathroom complete with a shower and a closet.

Darcy went right to the files in the Brazilian mahogany cabinets behind the desk. She flipped through them, looking for anything on taxes, financial reports that would connect Maurice and Porche. And mostly anything that was dated and signed after Fairchild had vanished. When she didn’t come across anything, she grew antsy, a little dispirited.

He had to have it here. He’d need it for his accountants.

A sliver of hopelessness pierced her and she sighed, sitting in his chair. The leather was so cold she felt it through the cat suit. Her gaze fell on his computer and she turned on the screen. With the mouse, she opened files, reading quickly. Nothing. Leaving the desk, she moved her penlight over the room’s interior.

She studied the bookcases, four wide and lining the wall opposite the desk. She barely noted the titles till she realized the same sets of books were on two shelves. She tipped a few out, then back, going down the line. It wasn’t until she reached the third row that she found it. A little switch. She flicked it. The wall sprang with a soft sigh.

Very clever, Maurice, very clever.

Behind it was a safe.

Hell.

That didn’t do her much good. She couldn’t open it.

A lock, sure, but a safe?

She tried anyway, using his birthday, then their wedding day. The day his first film was released. Maurice had trouble remembering sequences of numbers, so he kept them familiar. It was how she’d gotten into his personal finances through the online search.

She dropped her arms, staring at the unopened safe.

Nothing worked.

She checked her watch, aware she was running out of time. She gave it one last try, and for reasons she couldn’t say, she tried Charlie’s birth date.

It clicked open.

Darcy blinked, stunned to her soles.

Maurice using Charlie’s birthday when he’d pushed her down the stairs to make her lose him? When he’d ignored her son when Charlie was born?

It didn’t please her.

It made her more afraid.

Because it meant that, no matter what Maurice had said or done, Charlie was important to him. She didn’t want that. She wanted her son for herself. God, she didn’t want Maurice even thinking about him!

Shaking off this new concern till later, she rose on her toes and peered in, then lifted out the stacks of paper. She found cash bound in ten-grand increments, bonds and his passport. And hers. She considered taking it, but then he’d know she was here. Yet she stared at the picture, seeing a stylish woman, sapphires dangling from her ears to match her suit. She snapped it closed.

That Darcy was dead.

She brought the stack to the floor, spreading it out. She expected to find computer discs of information, but it was all paper. She flipped and read, careful to keep the papers aligned as they were. Then she found what she needed and felt almost giddy. The final documents of the loan for the production.

She didn’t see a thing wrong with them, though by the graininess at the top of the page, she could tell they were copies. Porche would have the original to file with the banking commission. She hurried to the copier near the bathroom, shut the door and started the machine. It sighed softly as each scan-and-copy printed and she peeked out the door, wondering if the guard made nightly rounds. She checked her watch. Damn. It was fast approaching midnight.

Darcy willed the copier to move faster, then glanced at the immaculate bathroom, the small open closet outside hung with two suits and fresh shirts. She searched the pockets, finding nothing but cleaner stubs and the monogramming order.

The copying done, she rolled hers into a tube and went back to the safe to replace the others, stacking everything exactly as it had been and putting them back in the safe.

Returning the wall to its closed position, she grabbed a rubber band from the desk to secure the tube of papers and headed to the door. She was nearly there when she stilled, hearing something. It took her about two seconds for the sound of a knob turning to register.

Oh, no.

She turned back, ducking behind the four-foot-wide wall that sectioned the office from the conference area. She went motionless, her breathing light and slow. She didn’t hear footsteps or keys. Then the door opened sharply, a wide beam of light glazing over the room. She could almost feel a figure approaching, hear his breathing. Oh, man, oh, man.

Darcy held her breath. The light speared over the interior, then clicked off.

She still didn’t move, waiting for her heart to slow down, then she checked her watch. Midnight on the dot. She stayed where she was till she heard the close of a door somewhere down the hall, then moved to the door, wondering how she’d get down from here and what to do next.

She needed to lure Maurice, scare him a little to see if she was on the right track. She stopped and turned back.

She knew just how to do it.

Leaning over his chair, she opened the Web browser on his computer. The high-speed line was open and she went to Yahoo.com and sent a blind message.

I’m back. 11 PM, lot 8.
P.F.

That should do it.

She deleted the cookies and history, then dumped the trash bin, erasing her trail. It was a long shot, but he lived by e-mail, voice mail and cell phones. And she didn’t have any time left. She repositioned everything on the desk, including the chair. Maurice’s world was a precise and orderly one. It almost made him predictable.

Darcy headed out, careful to close the doors without a sound. On the roof, she looked down at the ground, and decided against using the rope. She’d no way to release it and it would leave a trail. She went over the edge, working her way down. She ran toward her car, parked several blocks down behind a store, careful to stay in the shadows.

If Maurice showed tomorrow night, he was guilty.

Because if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t bother, nor would he understand the message.

One thing she knew about her husband was that he wouldn’t waste time on someone who didn’t have the power to take him down.

The following evening, Darcy strolled through the Pegasus Studio gates, smiling at the guard and showing her ID. She’d reconstructed the ID today using a five-minute photo taken in a machine in a drugstore. To the guard she was a young man in jeans and a jacket, so she didn’t offer more than a couple of grunts. Her mask was broader and whiskered, her hair hidden beneath a tight wig. While her waist was straighter with padding and her breasts were smashed under Ace bandages, it was the socks in her crotch that itched. But it wouldn’t do to have nothing there. She sort of understood guys’ need to adjust themselves all the time.

It was nearly ten-thirty and the guard was more interested in checking the time than looking closely at her ID. His relief must be coming, she thought, finally passing through and walking toward the lights set up on the lot for night filming. The area was quiet, almost ghostly, and when she was out of sight of the guards, she veered right, quickly moving down the alleys between buildings. Most of the buildings near the roads were for shows where the public could watch the taping, but farther to the west was storage. The warehouse where the chauffeur said Maurice had gone that night. She picked the padlock, leaving it discreetly open.

A little piece of bait.

Darcy had been there that morning, searching for the best point to see activity and the least likely place to be spotted. The roof was her best option, but she hadn’t had time in the daylight to set anything up without looking suspicious.

Her gaze landed on the fire-escape ladder on the building across the street and she stepped under it, hopping to give it a tug. It didn’t move down. Probably rusted into position. Yet if it slid to the ground as it was supposed to, the noise would alert anyone within half a mile.

No guts, no glory, she thought, adjusting her backpack before she jumped, grabbing the rung. It squeaked and she dangled for a second, then reached for the next rung, swinging her leg upward till her foot caught a bar and took some of her weight so she could ease up to reach the next rung. The thing creaked with every move and she looked around, then pulled her body weight up two more before her feet connected solidly with the medal step. She climbed, looking back to see if any cars were coming, then threw herself over the ledge of the flat roof.

It didn’t feel very stable under her feet, almost soft, and she crouched near the edge, shifting carefully to get the best view of the doors, the road and anything nearby. From the backpack she removed the night-vision goggles she’d bought at a pawnshop several months back and Jack’s video camera, flipping the night-vision lens into place, then setting the camera on motion sensor. She propped it on her backpack a few feet to her right, sighted in, then with the NVGs she settled in to wait.

He’d show. He was in this up to his Armani lapels and gold collar stays. The next ten minutes stretched her nerves, every creak making her think she’d be discovered or the roof would give out under her.

She could see the headline. Studio Collapses, Leaves Kidnapping Mother Under Ten Tons Of Rubble. Child Unaccounted For. She’d rather it said Movie Mogul Maurice Steele Indicted For Murder. She spent the next five minutes creating headlines that lightened her mood until she heard the crunch of gravel. Then the sound of a car engine.

Sighting in with the NVGs, she peered over the edge of the roofline. A dark sedan moved up the alley, and she focused on the license plate.

FLM MKR. Short for filmmaker.

Well, Maury, honey, you didn’t trust your driver with this, did you?

The car moved slowly and from her position she couldn’t see the driver. Besides, the windows were tinted. She glanced to the right to check the video camera. It was filming. Her palms went clammy, and adrenaline rushed in her veins, speeding up her heartbeat as she waited for the driver to stop and get out. Seconds passed. The car rolled, the crush of gravel beneath the tires loud and intrusive.

The car door opened and Darcy almost squeaked when Maurice stepped out. He left the lights on, the car running and the door open. Thinking you’ll need a quick getaway? Maurice waited, rubbing his mouth, pacing, cursing, the same behavior he’d had that night. He was rarely nervous, so it always stood out more.

He moved in front of the headlights and Darcy reared back at the clothing he wore. Jeans, which he wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing otherwise, a T-shirt and a shabby tweed jacket. So un-Maury. Did he think that was a disguise? Where’d he get that, Goodwill?

He moved to the warehouse door, trying the lock and when he realized it was open he let it go, stepping back, shocked. Something moved, a rat probably, but enough to make a scraping sound.

Maurice whipped around. Oh, God, she mouthed when he pulled a small gun from behind his back. Maurice moved to the next door a few yards to the left, peering through the wire-reinforced glass window. What’s in there, Maury? The body? The weapon? Darcy hadn’t seen any evidence to say so when she was in there the other day, but it would have been easy to hide—drop the body into one of the barrel tanks or drums, seal it up and the body would decompose with the strength of the chemicals. Half of them were blends with sulfuric acid.

Clever.

He looked around, then he disappeared down the narrow corridor between the buildings, big enough for a person to walk down but not enough for a vehicle.

Darcy waited, not daring to move. One tiny scrape would echo and alert him. He had a gun, she just had her knife.

When he reappeared, he went to the door, removing the lock and pocketing it before he pried the door open. It was a nearly airtight seal and the pop was loud. The reason Darcy hadn’t tried it tonight.

Maurice didn’t seem to care. He walked inside, and Darcy shifted farther to her right for a better angle, getting a bird’s-eye view of the entrance and a few yards inside. Maurice went to the left. To the back. She saw his shadow pass by the only window in the place.

If he was used to skulking he’d have known he’d cast a shadow.

And he didn’t wear gloves. She made a note of everything he touched that she could see and didn’t wonder what he was doing. He was implicating himself by being there. He didn’t turn on a light or use a flashlight. That meant he knew his way around. Or exactly where he’d been.

Less than two minutes later he came out, closed the door and put the lock back on. With a silk handkerchief, he wiped off his prints. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

“Did you find out who sent that message?”

He must be talking to his secretary, Alisha Watts.

Alisha was hardworking, always a step ahead of Maurice, and a long time ago, she’d been Darcy’s friend. She also knew the darker side of Maurice, the side he never showed to the public. Darcy hadn’t asked Alisha for help years ago—Alisha needed her job to support her daughter—yet she’d won Darcy’s eternal gratitude when she’d called to say Maurice was out of the city till very late. Darcy had phoned Rainy that night and disappeared.

“Well try harder, dammit. Your job is on the line, Ms. Watts.”

A lie. Maurice couldn’t function without Alisha and since she’d been trying to get Maurice to promote her for years now, without success, she wouldn’t put forth a whole lot of effort for an “undisclosed sender” message.

“I don’t need to be pulled out of meetings for crap like this.”

Meetings, my fanny, she thought, studying him. She could almost tick off the seconds before he exploded. He cut the call and dialed another. From the gist of the conversation he was talking to a lawyer.

Darcy smiled. He was scared. Maurice was a lawyer.

“It’s got to be someone who saw that damn TV segment mentioning Fairchild and is looking for some easy cash.”

He listened then said, “Hell, no, I’m not offering or paying. I just want the little bastard. No, no, you saw the loan papers. You approved them. What am I paying you for, Crommer, if not to watch my back? Fine, fine. You know good and well that Fairchild is in Europe living off the profits I made for her! If she wants to hide like a hobbit, what do I care?”

Darcy could almost see the noose squeezing his tanned neck. He hung up, then moved to the car, standing between the car and the open door. He looked around, looked up to where she was perched. Darcy hunched.

“I don’t know what you want,” Maurice called out softly, foolishly. “But you won’t get it.”

Really, she thought, wishing she had a rifle. With a nightscope. Silencer, too. Of course, it would be nice, if she actually had the guts to shoot a human being, that would probably help.

Darcy knew her limits. She wasn’t a killer.

But she might have married one.

He climbed into the car, backing out.

Darcy leaned against the lip of the building and for a moment stared up at the stars, considering all she’d accomplished and whether or not this trip would evolve into more. She’d have to go over the financial reports, dig for more. She had documents signed by Fairchild, but she’d need some handwriting samples to compare.

Later, she thought, reaching for the camera and backpack.

It was time to go home.

Chapter 7

Darcy did a hip-grinding walk on her way across the salon to some kicking Nelly Furtado music, shaking the application bottle of tint for Liza Ringling. The success of her trip to Hollywood gave her extra energy and her clients were feeling it.

The joint was jumping. Blow-dryers whined and chatter filled the space in the air. Charlie was in the corner, his own private spot, nodding his head to the music and playing with his toys. I’ve got a great kid, she thought, smiling at him when he squished his nose at her.

Megan was at the appointment desk, her dark hair twisted up in chopsticks and her long, thin legs propped on a stool. She deserved the break. She’d been Darcy’s right hand and sometimes her left since Rainy had died.

The customers were enjoying the late-afternoon jam session and most were getting the full treatment. Her Korean manicure-pedicurist chatted away in heavily accented English, and the masseur was escorting Rayleen Pickman to the private room. The schoolteacher would love the soft music during the warm-oil massage, and the chance to feel pampered. Chasing after thirty six-year-olds couldn’t be easy. Darcy glanced at the tanning booth, checking the timer. She had a client in there trying to maintain her summer tan. But then, Sue Ash was eighteen, beautiful, with a body every boy in town was panting after. A tan would make little difference.

Full service, she thought, grinding to Furtado and tinting light brown hair red.

“You think he’ll like it?” Liza asked nervously.

Darcy met her gaze in the chrome-rimmed mirror. Liza’s husband was going to love it, she thought. “Every man wants a redhead once in a while. Makes him think he’s walking on the wild side. Besides, if you don’t like it, I’ll tint it back for free. But you have to wait at least two weeks.” Though not one customer had ever asked to be tinted back to their original color. “Dark red hair, a kicky new cut—Dave will think he’s sleeping with another woman.”

“Well heck, he can’t argue with that,” Liza said. “A consenting affair?”

“The best kind,” Darcy said, and Jack, all tight T-shirt and rippling muscles flashed in her mind. Quickly she pushed him out and suggested Liza pop over to the lingerie shop and give her husband more of a treat. She finished applying the color, snapped off her gloves and set the timer. Giving Liza a nudge, she handed her the latest trendy lingerie catalogue before she went off to get the woman her favorite mocha latte.

In the supply room, she’d just finished making the drink when Meg came in, holding the cordless phone.

“It’s Alexandra Forsythe,” she said softly and Darcy stilled, then handed the fat mug over to Meg.

“That’s for Liza, let me know when the timer goes off,” she said, taking the phone.

Meg frowned, pulling the door closed.

“Alex, hey, girl.”

“Hello, Darcy, how’s that handsome three-foot man of yours?”

“He’s great. Wish I could bottle his energy. So what’s up?”

“I called to tell you that I met the Dark Angel.”

“Oh my God.” The Dark Angel was a legendary figure at Athena Academy. Years ago, he’d broken into the school and accused the Academy of killing his sister. A few students, including Alex, had caught a glimpse of the handsome, passionate youth. The legend had started there and was still making the rounds among students today.

“My thoughts exactly at the time. Remember the FBI agent I caught snooping around Athena Academy? His name is Justin Cohen.”

Alex had told Darcy, Kayla and Tory about catching him at the school. She also thought she’d spotted him at Rainy’s funeral. “So what was he up to all those years ago breaking into Athena and causing hell?”

“He was trying to find a connection to his sister Kelly’s death. He thought that Athena had something to do with it.”

That didn’t make sense. “Wait a sec, back up and start over.”

“I know, it sounds strange, but given what we know about the egg harvesting and Rainy’s ovaries being scarred and the accident, it’s not that far off. His sister became a surrogate mother around the time of Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. Her doctor was Dr. Henry Reagan, the man who signed off on Rainy’s chart. And Dr. Reagan’s part-time nurse was our own Betsy Stone.”

“Oh hell.” Betsy Stone was Athena Academy’s nurse.

“His sister died during the birth and the hospital records show that the baby died along with her.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“No.”

“I’m with you. If the mother was dying, they’d have tried to save the baby before that, and if she was a surrogate, someone was probably paying big bucks for that child.”

“I concur,” Alex said and Darcy smiled. Alexandra Forsythe was old money, highly educated, a “came over on the Mayflower” blue blood, and the furthest thing from a rich snot that there was. But sometimes that upbringing showed in her speech.

“Where is Dr. Reagan now?”

“Justin learned that he died of a heart attack years ago. Kayla is trying to track down his files. Justin’s been keeping track of Athena Academy all these years. When he heard about Rainy’s accident, he checked it out and realized that we all suspected it was murder.”

“We know she was murdered, we just have to prove it.”

There was silence for a second or two, and Darcy knew that the suspicions cast on Athena Academy had shattered the very foundation of Alex’s upbringing. Her family had helped to found Athena Academy.

The evidence they had pointed right to the Academy and Betsy Stone. But was she in on it? Or had someone used Betsy to get to the school? They had to be careful about questioning the nurse. If she got spooked and took off, they’d be back to square one. Finding out exactly who else was involved and why without ruining the school’s reputation was going to be a tough act to play. “What can I do?”

“Kayla mentioned that you were doing some private investigative work.”

“I’m still learning really.” Firsthand, she thought. The skills came in handy when she was rescuing women from their abusers. But the Cassandras didn’t know about that. Yet. “You don’t want to use your FBI connections to hunt, do you?”

“No, this is personal. And I’d rather keep this between those I trust.”

Darcy smiled, touched. “You want me to check out the surrogate-mother angle? Won’t be easy. The trail is twenty years old but I’d bet if there was one, then there were more.”

“I agree, Kayla’s running a search at Athena for possible leads and we’re still looking for the fertility specialist Rainy was seeing just before her death, Dr. Deborah Halburg.”

Still? Where could the woman be? “I’ll get right on it. Alex, does Justin know about the egg mining?”

“No. We really don’t have enough information yet. But he wants to work with us on the investigation. I…think it might be a good plan.” Something in Alex’s voice sounded odd. Had the renegade Dark Angel gotten under her usually reserved skin? Darcy suspected as much when Alex abruptly changed the subject. “And by the way, I had a car accident.”

“What? Oh, my God! Were you hurt? When was this? What happened?”

“Darcy.”

“Yes?”

“Take a breath.”

She did, slowly. “Jeez, you must be okay if you’re that matter-of-fact about it.”

“I’m fine, nothing major—but I passed out while driving.”

“Like Kayla did on the Athena grounds?” Kayla had been searching for Rainy’s Athena medical files when she fainted dead away for no apparent reason, too.

“I believe so.”

That was three people. Rainy falling asleep at the wheel and dying. Kayla. And now Alex. “That’s no longer a coincidence, Alex.”

“I agree. My doctor said there was nothing wrong with me to make me faint.”

“This is getting dangerous. Someone doesn’t want us getting any closer to the truth.”

“I will use every caution. And so should you.”

There was a knock on the door and Meg peered inside, pointing to her head. “I hate to cut you off, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll let you know what I turn up as soon as I have something.”

“Thanks, Darcy. And Darcy…” Alex seemed suddenly hesitant. It wasn’t like her. “If you need any help, for…anything at all, you know I’m here for you, too. We all are.”

Darcy’s throat closed a little. She knew her friends had known something was going on with her when they’d seen her dyed hair at the funeral. It hadn’t been the time to talk, but her friend’s concern touched her. “Thanks, Alex. I’ll let you know.” She started to hang up then said, “Oh, wait a sec. This FBI agent, aka our illustrious Dark Angel…is he as handsome as we all imagined him to be?”

“Oh, yes.”

Darcy grinned. She’d been right. She could almost feel the sparks shooting through the phone. “Talk to you later. Stay cool, Alex.” Darcy could hear Alex chuckle as she hung up.

She tapped the phone against her thigh for a second, thinking. Three women from Athena had fainted for no reason. One had died because of it. And Betsy Stone? What did she have to do with all this? Being the Academy’s nurse she had access to a lot of personal information, including medical and administrative records and medications. And Darcy would bet she knew when the girls had their cycles. Stone kept the supplies.

Darcy shook her head, worried about her friends as she went back to Liza and turned an understated beauty into a knockout with rich, red hair.

Sitting at a wide glass table on the back patio, Maurice Steele propped his feet on a chair, slipped on his sunglasses, then sipped his morning coffee. The water in the pool glistened like diamonds in the bright morning sun. A soft ocean breeze flicked at the wide Panama umbrella overhead and mussed his hair. He smoothed it back, reading the newspaper, making notes and ignoring the incident of the night before. Someone was jerking his chain and he felt foolish for responding.

And he hated feeling foolish, even if no one saw it.

A small TV perched on a table a couple feet away reported the news, but Maurice was interested only in the stack of newspapers in front of him and what they said about him and the movie that had premiered the other night. He went straight to the reviews, scanning them quickly and picked out small phrases that pumped his blood pressure. Excellent. Five star, tremendously crafted script. Perfect for the role. Stellar performance.

I told them. They hadn’t believed him. He could see his bank accounts filling as his prestige and clout grew. Now they’ll come begging.

He glanced at the screen, seeing Fairchild’s face on the TV, then his. Christ. They pay attention to that drivel when the biggest blockbuster movie of the year just hit theaters? People were hanging out overnight to be the first to see it. “Report on that,” he snapped at the TV anchor who looked too much like a playboy bunny and not enough like a professional. What was her name, Shannon Conner?

He smiled. She was the reporter who’d done the exposé on Athena Academy and inadvertently given him the means to hunt down his errant wife. He liked her better already.

I could change your life, he thought, seeing the woman with slightly darker hair, a less revealing suit. And for God’s sake, get rid of those earrings. They look like the Eiffel Tower.

He’d made thousands over so they were appealing to the world. As he’d done for himself. He’d rewritten his own past, carved away the barrio and replaced it with Bel Air. He’d watched and learned, working two, sometimes three jobs, making himself indispensable to the people who had the power, clawing his way between them. He knew he’d used people, been cruel and conniving. But he’d have done anything not to be trapped in an L.A. gang and walk with a homeboy hump in his step.

Manny Sanchez was Maurice Steele.

No one knew.

He’d paid a fortune to have it erased. He was proud of what he’d accomplished, he thought, sipping his coffee.

He spun straw into gold now.

Maurice looked around at his home, the ocean crashing a few hundred yards away while the clear water of the pool rippled. The best of both. In his mind he saw his wife backstroking through the water, her slim body a tanned torpedo as she flipped and swam back. She rested her arms on the edge of the pool, smiled at him.

Something sharpened in his chest.

His weakness was her, he supposed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was the only woman who could make him hurt.

No longer interested in spending time alone, he left the lanai and marched upstairs to his bedroom. Instantly his gaze fell on the real naked woman in his bed. Her breasts were plump—and, a surprise, real. Blond hair was mussed and long, her face elfin and dainty. Suddenly, he didn’t see the aspiring actress, he saw Darcy, bare and open for him.

He moved toward the bed, untying his robe.

She stirred and rolled over, dazed with confusion till the memory of last night played across her face. He’d taken her home from the premiere.

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling and reaching for him.

“Ah, my love.” He lay over her, pushing her legs apart, and in an instant he thrust into her, whispering another woman’s name.

Darcy tapped the keys, searching through archives of old newspapers in Arizona and Nevada. Athena Academy was near Phoenix, so anything in the outlying areas could be a source. It would take a while, she thought and glanced at the clock. She had five minutes before her next client arrived. This was her fifth search in two days for anything suspicious. She’d read through everything from penny savers to tourist magazines, looking for something that could be construed as an ad for a surrogate. She had five possible ads but she needed to narrow the search. She considered placing her own ad, offering a reward for information. Money always drew the real nutcases, but she’d know what to ask to make certain she was on the right track.

Her five minutes up, she stood, glancing at her notes from her L.A. trip and feeling torn between devoting her time to searching for the surrogate and following up on the details from her trip. She still had to research the names of the chemicals she’d seen on the barrels in the warehouse and dig out the freezer bags to see what else she could learn. Plus she was waiting for Porche’s assistant, Marianna Vasquez, to call her back. She’d made another call to the woman, wishing she’d had the time in L.A. to meet with her face-to-face.

She headed back into the salon, stopping by the extra room to check on Charlie. He was still napping and she bent to kiss his cool cheek. He wiggled deeper into the covers. He’d be in preschool soon, then first grade. She had to get her life back to normal before then. She couldn’t register him for school under an alias. And well, Charlie Daniels drew a lot of attention. Darcy hadn’t thought of that when she chose her alias. Charlie had been a baby at the time. She smiled. Stupid but funny, she thought. Now she was stuck with it.

She moved into the main salon, glad it was on the edge of town, far enough from street traffic but close enough to do a good walk-in business. There was a shop on either side of hers, and the facades were all designed to look like Old Western storefronts. She had a clear view of the street traffic from all sides and the backyard was big enough for Charlie to have some fun. Her own house was just two lots back, a one-story small bungalow style just big enough for her and Charlie. Megan lived at the other end of town, which didn’t say much, since she was only a couple miles away.

Darcy gathered up towels and grabbed a trash can to empty. One of her stylists, Nicki, flashed her a thank-you smile. She was young and pretty, her belly ring showing above low-riding capri slacks and shoes stacked so high Darcy waited for the nose bleed to start. Lana had the next chair, and was fresh out of cosmetology school, but Darcy had spotted talent. The eighteen-year-old was apprenticing under Darcy, yet the girl could cut hair in half the time of the rest and therefore made more money. Shianne and Zoe worked side by side, the best of pals. Shianne was tiny and blonde, and Zoe was tall with hair the color of bing cherries. The manicurist and masseur showed up when they had appointments and weren’t in today. Although the salon was filled with customers, no one was waiting for someone’s time. The mood was soft and quiet, and Darcy slipped in a Nora Jones CD and let the sexy jazz move through the place like smoke.

Darcy emptied the trash, started a load of towels, then swept the floors, checking her watch for her next client.

The noise level lowered suddenly and Nicki called to her. “I think your next client is here.”

Darcy set the broom aside, coming around the bend that hid the shampoo bowls from public view, then stopping dead in her tracks.

Oh be still my wicked heart, she thought, and for a second she just appreciated the good-looking man.

He had one arm braced on the windshield of the appointment desk, talking with Megan. Who, Darcy noticed, was practically melting into a puddle in the bucket car seat that served as a chair. Whatever he was saying was making Meg blush. She glanced at the other stylists. The girls and her customers had stopped to stare. Darcy waved at them to get back to work and not embarrass themselves. Nicki shifted a couple steps closer.

“Is he just too yummy or what? He looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalogue.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “He does have that handsome outdoorsy look, huh?”

Nicki gave her a nudge. “He’s your appointment, you lucky girl.”

Darcy moved nearer, thinking that tall, blond and handsome looked like he could climb a rock face or trek through Nepal with ease. His buff-colored Adirondack-style jacket with pockets and pull cords looked right on him, and he had it pushed back with his fist braced on his hip. Long legs in jeans ended in Timberline boots.

“Hello,” she said, and when he turned his attention, the most beautiful pair of blue eyes locked on her.

“Please tell me you’re Piper.”

He’s English, she realized, his accent educated, soft. James-Bond sexy. “I am.”

He excused himself from Meg, then moved toward Darcy. “I’m Kel Adams.”

His gaze moved over her from head to toe, making her conscious of everything from her exposed tummy to how her breasts sat in her bra.

“Thank you for the last-minute appointment.”

“No problem.” Her gaze moved to his hair. “Looks like you need it.”

“Yes, a good shearing more likely.” He ruffled his long, shaggy blond hair. “I’ve been in the Australian outback for a couple months and didn’t have time before my—” He stopped, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “Forgive me, making excuses again.”

“Something you and your therapist are working on?”

He cast her a devilish look that made her insides light up and shimmer.

“No. I chatter a bit much on useless things, though. Has a tendency to irritate some people. Rather like listening to an excited five-year-old, I’m told.”

“Then you’ll fit in here.” She inclined her head toward the back. “Let’s shampoo first.”

Kel nodded, following her. Snapping on the cap and wetting his hair, Darcy could smell his aftershave. There was something about having an attractive man staring directly at your breasts that wasn’t the least bit businesslike.

He closed his eyes, and as she shampooed and rinsed, he moaned softly.

“Sorry. Could have gone to sleep right then.”

“I get that a lot.”

He chuckled, sitting up, and she rubbed the towel over his hair, then ignored the puppy-dog way he looked up at her. “Wonderful view.”

Her face reddened and she escorted him to her chair, thinking that he was at least making a boring day better. She turned him toward the mirror.

“How would you like it trimmed?”

“Been hacking at it myself lately, so you be the judge.”

“Ah, a trusting nature,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and opening and closing her scissors viciously.

“You’re the professional.”

Darcy stared at his reflection, judging facial structure, length, then started. Kel was a photographer, she learned, in town to get some Old-West-style shots of houses and old buildings.

Kel was easygoing, less inclined to get into a heavy discussion and more into teasing them all. “Men should come in here just for the view.”

“As long as they pay, we don’t care, do we, ladies?”

The air was peppered with agreements and long looks at the handsome Brit.

“Stop moving or I’ll make a noticeable hole in your hair.”

He shrugged. “It will grow back.”

He flirted like a teenager, with innuendoes and sly infectious smiles. When she was finished, she decided he looked even better than before. He paid, left her too big a tip and said “Cheers” as he walked out. Half her staff leaned out to watch him go.

Darcy couldn’t help joining them as he swung onto a motorcycle and drove off. A couple minutes later, though, he was right back, jumping off and rushing inside.

“Forget something, Kel?”

He walked straight toward her, stopping just two feet away. “Go out with me, Piper.”

Darcy stilled, staring blankly. “I don’t think so.”

“Why? You don’t like the accent? Charms the ladies all the time.” He winked at Nicki. “Though my mother would say I’ve the poorest diction in all of Christendom.”

“Mothers like to needle. And I don’t date customers.”

“You don’t date at all,” Nicki said and Darcy sent her a “butt out” look.

His gaze raked her slim body. “Pity. How about dinner?”

“I’m not interested in a relationship.” She thought of Jack. Though theirs was a strange friendship, it was close enough to a relationship that she didn’t want more of one till her life was in order.

Kel’s expression went soft. “It’s just dinner, love.” He inched closer, his gaze locked with hers.

Darcy felt pressured, though she did want to go out, just for fun. And she was so tired of her own company. Before she made the decision, Charlie wandered out. She excused herself, gathering her son in her arms. He was still groggy from his nap, and she kissed his cheek, then set him in her chair.

“Hi,” he said to Kel, knuckling his eyes.

“Hi yourself, lad.”

“I’m Charlie. You talk funny.”

“That’s because I’m English, you know, the mother tongue.”

Charlie made a face and Darcy nudged Kel. “Wit is lost on a three-year-old.”

“Apparently.”

“What are you doing with my mom’s tongue?” Charlie asked, and barely muffled snickers filled the salon.

“Nothing…yet.”

“Kel.”

Laughing to himself, he said, “Ah, he’s an adorable child, Piper.”

“Thanks, and he remembers everything, so be careful what you say.”

“I’ve noticed. So, Charles, have you been to that park, the one near the stockyards?”

Charlie was suddenly wide-awake and shifting to his knees. “The one with the really big Ferris wheel?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Nope.” He sank into the chair. “Mom says I’m too small.”

“You look the right size to me.”

Charlie glanced at his mother accusingly. “Mom says, soon.”

Kel twisted to look back at Darcy. “How about the park, Piper, with Charlie, tomorrow night? Popcorn, cotton candy, greasy American hot dogs?”

“Well, that was very manipulative of you.”

He just kept grinning. “And they say the English are stodgy.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Can’t shoot film in the dark. Lost half my lighting equipment between here and Sydney.” His expression went sour for a second. “Some bloke is wondering what he’s got, but knows it’s worth a fortune. Good thing it was insured.” Just as quickly, he flashed her a grin and faced her. “Come on, take pity on the poor foreigner.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Charlie and I do so want to ride a Ferris wheel.”

Darcy hedged for a moment, glancing between him and Charlie. They looked like two puppies begging for a treat.

“I’m rather well off, and I love spending my money on beautiful women. Will that help sway you?”

“It would me,” Meg said from the desk.

Oh for pity’s sake. She knew when she was cornered, but misgivings haunted her. Kel was a fleeting kind of man, the kind who waltzed in and after some casual fun, waltzed right out. Nothing like Jack. That made her say, “If you promise to keep it light.”

His smile couldn’t have been more pleased. “Light as you like. Now, I’m off to get a car.”

“A car?”

At the door, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “As much as I’d like that lovely body pressed up against me while on a motorcycle, I wouldn’t want to endanger the boy.”

“I have a car, Kel.”

He reared back, looking offended. “Well that’s just not-a-tall proper. See you later. Bye, Charles.”

Smiling, he left the shop and hopped on the bike. Every woman in the salon let out a sigh as he drove away.

“My heavens, he’s like a whirlwind,” someone said, and Darcy thought it was Zoe. She couldn’t be sure, her heart was pounding too hard to think clearly.

Oh, man. Oh, man, oh, man. What was she thinking?

Men asked questions, men wanted personal information, and she was letting a stranger near Charlie?

She’d have to be extra careful.

Kel seemed like a nice guy, but then so had Maurice at one time.

Chapter 8

The amusement park was wild with noise and the scent of hot dogs, popcorn and fried falafel. Music blasted over speakers, showering down on the people crowding the old stockyards. Teenagers walked hand in hand, parents corralled kids, and bells went off when someone won a prize.

Charlie was fascinated, and from his perch on Kel’s shoulders, he had a bird’s-eye view of everything. Darcy glanced up at her son. He was in kiddie heaven, his face smeared with cotton candy, his hands in Kel’s hair. Kel didn’t seem to mind and had a hold of Charlie’s sneakered feet for balance.

She was grateful. Her son was heavy, and trying to keep a hold of his hand in the crush of people had been murder on her nerves.

“When I was a boy we had a county fair,” Kel was saying. “Nothing like this.”

“You mean nothing expensive, loud and gaudy?”

The area was well-lit with strings of lights and every stand, ride or entertainment such as the house of mirrors had flashing lights and some roadie hawking for customers.

He smiled at her. “Yes. You’re not having a good time?”

“As a matter-of-fact, I am.” She popped a piece of sugary funnel cake in her mouth.

That smile grew bigger, showing perfect white teeth. He’d been polite, friendly, not touching her, and yet lavishing attention on Charlie. The way to a woman’s heart is through her child? If it was, Jack beat him to the punch, she thought, then frowned at the thought. Had she been comparing the two men all evening?

Kel played with Charlie, accommodated him. Jack listened and talked at his level, as if everything her son said was important. Darcy didn’t want Charlie to get attached to any man, to spare his feelings should they be forced to disappear again, but she also understood and accepted that her son had no man in his life to emulate, so he connected easily with Jack. And now, with Kel.

“I’ve been talking about myself all evening, Piper.”

“And it’s been interesting. Some of the things you’ve done to get a photo would be considered crazy.”

“I’d rather think of it as doing the things I want, but with a camera in my hands.” His gaze moved over her face. “I’d love to shoot you.”

“No, thank you.”

“Really? You’re very pretty. Damn sexy I might add.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him an embarrassed smile. “Thank you, but I don’t photograph well and I’d rather it not be blatantly obvious to anyone else.” The truth was, Darcy hadn’t had her picture taken in years except for necessary IDs, and those were false. It was too dangerous to let a stranger who published his work in national magazines take photos of her.

When they arrived at the longed-for Ferris wheel, Charlie nearly toppled back as he leaned to look up.

Kel swung him down. “Are you sure, lad?”

Charlie nodded vigorously, hopping from foot to foot.

Kel looked at her, blandly. “I do believe he’s rather excited.”

“He leans toward you if he decides to replay the hot dogs and cotton candy you just fed him.”

Kel laughed, offered the attendant the tickets, and in a minute or two they were riding high above the park.

Darcy thought she’d be sick as the seat swung back and forth. They dangled in a box a hundred feet above the crowd and Darcy felt her world tilt. Good God.

She was up here with her baby and a man she knew only by his name! The risks hit her hard, and like the string she was trying to cut with Maurice, once it was severed, what then? Would she fall into the life she wanted or be disappointed?

What changes would her life take? She looked down and her stomach rolled. She’d been alone for so long, on the edge of life, a fake one, and she desperately wanted a clean slate. So she could be who she really was without fear. What would that be like? To never worry. Heaven, she thought. Victory.

She glanced at her son. Charlie’s eyes were as big as saucers, his attention shooting all over the park as he pointed out rides and vendors’ stands. But when he started wiggling in the seat, both she and Kel put their arm across Charlie’s front.

Darcy swore Kel won her over right then.

“Settle down, honey,” she said as the ride took its last turn, thank God. And here she had worried about Charlie retching up the junk food?

“Can we go again? Please, please,” Charlie begged, looking between the adults. Covertly, she rolled her eyes, hoping Kel noticed she was on the verge of losing her dinner.

“I’ll tell you what, Charles,” Kel said with English dignity. “We’ll have us a bit of a snack, then take one more turn around the grounds.”

“You mean we have to leave?” That pout was too cute to resist.

“It’s nearly nine, lad,” he said kindly, glancing briefly at Darcy. “But we can’t leave before we try our hand at the duck hunt.”

Charlie’s face lit up at the prospect of firing a water pistol at plastic ducks. Kel hoisted Charlie up on his shoulders again.

Darcy whispered, “Thanks. But tell the truth, you just want to play.”

“Oh, yes.” He hurried off, Charlie bouncing like a rag doll, and Darcy kept up, not about to let her boy out of her sight. While Charlie was satisfied with a couple games, Kel wasn’t, and dragged them all over the place, slapping down a dollar for the chance at a stuffed pink panther.

“One must have at least a gaudy reminder.”

“I think you have more than your share.” He’d won a cheap kids’ backpack, which was stuffed with trinkets and toys.

“But Charlie likes them, right?” He looked down at the boy.

But Charlie was gone.

Darcy’s heart slammed to a stop. Frantically, she looked around, then rushed into the crowd, panic slicing her as she dashed from spot to spot, calling his name. Kel went in the other direction, crouching low, and hollering for the boy.

Darcy’s eyes burned, her terror scrambling her brain, images of Charlie kidnapped or hurt breaking down her common sense. She’d taught him well, she thought, to yell, to scream for help, but what if he couldn’t, what if—she heard her name, and turned sharply. She expected Kel.

She got Jack.

With Charlie in his arms.

She ran, grabbing Charlie from him and hugging him tightly. “Oh baby, oh honey.”

“I fell down, Mama. I’m sorry.”

“I know, honey, I know.” Thank God. Oh, thank God.

“He saw me and was running when someone knocked him over. I found him under a vendor’s cart, trying not to get trampled,” Jack said.

She forced back her tears, leaning to look at Charlie. She kissed his face, and Charlie caught hers between his tiny hands and said calmly, “Don’t cry, Mama. I didn’t get hurt.”

Darcy choked on her relief. “I’m so glad, honey, but don’t leave my side, ever, not for a second. Ever.”

His lower lip curled down and Charlie glanced at Jack.

“Your mother’s right, sport.”

She hugged him again, looking over his shoulder at Jack and tearily whispered, “Thank you so much.”

Jack moved closer, running his hand over Charlie’s hair. “Are you here alone with him?”

“No, actually, she’s with me.” Kel stopped by her side, putting his arm around her and squeezing and looking deep into her eyes. “I can’t imagine the panic you just felt, but I saw it.” He had such a sad look just then, Darcy was taken aback.

Her gaze moved to Jack’s. Oh, dear. If that glare was armed, it could kill. “Jack, this is Kel Adams.”

Jack looked hard enough at Kel that he stepped away from her, lowered his arm. He didn’t offer a handshake, either.

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day, wouldn’t you say?” Kel said into the silence.

Darcy nodded. Kel went back for the bag of prizes, insisting it would just end the evening on a sour note without them.

Jack just stood there, staring after the man.

“That was rude, Jack.”

His gaze snapped back to her. “Who is this guy?”

“A client, and a photographer.”

“And?”

“And nothing, Jack. I just met him.”

“And you’re dating him? With Charlie?”

Why did that sound so bad? Was it because of all the times he’d asked her out and she’d refused? Yet she let him into her home, let him know things about her most people never did.

“It’s just a night out, nothing more.” She frowned harder. “You’re jealous.” It almost choked her.

He looked away, then back at her, not admitting a thing. Did she want him to? A little voice in her head said, yes, be jealous, be my champion, take some of these burdens. But she couldn’t and knew she could handle them herself. She was just so tired of doing it all alone.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “This isn’t a place I’d expect you to be.”

“It’s not, without good reason.” His gaze landed pointedly on Charlie, and he moved in, moved close. Darcy felt swept away by his nearness. There was so much strength there, she thought. So much quiet nobility. Didn’t anyone else see it?

Then he said, “I volunteered to help the police keep order.”

Darcy felt an instant of panic, then settled. Jack was tightly linked to the police. He hunted their bail jumpers for the court, but in the same instance that brought concern that he’d reveal something about her, she dismissed it. Jack didn’t tell anyone anything about himself; he wouldn’t betray her. Would he?

He must have noticed her alarm because he laid a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong, Piper?”

“Nothing,” she said, hugging her son.

His look went deeper. “There’ll come a day when you’ll have to trust me, and stop running from it.”

Just then Kel walked up with the pack. Darcy barely glanced his way, then looked back at Jack. He was already melting into the crowd.

For a second, she wanted to go after him, but didn’t know what she’d say. Or why. Why did the man always leave her so confused? Right now she would trade all her secrets to just share one honest moment with him.

Too dangerous, she thought, and she left with Kel.

Charlie was sound asleep in the back seat before they left the parking lot. They didn’t say much as he drove toward her place. She’d considered having him drop her off at the shop where he’d picked them up, so he wouldn’t know where she lived, but he could ask a couple questions and learn that too easily. Short of living in a cave in the hills, Darcy could only hide so deep.

Darcy glanced back at her son slumped in his car seat. His face was still sticky, his lips purple from the last snow cone. His head was squashing a cheap Velveteen rabbit. “I was so scared,” she blurted. “He’s everything to me.”

He patted her hand. “I know, Piper, I know.” After a moment he asked, “So do I have to get my hair cut so you’ll go out with me again?”

“No. But a pedicure would hedge your bet,” she said, trying to lighten her own mood.

He frowned. “Very unmanly. And I wouldn’t want to spoil my image with the public display of my ugly feet.”

Darcy was still laughing when they reached her house. Leaving Kel on the porch, she slipped inside to put Charlie in his bed. When she came out, Kel was standing in the foyer. She frowned at him, and he immediately stepped back out of the house to the porch.

“Nice place.”

“Thank you.” Darcy pulled the door closed behind her, leaning back against the frame. She wasn’t inviting him in. It might be rude, but her house was her sanctuary from her business, her fears. Her thoughts jumped to Jack, the deadly look he’d given Kel, the questions.

The man was too hard to figure out.

“I had a nice time,” she said.

“So did I. Maybe next time we can go out alone?”

“Gee, and here I thought it was Charlie you were dating tonight?”

He looked endearingly bashful just then. “Bit overexcited, was I?”

“It was cute.”

“Ah, now I’m making points.”

“You’re keeping a score?”

“If one doesn’t know the level he wishes to reach, then one can’t strive to achieve it.”

Darcy laughed. Very Winston Churchill, she thought. “And what is it that you wanted to achieve?”

“To get to know you.” He moved closer, crowding her a little. “And to taste that mouth.”

“You promised we’d keep it light, remember?”

“I promise.” Still, he grinned.

Then he slid his arm around her waist and tugged her gently against his length as he tipped his head.

“Kel?”

“Yes?”

Darcy felt her insides go soft and liquid at the tender look in his eyes. “This is not light.”

“No, this is just a kiss.”

His mouth lay over hers, soft and molding. Noting aggressive, but simply an…introduction. It was gloriously patient and romantic. Nothing like the raw, consuming energy she’d shared just inches from Jack.

At the thought of the bounty hunter, Darcy broke the kiss and Kel stepped back as if it had been his choice, not hers.

He blew out a breath, looking her over. “’Night.” He spun away, and trotted down the steps.

Darcy went inside and leaned back against the closed door, wondering what kind of woman she was if she could have thoughts of Jack Turner while she was kissing another man on the front porch.

She wasn’t a hypocrite.

But right now, she felt as if she were betraying some part of herself.

By the next evening, her brain was fried and she was burning a candle at both ends and wishing she had two more to light. Between searching for information on Porche and something on surrogates, she was exhausted.

Radio ads she couldn’t track; TV was pointless since surrogates were not the norm then. Her only option was print media. She was about to call it quits for the night when she pulled up a library archive of a newspaper in west Arizona, close enough to Athena Academy to alert her. The Mesa Centennial. Never heard of the paper, but that didn’t mean much. She’d read twenty-year-old ads from every print media in three states. The ad read simply. Surrogate mother wanted. 50K, expenses paid. Must sign contract. There was a number and she tried it. No such listing, a recording said.

The name reference to the ad was not listed.

Probably paid for in cash and mailed. Anonymous.

She decided to place her own in several newspapers in the surrounding area, asking for information on surrogates. Hers read just as simply, specifying dates, yet offered a money reward up-front. She’d know what to ask if anyone answered just to make a buck off it.

That done, she sent an e-mail to the Cassandras, giving them a progress report, then focused on Porche.

By now, Darcy knew the woman’s statistics inside out. She’d even found a copy of her yearbook, which had her signature, Patty Fogerty, scanned under her picture.

Darcy needed an expert to compare all the signatures that were signed at different times, and when she mention it to Megan, her pal said she took a yoga class with a woman who analyzed handwriting. At first Darcy had thought it was like palm reading till Megan insisted her friend worked for the police department.

Which made her very credible.

Megan had begged a favor from Loni Marks and Darcy would meet with the woman as soon as she had more tangible evidence for her to do a comparison. Darcy needed to compare the past and most recent signatures. The dates were what really mattered to Darcy. Porche Fairchild had signed a document authorizing the loan of funding for a production. That’s what she had found in Maurice’s office. Although the film had gone into production three weeks after Porche was last seen, her signature had been required before that, when the money was transferred. The day after Maurice had come home hugging his briefcase. The signatures should all match, and Darcy was relying a lot on a hunch that they wouldn’t.

If they did match, then she was out of luck. It meant Porche had been alive when the documents were signed. Though Darcy didn’t want anyone to be dead, non-matching signatures would tell her that Maurice forged the papers. That would turn suspicion on someone at the bank where the draft was issued. Thirty-five million was a big chunk of change to let go without a lot of verification. Who had Maurice forced to do that, and how?

She tried again to reach Porche’s assistant, and after persistent calls she finally got Marianna Vasquez on the line.

Darcy introduced herself as she had on the message she’d left, as a reporter doing a story for Money Market magazine about Ms. Fairchild and her sudden and now longtime absence from the financial world.

“Why now? She’s been gone three years. It is because she was mentioned on the news last week?”

“Partly. It’s a follow-up. We did do a story three months after she left for Europe, but no one in the England, France or Germany offices had seen or heard from her.”

“I don’t know what I can tell you. Ms Fairchild just…left the country. I mean, she didn’t even come into the office, only left a note and final instructions for closing up.”

“And the note said?”

“Aside from the instructions about turning off the utilities, it said that she was leaving, that the last loan was complete and that Maurice Steele had everything he needed to finalize the production money from the bank. All Porche had to do was sign the final draft. And she did.”

Darcy’s heart dropped with her spirits. “You’re certain of it?”

“Well I’m looking at it now. When you left a message last time, I brought the file to the office.”

“Can you fax it to me?” Darcy switched on the fax and gave her the number. “What was her behavior before she left?” she asked when she came back on the line.

“Agitated and angry. She didn’t get mad often, but someone was upsetting her.”

“Do you have any idea who?”

“No. She was working five deals at once. Always was. But that wasn’t unusual. She was a workaholic.”

That played against Porche’s closing up shop and heading to Europe, Darcy thought. Had Maurice paid the loan back, and if so, how? Where was Porche’s share going? Tax wise, he had to put it somewhere. Probably into an account he never touched to cover his tracks.

“My magazine’s theory is that she didn’t leave on her own power.”

Marianna’s voice lowered. “What are you saying?”

“Foul play.”

Marianna’s pitch rose with her excitement. “See, the police didn’t investigate very much because she left that note saying she was leaving for Europe and put her entire business on hold. I wasn’t happy about it because I’ve got a kid and needed my job.”

“What did you do?”

“I told the police that she wouldn’t have left like that. She lived for her work. The woman loved numbers more than anyone I know.”

“But my records show they didn’t file a report.”

“No, they didn’t.” Her tone slid into bitterness. “They accepted the note, and did investigate, but since her house was already listed for sale with a real-estate broker, plus her household goods and car were in storage, they figured she was doing just as she said. The police said she got on a private jet for Europe.”

Could Porche have already decided to take a long vacation, or move, and the timing had been just right?

Damn. This was not looking good. “But did she get off the jet?”

“I don’t know. I guess they confirmed that. Wouldn’t they?”

“Yes, they would. But if all evidence points to her wanting some time alone, then why pursue further?” People were allowed to disappear.

“Because this is just not like her.”

“I’m inclined to believe that odd behavior for someone who was so analytical is cause for question,” Darcy said.

“Yeah, ditto.”

Darcy glanced at her notes. “Had she mentioned closing her business to you before?”

“No, she hadn’t. That’s what struck me as so strange.”

“Where did she go the night before she left?”

“She didn’t say, but there was that deal with Steele.”

“What did she think of Maurice Steele?”

Marianna’s voice lowered. “She didn’t care for him. She dealt with him because he paid through the nose in finance fees. See, the film had to show a profit on the first day, because that was where her cut came from. Pay the talent and the actual making of the film with the loan, and from the box-office sales, pay the finance charge, which was Porche’s money, then the loan and get your share. So the pressure was on him. The rates would jump if the box-office sales didn’t bring in enough to pay out early.”

“Sounds like loan sharking.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it?” Marianna snickered. “But it’s all legal. Steele cofinanced half himself, so that put him in deeper. Film companies only want the money for a year or so, for filming and production, till the release date. So short-term, high-interest loans are best. By reputation, Steele’s films pay off in the first few weeks. But the last couple had pulled only a few million, which in this day is a bomb. The lead actor wasn’t the public’s version of an action star, either. So, for the rest of the money, I’d say half, Steele had to come to Porche. Getting the money was his job.”

Darcy knew that. Maurice had used his stellar reputation to back films that were destined for late-night television, and she remembered him losing money on a couple and how agitated it had made him.

The fax finally printed and Darcy snatched it up. “Tell me one thing. Has Miss Fairchild contacted you at all in the last three years?”

“No. But she paid me my last month’s pay and a decent severance bonus. I guess she forgot about the deal we’d made that if she went out of business, I’d be the first she’d sell it to.”

“She didn’t offer?”

“No, not that I could have afforded to buy her out, anyway.”

“Miss Vasquez, could you fax me some information, some of her papers?”

“I don’t know….”

“I think you might be on to something about her disappearance.” Make her feel like the hero, Darcy thought. Because she just might be. “I can’t find anyone who has laid eyes on her—and I’ve got great resources.”

“Listen, Ms. Daniels. I liked Porche, she was bright, and sharp and she had a great sense of humor. She was good to me, very good. I’d like to see her again, and if what you’re saying is true, that means someone hurt her.”

“Yes, that’s a very viable possibility.”

There was a stretch of silence, then, “Thank God someone thinks so.” Darcy heard the long, tired breath through the phone. “No one believed me, and just because she worked in the Hollywood crowd, they cast her sudden disappearance off as movie weirdness. Not me. This woman spent Christmas with me and my little girl.” Her voice fractured and Darcy realized that Marianna loved Porche. “We were close.”

How close she wasn’t going to get into now.

“I’m going to send you that last file by fax,” Marianna said. “You can call me later. Since the police didn’t suspect foul play, I have a lot of her papers. But I really have to get off the phone and go back to work. This boss isn’t nearly as sympathetic as Porche was.”

“Thank you, I understand. And, Ms. Vasquez?”

“Yes?”

“Keep this to yourself. We don’t want to tip our hand to anyone.”

“You got it.”

Darcy hung up, relaxing back in the chair as the fax spit out pages of old contracts. It would take her a couple days to go through them. But she would.

How exactly she was going to present this to the authorities without putting herself in danger or losing Charlie was still a mystery. A parental kidnapper didn’t have much clout.

She rubbed her face, her mind crowded with too many thoughts and concerns. Her unlisted cell phone rang and she looked around, trying to remember where she’d left it. She made a dive for her purse and hit send.

The voice on the other end was low and scratchy, as if too much drinking and smoking had worn out the vocal cords. Yet when the man spoke, Darcy’s heart dropped.

“You the one looking for stuff on a surrogate?”

Chapter 9

This has to be the sleaziest place in town, Darcy thought, stepping into the Match Lite Bar on the edge of Phoenix, Arizona. Far outside the edge. And from the looks of the clientele, the local gene pool needed a filter. Or at least some bleach.

Dressed in faded, worn, low-riding jeans and a red top that revealed just enough flesh to distract, Darcy popped gum in her mouth and walked deeper into the dimly lit bar. The bartender spotted her and, leaving the customer he was chatting with, he moved down toward her.

He was bald, beefy, looked sorta like Mr. Clean, and had forgotten to use a razor this morning. He gave her the once-over, a little grin showing his approval, and she returned the stare.

“What’ll you have, sweet thing?”

“Bourbon, neat.”

That seemed to please him and when he brought it back, she leaned over, showing enough breast to keep him interested, and said, “I’m looking for Tony Feeley.”

“Touchy?”

Touchy Feeley? Good God. That was a name? “Yeah.” Tony Feeley was supposed to meet her outside the Match Lite. When he hadn’t shown, the roughnecks on the street forced her inside.

“You one of his girls?”

She frowned, sipping the liquor. “I have better taste than that.”

“Then what’s a pretty little thing like you want with that pimp?”

Great, she thought, keeping her features impassive. The man that had answered her ad for information on surrogates, saying all the right things, pandered women. Her fingers tightened on the glass.

“He’s got my sister’s kid, and I aim to get her back.”

He scoffed rudely. “Fat chance, honey.”

Leaning forward on the bar, her forearms braced, she said, “You’d be surprised what I can do, handsome.” She popped her gum, looking him over as if he was double-chocolate cake. “Describe him for me, will you, baby? I wanna see him before he sees me.”

The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “You a cop?”

She hopped back, opening her jacket, showing the knife sheathed at her hip and the fake navel ring. Instead of a wig, she’d put a red henna rinse on her hair and clipped it up at odd angles in tiny girly barrettes. “Do I look like cop material?”

He was practically licking his lips. “You look like dessert.”

She leaned over the scarred wood bar again, her voice low and breathy. “But we ain’t had dinner yet.”

He grinned, glancing around to make certain no one was within earshot. “He’s skinny, black hair, goatee, squirrelly little eyes. Wears a long brown leather coat, pointed-toe boots. He kicks with them.”

“Like a girl?”

The bartender snickered. “Yeah.” He inclined his head toward a side door. “Most days you can find him in the alley.”

“Real entrepreneur, huh?”

“Just be careful.”

She was kind of touched that the hard-ball bartender would even care. “Thanks, honey,” she said, then tossed back the bourbon, paid, and left through the front door.

Outside, she glanced around. There were a lot of derelicts and foot traffic. For two blocks the streets were lit with neon signs advertising booze, lap dancing and sex shows. Cars cruised, hydraulic shocks bouncing them down the street. The curbs reeked of urine and vomit.

Darcy wished she had a gun. She didn’t want to get close enough to anyone to use her knife. Walking toward the alley, she stopped at the edge. A single lightbulb shone down on the filth, lighting the huge trash container outside the bar’s side door. Opposite that, there were side entrances to the neighboring building, a couple drunks lounging on the thresholds and teens making deals or just smoking weed. They didn’t spare her a glance.

Darcy said a quick prayer, pulled her jacket to conceal her knife and started walking, wanting to hold her nose. Instead, she breathed through her mouth. It wasn’t much better.

“You looking for Touchy?” came in slurred words.

She spun, knife out. The drunk in the doorway snickered and tipped his bottle to his lips, unmoved.

“Where is he?”

He gave her a one-eyed stare. “He just took off with someone. Well…they was draggin’ him off.” The drunk gestured with the bottle and Darcy moved fast, rounding the edge of the building. There were a couple warehouses a block away, an abandoned building separated by a parking lot with junk cars and a group of people hovering around the flames in a barrel. More than half were passed out on the ground under cut-open cardboard boxes.

She scanned the area and in the distance, saw a man being thrown back against a black car. He fit the bartender’s description. A big blonde delivered a crushing blow to the man’s middle, then backhanded him before pressing a gun to his forehead.

Oh hell.

Even from this far, she knew it had to be Feeley.

Darcy bolted, running hard.

Feeley was her only lead, and leaving him to be worked over by two men in dark biker clothes wasn’t in her plans. Fake bikers, she thought, running. The neat haircuts were a dead giveaway. Money, polished—hired muscle.

She headed right for them, and when they heard her, the men turned.

Feeley looked at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

Darcy stopped short. The men ogled her with open sexual interest, easing their grip.

“Help me,” Feeley said.

“Shut up, asshole,” one man, a Latino, said, holding Feeley against the car. The other man, the blonde, turned the gun on her. “Get outta here.”

Darcy stilled, fear jolting up her spine as she circled, making them follow her, making them turn from Feeley.

“I just want to talk to him for a second, guys,” she said. “Nothing big.”

“This ain’t your business. Get outta here, bitch.”

She gave them her best affronted look. “You talk to your mama with that mouth?”

“Shut up.” The Latino inclined his head to the other. His blond partner headed toward her.

“Stay out of this, lady,” Blondie said.

“Probably good advice.”

Blondie moved toward her, smiling. Not seeing her as a threat. When he got close, Darcy executed a high double kick that connected with his jaw, the first snapping his head back, the second dropping blond babe to the ground. Latino guy pointed the weapon at her and fired. But he was way off target because Feeley struggled and Darcy was already diving for the ground, out of the path, rolling and coming up close enough to knock the gun aside, spin, then slam her elbow into his face. He howled, falling back and shaking his head.

Blood shot out like sputters from a dying sprinkler. Feeley took off as she plowed her fist into the guy’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. The jolt rang up her arm. Oh, that hurt. The guy’s wearing a Kevlar vest. Jeez.

Darcy stepped back as Blondie struggled for air, pushing himself up. Feeley was moving fast down the alley and she let out an irritated sigh, kicked the gun into the high grass, then glanced around for something to do some damage. Rushing to the right, she grabbed a rusted pipe off the ground. When the blonde tried to get to his feet, Darcy brought it down on the back of his head. Hard. He dropped, motionless.

Latino came after her, bloody and pissed.

But Darcy was just as ticked off. Three years’ worth of anger and frustration came out when he lunged for her. She swiped the pipe like a sword, smacking his arm. The bone cracked. Latino dropped to his knees, howling and holding his arm. Darcy swung again, knocking him in the head, and he went over like a sinking ship. Alive, but out for now. She threw down the pipe, then chased after Feeley.

The little weasel wasn’t getting away. As far as she was concerned, Tony “Touchy” Feeley owed her his life. She pushed herself hard, that shot of liquor magnifying her determination to reach Tony before he disappeared into a town she didn’t know.

She knocked over a crate, leaped a discarded bumper and gained on him. His long coat was stylin’, but the impractical boots were slowing him down. He glanced back and Darcy was on him, diving for his back and knocking him to the ground. He scrambled to get up and she latched on to his boot, and pulled out her knife.

“Move and I cut the pretty-boy boots.”

He snapped a look at her, small eyes narrowing. “Get off, bitch.” He kicked out. Darcy ducked and put the blade’s edge to the boots.

“I can just as easily give you back to the men in black.”

His eyes flared and Darcy felt triumph coming. Keeping a hold of his boot, she crouched to her knees. “What’d they want, Feeley, bad debt, territory?”

“They were going to kill me.”

“Why?”

“To keep me from talking to you.”

It was Darcy’s turn to look stunned. They must have seen the ad. How did they know she was coming? She’d covered her tracks, driving the few hours from Comanche. She shoved off and stood, replacing her knife and waiting till Feeley got to his feet. Then she slammed him against the alley wall.

“It’s not nice to make a deal, then renege on it, Feeley. Bad for the pimp reputation, you know?”

“Are you nuts, lady? They were going to kill me!”

“You said that. So considering you’re still breathing, you owe me, huh?”

“I ain’t saying nothin’.”

When he moved, no doubt to get a weapon, Darcy braced her arm against his throat, cutting off his air supply and searching him. She found a stiletto in a slim pocket inside his coat. She kept it, patting him down for more and found brass knuckles and a blackjack. Tough-guy equipment, and she could only imagine how often he used them on women. She pocketed them all.

“What? No gun?”

“They took it.”

Darcy glanced to the right, checking to see if Biker Boys had roused enough to hunt her. She had to hurry. “You answered the ad, Touchy. Talk. Why didn’t those men want you to talk to me?”

“Hell if I know! You gonna give me some air?”

She pushed harder. “Tell me what you know!”

“Why should I?” He shifted his leg to kick and Darcy whipped out her knife, pressing the point to his groin.

“Because, Mr. Feeley, if you don’t, the men in black will have no reason to kill you. Tell and they can come after me.”

Darcy wasn’t letting that happen. This wasn’t like the rescues with Jack. She didn’t have a safety net and had risked her life too much tonight already. She was damn lucky she’d gotten the jump on those guys, and she wasn’t pressing it further.

“You’re just a chick.”

“At the moment that hardly matters, does it? Tell me why you answered my ad.”

His eyes narrowed. “I saw it and remembered I had a girl a long time ago. She was into some surrogate deal. You don’t forget someone who’d have a baby for strangers, you dig? They were gonna pay her fifty grand to push out a kid. She promised to give me a cut for her time off.”

The woman must have been desperate, she thought. “She tricked for you.”

“Yeah. She wanted out, but owed me for her crib, essentials and the time off. Nine months.” He smirked.

“She was willing to have a baby to pay you off? Sounds like an honorable woman.”

“She was a fucking whore.”

“And that makes you what, Touchy?”

His nose actually tipped the air. “Her man, her protection. Her keeper. She owed me!”

This guy was unbelievable, and as far as Darcy was concerned, he was no better than an abusive husband. A slave trader. And she wasn’t ready to believe everything he said. But then at this point, why lie? “Did she have the baby?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Didn’t you collect her debt to you?”

“She split. I didn’t need the money that bad.”

She shoved him into the threshold of a side door. “You’re lying. Someone tell you to leave her alone?”

Feeley just stared back, unmoved.

“What did you tell those guys?” She inclined her head in their general direction.

“Nothin’. They seemed to know what I knew already.”

Great, Darcy thought, she had a trail. “Where’s this woman now?”

“Christ, you want me to draw you a map?” She put pressure on his windpipe. “Last I heard she was in Vegas, dancing or something.” He cleared his throat. “Always was a better dancer than she was a whore.”

Darcy stared, wondering what made people like this. “Your level of humanity is remarkable.”

“Yeah, yeah. Blow me.”

Darcy released him. He shook his jacket into place, smoothed his oily black hair and gave her a smirk.

He stepped toward her, maliciousness in his ugly face, and she moved in his path. “Don’t try it.” She caught her knife by the tip and eyed his boots. “I won’t be so kind.”

“I told you what you wanted. What the fuck else do you want?”

“A name.”

“Forget it.”

“Why do you care?”

He eyed her and the nine-inch knife. “Because you’ll kill me then.”

“I saved your life, idiot. I should have let them have you,” she said, disgusted.

“You need me.” He smirked.

She glanced down the alley in both directions, then looked back at Touchy. He was backing toward the shadows. “Not anymore.” She started walking.

“Hey, gimme my goods.”

“Drop dead.” Darcy didn’t break stride.

“Her name is Cleo,” he finally said.

Darcy stopped, casting a look back over her shoulder. “Say again?”

“Cleo Patra.”

She frowned. “That can’t be real.”

His gaze shot nervously to the ends of the alley and he took a couple steps. “No, it’s a stage name, no one uses real names down here. Change your name, hide your past, you dig?”

Darcy knew that probably better than this Cleo woman. “Except you. Anthony Degas Feeley, from Reno.” His small eyes rounded. “The Vegas police have a warrant out for you, you know.”

He sneered. “So what else is new? Gimme my stuff.”

Darcy kept the stiletto, but held out the other junk. It would have tipped a boat, it was so heavy. He moved toward her and she pulled it back. “Describe her.”

“Tall, big tits. African. She was twenty-five or so when she split.”

Darcy dropped the gear and hurried to the entrance of the alley.

“Hey what about my reward?”

“You have your life, Touchy. I’d say we’re even.”

“Bitch.”

“That’s queen bitch.” She faced him. He was gathering up his piles of metal. She pitched the roll of bills at him and he snatched it up like a hungry dog.

“Steer me wrong, Touchy, and I’ll send the cops after you.”

“Lady, are you stupid? The cops ain’t got shit on those guys. You’re stepping into some dangerous shit. If you wanna die, keep looking for Cleo.” He darted into the shadows and for a breath, Darcy watched him slither along the side of the building, then disappear. A real rat.

Not wanting to encounter the men in black again, she left the alley and moved down the street, weaving between people and checking behind herself for the hired creeps. Her heart pounded like a hammer, her senses alert for anyone moving toward her, but prostitutes and drunks shifted past as if she didn’t exist.

It took her a half hour to get far enough away that she could hail a cab, and when she did, she gave the guy an extra ten to make a couple turns around the block before heading toward her hotel.

On the first pass, she spotted the goons in black just coming out of the Match Lite, looking bloody and pissed, and she scrunched down in the seat for a couple blocks. Then on the second pass, she eased up, looking behind.

“Driver, slow down and pull over.” As he did, Darcy hunched on the seat, looking out the rear window. The goons were gone. Yet before she faced front, a man stepped under the single bulb that lit the front door of the bar. Her heart slammed to her stomach. Jack? He was paying a man, or handing him something. When he looked up to scan the street, Darcy was certain it was him.

Black hat, bomber jacket, long legs. Yeah, that was him.

She sank into the seat, ignoring the cab driver’s curious glances in the rearview mirror. “Drive on, please. And thank you.”

Just because Jack was here didn’t mean that he was tailing her. He was a bounty hunter. He was always after a jumper.

Her thoughts shifted to her one solid lead.

Cleo Patra.

In Las Vegas. Sin city. She couldn’t take Charlie with her. It wasn’t a place for a child by any means, and she wasn’t putting her son in danger for anything. Those men were willing to kill Touchy to keep him from talking to anyone, and since she’d been meeting Touchy to find out about a woman who’d become a surrogate twenty years ago, the weak link was suddenly a viable connection to the egg mining.

And more dangerous than any of the Cassandras expected.

They’d found Touchy after she’d placed the ad and spoken to him. Had they bugged his phone? Seen the ad? Been watching all this time? It was pretty obvious that they understood the ad enough to go after Touchy. He was a link to this Cleo woman.

Darcy was part of that chain now, and though no one knew her name, the number in the paper was her “rescue” cell number. Although it was unlisted, with some smart computer hacking, it could be traced.

This was a little more danger than she’d bargained for. Way more.

But she had to go to Vegas, and the safest place for Charlie was away from it all.

When Darcy arrived at home she was still scared, still looking over her shoulder for the boys in black. She did a complete check of her house, locking windows, and had her cell number changed. It didn’t feel like enough, and she wondered when she wouldn’t have to behave like a fleeing convict all the time. She sent another e-mail to the Cassandras, telling them the little she’d learned and that the source, Touchy Feeley, was not reliable. She’d have to find Cleo Patra to prove it and would go looking in a couple days. She also warned them about the danger that was nearly on her doorstep and was possibly coming to theirs.

She was tempted to confess her past right then, but the roadblocks weren’t cleared away yet. She was still a parental kidnapper and involving them directly would expose them to aiding and abetting charges. She couldn’t do that to them. Kayla, who knew the most, probably could guess how she was feeling. But she wasn’t ready to talk openly about it with the Cassandras, no matter how much she wanted their support right now.

Besides, all her theories about Maurice were just that, theories. She was hoping that document expert Loni Marks would shine some favorable light on the papers she’d taken from Maurice’s safe. If she didn’t, Darcy was really going to need the Cassandras’ help. Because if Jack had seen her and Charlie on TV, there was a chance that Maurice might have, too. Her son would need more protection than just herself, and although Maurice wouldn’t know Charlie by sight—he’d been an infant when she left—Athena Academy and Rainy’s name might clue him in.

After a long workday, Darcy sat in Loni Marks’s lab in the basement of her home, sipping vanilla coffee as Loni examined the papers. For Loni to confirm anything, she’d needed the original documents, and Marianna Vasquez had agreed without hesitation. Darcy had given her a post-office box to mail the papers to, and Marianna hadn’t questioned its location. Darcy had, after all, portrayed herself as a freelance writer.

As Darcy watched Loni work, she was fascinated by the woman’s methods. Not only was she a handwriting expert who could detect forgeries with ease, she was equipped to test ink and paper and could tell how many people had handled the paper and if different pens were used. Darcy was more than impressed.

Loni was certified by the American Board of Forensic Document Examiners and had worked for the U.S. Treasury Department, Secret Service for ten years, spotting bogus currency. Retired and at the disposal of police departments from Comanche to Las Vegas, Loni was called in on anything from counterfeit and forged documents to ones charred beyond recognition.

She must be more than just a yoga partner, Darcy thought, smiling. Loni was doing this on her own time as a favor to Megan.

Darcy was grateful for the help and had offered to pay her. Loni told her to put away her money, and reminded her that the private sector could rarely afford her services. Darcy accepted the kindness and shut up.

Right now, Loni was hunched over a microscope. Darcy estimated her age at around fifty, only because her hair was pure silver, a contrast to her face, barely wrinkled around the eyes, her complexion smooth. Documents of her achievements lined the walls, and while she dressed very hip, she had a no-nonsense, business-first manner that marked her as a highly sought-after professional.

And she made great coffee.

Around Loni on several different tables were workstations with tubes, chemicals and equipment Darcy wasn’t going to try to understand.

“Tell me what you want to know, Piper.”

“I need to know if that signature is real. Compared to the older ones, it looks the same to me.”

“And the canceled bank draft?”

That was the draft Porche had given Maurice at the time she’d disappeared. Marianna had sent it, and Darcy needed to know if Fairchild had really signed it. “Well I’m not certain, but I think it’s fake, too.”

“Can I ask your interest in this?” Loni looked up, her gray-blue eyes penetrating.

“I’d rather not say right now. It’s a hunch, and I don’t want attention if it’s nothing.”

“Understandable.” She went back to the pages under the microscope. She made notes, not saying a word, then went to another table, putting the paper under what looked like a copier. Darcy guessed that it wasn’t.

“This paper is at least five years old, and I have five different sets of fingerprints.”

“Can you find out whose?”

“Not here, but I can make a transfer of each set, if that would help.”

Darcy didn’t know how it would. Maurice, as far as she knew, had no prints on file. Perhaps Porche might have, since she was handling large amounts of money. But getting a comparison would be impossible since Darcy didn’t want to get that close to the police.

“That would be good.” She’d at least have them.

Loni put the paper through another set of tests, and machines spit out analyses, one after another. It took a while, and she admired the woman’s patience.

Finally Loni returned to her desk, and Darcy poured her fresh coffee as she sat close.

“This is a real document, and this signature is authentic.” She tapped Maurice’s and had compared it to an old note Darcy had found in her date book. Five years ago, it had arrived with flowers, a diamond bracelet encircling one of the roses. It had been an apology from Maurice for speaking rudely to her, and at the time, Darcy had still had hope for their marriage.

She’d sold the bracelet for the down payment on her house.

“What about the other signature, Ms. Fairchild’s?”

Loni looked over the rim of her half glasses and Darcy held her breath. “It’s real.”

Her shoulders sank.

“However…” Loni slid the bank draft for nearly twenty million across the desk. “This one is not.”

Darcy stared at the draft, her heart pinging inside her chest. She lifted her gaze to Loni’s, took a breath, then swallowed. “And the ones for the storage units, the business closures?”

“Forgeries. Good ones, done by an expert, I imagine, but forgeries.”

Darcy sank into the chair, not smiling, her mind ticking off her next steps.

Then Loni said, “This is grand larceny, bank fraud, fraudulent identification, fraudulent commercial securities and electronic-funds transfer fraud. Aside from the forgery of a legal document, and I can think of about two other charges to add.”

Darcy’s gaze shifted to hers. “Good. But it’s murder I’m trying to prove.”

Loni’s eyebrows shot up. “You need to give this to the police and the FBI.”

“Oh, believe me, when I have enough, I will.”

“You have enough now, Piper.”

Darcy shook her head. “This person has money and power, Loni. He could buy his way out of this.”

Loni tipped her head, her silver hair gleaming in the soft light. “You don’t have much faith in the justice system, do you?”

Darcy stared back, indecision clawing at her dignity. “No, I don’t. I was an abused wife, Loni, and I begged for help, from the police, from family and people who I’d thought were my friends. But no one would help me. The cops wouldn’t even come to the house when I called because my husband had more influence and if he didn’t, he had close ties to those who did. He’s a somebody, I’m a nobody.”

Loni removed her specs, and picked up her coffee. “I can sympathize. I’ve seen it happen. It’s a crime to ignore the call for help.”

“This man—” she pointed to the papers, unwilling to reveal that it was her husband’s signature Loni had been examining “—is the same. A power broker. Someone who thinks he can get away with anything because he’s got money and prestige.”

“Well, then, I will tell you another piece of information.”

Darcy waited, almost breathless.

“This bank draft was signed by Maurice Steele. However, he was nervous when he signed it.”

“Nervous?”

Loni inclined her head, and they stood and moved to the copierlike thing. Loni switched on the light and motioned for Darcy to have a look. “See the jerky edges of the T and L? That tells me he signed it but his hand was shaking. Now if it’s from illness—”

“He’s as fit as a twenty-year-old.”

“Then he was nervous. And the same hesitation is found here and here.” She pointed to Porche Fairchild’s signature.

“Did he write it?”

“That was the other thing I was going to tell you. Yes, he did. The witness signature I can’t be certain of without anything to compare, but I would go so far as to say yes, he signed that, too. The similarities are just too close. And this is my specialty, by the way.”

“Would you document all this for me?”

Loni hesitated.

“This could lead to murder charges, Loni,” Darcy pleaded. “Porche Fairchild was missing before that check was signed.”

“How long?”

“At least a week.”

“Have they found her?”

“No, and no one is looking. Except me.” Darcy waited.

Loni finally nodded, and Darcy thought her knees would give out, she was so relieved.

“All right. I will.”

“Thank you.”

“But you have to promise me one thing,” Loni said before Darcy could work up real excitement. “That you’ll turn all this over to the police and won’t go after this man yourself.”

“I have no intention of confronting him.”

“Good. Because with a jail threat like this coming, he could quite possibly try to kill you to keep you quiet.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

The only thing Darcy had on her side right now was time, and that Maurice didn’t know where she was.

Chapter 10

Darcy had one more appointment when Kel showed up, looking so fine in brown leather slacks and a long, butternut-colored jacket. As slick as you please he walked up and kissed her lightly.

Though she’d kissed him once before, she felt he was being awfully presumptuous.

“Where have you been, love?”

In the storeroom, Darcy kept putting away the new stock of tints. “I had some business to take care of, nothing big,” she said, checking her invoice. “What have you been doing?”

“Oh, taking pictures, eating hot salsa and wanting to see you. You are about the busiest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Know a lot of slackers, do you?”

He smiled, inching closer. “Can I talk you out of work for a bit?”

She made a little sound, half want, half denial. “I have customers.”

Regardless, he slid his warm arm around her waist, not caring about the clipboard and pen, and dipped his head to kiss her more thoroughly. The clipboard sagged in her grip as his hands slid up her back.

The man knew how to kiss. A movie kiss.

Yet Darcy pushed him back. “Someone will see.”

He grinned. “And this matters?”

“Charlie does, and this is my business.”

He stepped back, rubbing his mouth and looking chagrined. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You shouldn’t be so irresistible then.”

How was she supposed get ticked at that?

“I had a bit of a chat with Charles.”

It was cute that he called her son by his given name. “What about?”

“Oh, the usual guy stuff, worms living even after you cut them in half, motorcycles and that you’re headed to Vegas.”

She hesitated in putting away a box, then finished, wishing Charlie hadn’t taken to Kel quite so readily. “Yes, I am. Just a quick trip.” She hoped.

“And you’re taking Charles? Seems like the last place you’d take a child.”

She wasn’t taking her son, but before she could answer, Meg knocked. She was grinning when she peered around the door. “Your next appointment is here.”

There was something about the way she said it that put Darcy on alert.

“I’m ready.” She set the clipboard down and she and Kel left the storeroom. Kel kissed her, spoke to Charlie, who was playing in the little pop-up tent Kel had bought him, then went to the door.

Darcy stopped short when she saw Jack Turner standing close. By the look on his face, he’d seen Kel kiss her.

Great.

Kel stopped in front of Jack and the two men stared. Jack had a “bull in the pen” look, and Darcy waited for one of them to paw the ground and charge. Kel glanced her way, winked, then left.

Jack came to her, stopping within inches, his gaze hard and piercing, though his voice was low. “You kiss all your male clients?”

“No, just the really good-looking ones.”

His look said he didn’t know whether to be pissed or pleased.

She put her hands on her hips. “Are you here for a trim or did you come in just to interrogate me in front of everyone?”

Jack let out a long breath, scraping his hand over his shaggy hair. He glanced at the clients, who were all too interested in their conversation. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” she said, nodding to the shampoo center.

As she washed his hair, he kept his eyes closed, his hands to himself, not saying a word. When she was done, Charlie realized Jack was there and shrieked his name so loud they both winced. Jack tossed her the towel and bent, his arms open to catch the flying toddler diving for his knees.

Charlie wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and Jack looked almost honored. “How you doing, sport?”

Charlie gave him a big smile. “Great. I got a tent.” He twisted to point.

“You do?” He glanced at Piper, then with Charlie in his arms, walked over to inspect the tent. Squatting, Jack gave it a good shake. “Seems solid. You having fun in there?”

Jack set Charlie down and the boy dived inside, where he had comic books he couldn’t read yet, a blanket and a pillow. “You’re all set for a night in the desert, huh?”

“Yeah, cool huh? Kel says I can go with him next time he goes to shoot pictures.”

“Is that so?” Jack twisted to look at her. Darcy could tell his back teeth were grinding.

“Yeah. I have new crayons and why do they call blue cyan?”

Jack looked back at her son. “To be different, I guess.”

Charlie asked about another half dozen questions at light speed, then finally took a breath to say, “Wanna see my books?”

“Sure, can I borrow one? I’ll read while your mom’s cutting my hair.” Charlie held one up to him, proud to share his Spider-Man collection. Jack took it, flipping through it and telling Charlie, “This is great. I haven’t read this issue.”

Charlie beamed, and Jack slipped a tiny penlight from his back pocket, one with a plastic charm on the end, and handed it to Charlie. “This might come in handy in there.”

“Wow,” Charlie said, and Jack ruffled his hair before the boy huddled in the small nylon tent and flicked it on and off repeatedly.

Oblivious to the smiles from the other stylists and clients, Jack sat in Darcy’s chair. She whipped the cape around his neck. “You really should stop giving him toys all the time.”

“I don’t do it all the time. Besides, it’s just small stuff, and he likes it so much.”

“He has an old hatbox filled with the stuff you’ve given him.”

Jack twisted to look at her. “No kidding. Huh.”

“He adores you,” she said close to his ear and she got a whiff of his aftershave.

“How about his mama?”

Jack was always so blunt. She leaned forward and said, “I like you, too, Jack.”

“No adoration, damn. How about that Kel Adams guy? What’s he still doing hanging around?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I know the answer.”

“Why is it bothering you so much?” He looked back over his shoulder at her. Darcy felt struck by the possessive look in his eyes. “I barely know him, Jack, but I know you. At least I think I do.”

He faced front. He was quiet, his forehead furrowed as she combed and sectioned his hair, cutting on automatic since she’d been doing it for nearly two years. The silence stretched and for her own self-preservation, not wanting anyone to have something more to gossip about, Darcy turned the chair so Jack faced away from the crowd.

“Watch your back with that guy,” he said after a moment.

She paused, looking at him.

“I’d hate to have to bust his chops if he hurts you.”

Her champion, she thought, smiling. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

His look said more than his words. “In a heartbeat.”

Darcy’s throat tightened, she was so moved, and she squeezed his shoulder. Jack patted her hand, saying nothing.

After a few minutes she ventured, “Jack? I need a favor, some help.”

“Name it.”

She blinked, not really taken aback, but reminded that Jack was one of the good guys. “I have to go to Vegas to look for someone. She’s supposed to be working at a casino.”

“Showgirl, croupier? Waitress?”

“Showgirl I think. A dancer, that much I know.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where would she live? What kind of area could a showgirl afford?”

“They make decent money, so the apartments past the strip would be your best bet. Easiest way is to follow the paper trail.”

Darcy nodded, trimming his neckline. “I gotcha. DMV, power, phone records.”

“That’s a start. I’ve got a pal who works in Vegas, maybe he can tell you exactly where this person works.”

“I’d rather not bother her there.”

“A showgirl’s schedule is tough and erratic.”

“Speaking from personal knowledge?”

She caught his gaze in the mirror and that little devilish smile made her heart skip. “Maybe.”

“Hand that to someone else, Jack. You’ve got Cheshire cat written all over your face.”

He chuckled and the tension radiating between them eased a little. She finished, fluffing his hair and picking up the blow-dryer. She knew what Jack liked and kept running her fingers through his dark hair, but touching him was like adding oil to a flame and after a couple passes, she was running her hand down his jaw before she realized it. He caught her hand, looking up at her and pulling off the cutting cape.

“You keep doing that darlin’ and I’ll break my promise and drag you into the dark.”

Her skin flushed, her body gone warm under her clothes. It felt almost instinctive to touch him. “What promise?”

“One I made to myself, not to push you where I want you to go.”

She didn’t ask where that would be. His expression said, bed. Long hours of hot sex. The thought made her warm all the way down to her toes, but sex with Jack wouldn’t be just sex. It would be commitment, and Darcy wasn’t able to do that just yet. She was a liar, a fake, and until that changed, she couldn’t. But she wanted to.

The fleeting thought of Kel slipped into her mind.

How could she kiss a man in her storeroom, then in the next moment want Jack like breathing? The men were like night and day. Kel was carefree and fun loving, a big tease. Since she’d met him, she often wondered if he actually worked at his job, since she hadn’t seen him do it, nor had she seen any of the pictures he’d supposedly taken of the older section of Comanche. But he always had a camera with him.

But Jack was equally handsome, yet in a totally different way. While Kel had a softer look, more GQ, and cared about his clothes and the statement he made, Jack had rugged, tanned features, his clothes were always a little weathered around the edges, and he spoke his mind, up-front and to the point.

And right now, she told herself, Kel Adams was safe. Jack was dangerous. He didn’t do anything halfway, and once she fell, there was no turning back. She wasn’t prepared to risk the relationship they had now, and was terrified of losing it if she gave in to her feelings. She wanted him, not Kel, yet they both were chasing her. It was great for her ego, but Darcy was a realist. Sex took you only so far.

Kel played. Jack played for keeps.

She brushed at his hair. “I’m done. Handsome once again.”

He held her gaze for a couple seconds, not smiling, and she felt as if he was trying to delve into her mind. Then he stood and didn’t even peer in the mirror, giving her an obscene tip and walking to the desk to pay. She followed him and he was already jotting something down on the back of her salon business card. He handed it to her.

“This is an old pal. Tell him I sent you, that should clear the way for anything you need.”

“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it.” She didn’t look at the card.

He stared at her, struggling with something. She could tell by the way his lips tightened that he wanted to say more. Then finally, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Be careful, baby,” he whispered softly, then left.

Darcy watched him go, which was an event in itself, then looked at Meg.

Meg grinned. “I vote for Jack.”

Two stylists added a vote for Kel. She looked at Charlie, who was confused by the adult conversation and went back to playing with the penlight in the tent.

“There’s no competition,” Darcy said. But there was.

“Not yet,” Zoe put in. “But I see one brewing.”

Darcy hoped not. It was so teenage, anyway. She looked at the back of the business card.

Her features tightened.

Great. Jack’s friend was a cop. Detective Kyle Windom.

Well that blows. No way was she getting anywhere near the police. Not even for help to find this Cleo Patra. She’d have to do it on her own.

With the boys in black willing to kill Tony Feeley to keep him from talking, Darcy was thinking she’d be better off with a gun.

She looked at her baby boy scribbling in a coloring book, tucked safely in his new tent. She knew she couldn’t bring him along, but she’d been away from him so much lately and missed him. Leaving him with Megan was safer, she told herself. She didn’t have a choice.

The music was the ching of slot machines, the shouts of winners. A wild assortment of people from tourists to high rollers peppered Caesar’s Palace and kept the casino running at top speed.

Darcy got a little dizzy staring at all the bright lights. Her persona for the day was a high roller and she had on so much paste jewelry it was a wonder she didn’t stick to the carpet. She didn’t think it would do her good to look like a showgirl, since she wasn’t tall enough, and the security around Caesar’s Palace was phenomenal. She’d be lucky if she could get close enough to Cleo to speak with her.

Cleo wasn’t hard to find. Her water bill, paid online, brought Darcy to an apartment and while Cleo wasn’t there, according to the neighbors, she didn’t socialize and kept late hours. Nor did she have many guests. Cleo didn’t own a phone. Probably carried a cell, Darcy thought, but if it was that easy to find her, then the boys in black could, too.

Although Feeley could have been blowing smoke and could have been harassed by the thugs for another reason entirely.

The foot traffic around her was heavy. Lights sparkled like flashing beacons, luring the players and their money to the casinos beyond. She made a point not to behave as if she was searching, pausing to study the people, the restaurant menu. Her gaze shot around herself. It was instinct to stop and look, to watch her own back.

Her gaze caught on the back of a man’s head. He was in the casino, moving between the blackjack tables, and something about him struck her enough for her to head that way. The crowd was heavy, brushing her hard enough for her to misstep. She peered over heads, her gaze quickly flicking over the crowd. She spotted him and moved.

Darcy was nearly close enough to get a good look, but his back was to her. It was the way he walked, she thought, not his looks.

Kel? He turned a corner, and she hurried to catch up.

But when she reached the spot where she’d seen him last, he was gone.

She looked around at the shops and restaurants, but didn’t see him. The doors leading out were nearby. Giving up, Darcy turned back and headed to the Coliseum Theater. She needed to find Cleo before the show, since afterward it would be too crowded and the dancers would be making a beeline to get home.

She went into the Coliseum, marveling at the size of the place as she walked with confidence in her step, her jewelry and clothing shouting money and enough of it to burn. No one questioned her when she stepped inside the empty theater. She went up to a man who was near the stage. He was wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard, pointing to the stage and telling someone to move the lighting. Darcy assumed there was a lighting grip in the rafters.

She waited and when he noticed her, he smiled and looked her over.

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for someone, one of your dancers.”

His gaze narrowed. “What for?”

“We have a mutual friend, and they asked if I’d say hello, see how she was liking working here.” Darcy put on her best fascinated face. “It looks all so exciting and glamorous,” she gushed.

His gaze shot over her, noticing her designer clothing and jewelry. Darcy only hoped he didn’t notice it was paste and last year’s collection.

“What’s her name?”

“Cleo.” She cleared her throat. “Cleo Patra.”

He gave her a look that was equally amused. “Yeah, she’s back there.” He inclined his head toward the stage door.

“May I go back?”

“Sure. They’re getting ready for tonight’s show.”

He pressed the headset to his ear and listened, a finger up to stop her from talking. Then he frowned and spoke into the mike, “No, that’s not right.” He turned his back, waving her on, and Darcy drew a breath and started moving. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to stop her if he had second thoughts.

She pushed through the stage doors and walked down a narrow hall that forked, one short corridor leading to the stage, the other to what she assumed was the dressing rooms. She followed the chatter, the sounds of equipment being moved. It felt familiar to her, like working on movie sets. Soon she saw people giving stage orders, and a woman who Darcy suspected was the dresser was adjusting elaborate headpieces and skimpy costumes on women who were inches taller than her, and more beautiful up close than she’d thought possible.

She tapped the dresser, who didn’t even look up from working on refitting a dancer’s costume. “I’m looking for Cleo.”

The woman pointed off to the right and kept right on working, straight pins in her mouth. Darcy shifted between the women and men, ignoring the stares and walking down the hall. She asked again where she’d find Cleo and a man spoke up, his gaze moving over her.

“She’s in there.”

“May I go in?”

He pushed away from the wall and rapped on the door, then leaned close when someone opened it a fraction. “Someone to see Cleo,” he said, giving Darcy the once-over again.

The door shut and in a few minutes a black woman with flawless café-au-lait skin stepped out. She was beautiful. And really tall. She had to be near six feet, Darcy thought. It was hard to believe the woman was about forty-five.

Wrapping her silk robe a bit tighter, Cleo looked down at her, her hip cocked. “What you want, honey?”

“Can we speak in private?”

She looked around and gestured. “You see any place in this wild house?”

Darcy inclined her head and shifted away from the crowd, farther back down the hall. The click of Cleo’s shoes followed her and when they were in private, she faced her.

“I’m Piper Daniels. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She gave her a narrow, wary look. “You a cop?”

“No, I’m not.”

“So what’s this about? And make it quick, I’ve got to dress for the show and it takes a while to pack all this—” she gestured to her voluptuous body “—into half a yard of material.”

“Tony Feeley said—”

“That bastard sent you?” Cleo cut in, her friendly attitude vanishing. “Forget it.” She turned and headed toward her dressing room.

Darcy raced to catch her arm. “No, he didn’t send me here.”

Cleo looked back, losing her grip on her. “Then what do you want?”

“Information.”

Cleo’s beautiful kohl-lined eyes thinned. “I haven’t seen Tony in years and don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t, either. He ranks below pond scum.”

Cleo smiled slightly, yet her eyes held years of distrust. Darcy understood that. “Please, Miss Patra.”

“Call me Cleo, honey. And what information do you think I have?” She lowered her voice, glancing to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “I haven’t been in Tony’s line of work for two decades.”

“I know. This has nothing to do with Tony.” Darcy debated on how to approach this, then decided straight ahead was the best way. “Twenty years ago, did you answer an ad to become a surrogate mother?”

Cleo’s eyes widened, her features going slack as she stepped back, looking past Darcy and around the area.

“Sorry, sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cleo turned and hurried down the hall.

Darcy caught up with her. “Cleo, wait.”

Cleo rounded on her, nearly six feet of angry black woman towering over Darcy. “You listen to me, girl, don’t come near me again, or I’ll have the hotel staff kick your preppy little ass outta here.”

Darcy didn’t have to ask why she was so reluctant to talk. Someone was willing to kill to keep this surrogate business under wraps.

“Take this then.” She handed Cleo a card with her alias and her cell number printed on it. “If you change your mind, call me.”

“I won’t.” Crushing the card, Cleo leaned down in her face. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut and get out of this town as fast as you can.”

Cleo spun away, long curls bouncing as she stormed off.

She’s scared, Darcy thought. Very scared.

Had the men who were after Tony visited Cleo?

And how was she going to convince the woman to talk to her?

Chapter 11

Cleo had been a surrogate. No doubt, after her reaction.

Walking toward the front exit, Darcy passed the ticket counter, not paying attention to anything but her own steps when she dropped her purse. She stopped to pick it up, glanced around for any loose items.

That’s when she saw him. Jack. She almost didn’t recognize him. He looked more like a corporate executive than a bounty hunter in the dark gray suit, dark shirt and silk tie. Hot. Incredibly polished. He was talking to a hotel staff member, handing him something.

When he lifted his gaze, Darcy felt pinned and knew in an instant he was aware she was here. She waited till the other man left, then strode up to him.

When he looked at her, Darcy felt her insides tighten. “Did you follow me?”

He jerked his head back. “Hell, no. I knew you’d be here, but not here.” He gestured to Caesar’s.

Darcy’s gaze thinned. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

“If you must pry,” he enunciated, “I’m working on an old missing-persons case for someone. You didn’t call Kyle, did you?”

“No, I didn’t need to. I found her on my own.”

“Good girl.” He smiled.

She didn’t. “Don’t patronize me.”

He eyed her, his smile fading. “You really think I’m tracking you?”

“Yes.” He’d been outside the Match Lite Bar, and now he was here? It was too convenient.

“What the hell are you into that you’d believe that?”

“None of your business.”

He stared her down. “Woman, I swear, you’re stubborn enough to try a saint.”

“So you keep telling me. I thought we’d settled this, Jack.”

“We did. You’re letting your imagination get to you.”

Maybe he was right, but there were too many people moving around her life who could topple the scales.

She let out a breath. Jack moved close, moved in. She felt her insides shift and twist as he stared down at her.

“You’re edgy. What’s going on, Piper?”

I’m Darcy, she wanted to scream. I’m here, can’t you see me? But she couldn’t and she was so tired of it.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You don’t have to handle it alone, you know.”

Yes, she did, and she wanted to share her burdens with him, but was certain he’d turn away from her. She realized Jack meant more to her than she’d thought possible.

“I do for now.” She turned away and stepped outside onto the curb. He was there as she handed the valet her ticket.

“Have dinner with me later,” he said suddenly.

When she looked at him, he was close. He gripped her hip, pulling her near. The air sizzled, her body suddenly aware of only him. Each feature, the tense strength of his muscles and the heat in his blue eyes. Before she could say a word, he kissed her. Nothing chaste and quick, but a hot, seductive slide of lips and tongue—utterly possessive, completely primal. It made her heartbeat climb rapidly, and she wanted closer.

“I accept your apology,” he whispered when he drew back.

She made a frustrated sound, pushing him. “I didn’t offer one.” He didn’t let her go just yet.

“Tasted like it to me.”

Darcy smiled up at him, shaking her head.

“That’s some outfit, too.”

She wore a slim-fitting black sheath of lace over a flesh-colored lining.

“I can tell you’re not armed, too.” When she frowned, questioning, he gave her a long slow look and said, “You aren’t hiding a thing in that dress.”

Just then the valet pulled up. Jack stepped back to open her door. “I’m staying here.”

She flicked her room key. “Paris.”

His gaze lowered over her with unshielded want and he inhaled through clenched teeth. “Probably a good thing,” he muttered. “Dinner, seven. I’ll come for you.”

“Okay.”

She slid behind the wheel and smiled as she drove away. That kiss spoke volumes, and though he’d never made any overtures, his recent behavior was sending messages that were loud and clear. But she couldn’t take their relationship much further. She was lying to him. And that, Jack might never forgive.

Darcy did what every red-blooded woman did in Vegas. She shopped. The fun of strolling through shops was dampened with trying to figure out how to convince Cleo to trust her. The woman had no reason to, and if Darcy were in her shoes, she wouldn’t, either.

Her thoughts on a hot bath, she stepped off the elevator, then hunted in her purse for her room key. She’d taken a couple steps when she realized the hall was darker than when she’d left. She headed quickly toward her room, and just as she turned a corner someone slammed her face-first against the wall. A heartbeat later, a knifepoint dug into the side of her throat. Darcy didn’t have time to be afraid.

“My money’s in my purse, take it.” She let it drop with the bags. He didn’t go for it. She struggled and the man shoved her legs apart, nearly unbalancing her. The weight of his big body crushed her to the wall.

She smelled the minty scent of his breath as he said, “Keep your nose out of it, lady.”

She didn’t recognize the voice.

“You got that?”

“Sure, yeah, no problem.”

He shoved harder. “You ask too many questions, bitch. Drop it or I’ll drop you.” He ground his crotch to her behind and revulsion floated up from her stomach. She rammed her elbow back into the man. It did nothing. Absolutely nothing. His laugh was low and cold, and he pressed the knife till a trickle of blood slid down her throat.

“Want to die now?”

“Go to hell.” She drove her heel down on his foot as she threw her head back into his face. At the impact, she heard something crack.

He groaned loudly, but didn’t let go. The hand in her hair slammed her forehead to the wall. Darcy saw stars and thought, I’m going to die over this.

Then the thunder of footsteps vibrated the floor, and seconds later the man was off her. She twisted in time to see Jack knock the blade from the man’s hand and land a full-face, hammer-fisted punch right on the guy’s nose. The man staggered, blood spraying from his nose. Jack didn’t stop, driving his fist under the guy’s chin, nearly lifting the man off his feet. Her attacker crumpled to the carpet. Jack shrugged his jacket into place and looked at her.

He was pissed. He moved toward her and instinct would have sent her backing up, but when he reached her, she let him take her into his arms.

“Thank you, Jack.”

“Why’d this guy go after you?”

She pushed away from him, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He tipped her chin up. “Jesus, you’re bleeding.”

She touched her throat, looked at the blood on her fingers. Jack gave her his handkerchief, then flipped out a cell phone and dialed. “Hotel security.”

“No, Jack. Don’t!”

“What? Are you crazy? It’s on video.” He pointed to the cameras positioned in the corners.

“I won’t talk to them.” She started toward her room.

He grabbed her close, his eyes sympathetic. “You won’t have to. I will.”

Darcy sagged, her heart pounding.

Jack spoke into the phone, his tone demanding and angry, but when he shut it off, he was calmer.

“Give me your room key.”

“Why?” He flicked his fingers, not explaining. She handed it over.

He went to the room and unlocked it. “Get your stuff, you’re coming with me.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Now. And don’t give me that crap about taking care of yourself. I know you can, but tonight, you couldn’t.”

He waited at the door till she repacked her things.

The security was there and he wouldn’t let them talk to her, giving them his cell number and telling them to take it up later. They hauled the attacker off, but not before Jack searched his pockets. No ID, no wallet. No gun. And he wasn’t talking. Just bleeding.

Through the TV system, he checked her out of the hotel, then with his hand on the small of her back, he escorted Darcy out of the hotel and to his SUV. He didn’t say a word. It made her nervous.

In the car she said, “Your teeth are going to be nothing but powder if you keep grinding them. Let it out.”

“Let what out?”

“Your anger. I’ve had it directed at me before.”

“You think I’m mad at you?”

“Yes.”

“Christ.” He pulled into Caesar’s Palace, got out and tossed the keys to the valet, snatching the ticket. He shouldered her bag and nudged her along. They were alone in the elevator.

“Jack.”

“Not here.”

She folded her arms, glaring at him. “He-man.”

“Pain in my ass.” He directed her toward his room, unlocked the door and shut it behind them.

Darcy moved to the window. “Say it, whatever it is, just say it. Yell at me, whatever.”

“I was scared.”

She looked at him.

“To death. I didn’t think I’d reach you in time.”

“What?”

“I saw that guy follow you from this hotel to yours, dammit. I followed him. I missed him in the elevator and—” His gaze fell on the cut on her throat. “I thought he’d kill you.”

“He didn’t.”

He snatched a tissue, blotting her throat. It was sealing up already. When he looked at her again, Darcy felt the air leave her lungs.

It was overpowering, the emotion in his eyes.

She turned away from it.

“You might as well tell me what you’re into, because you’re in way over your head.”

It was true, she was. But she couldn’t bring him into it, not without revealing everything she’d kept hidden for so long.

“Jack, it’s my business.”

“Is it? Darcy?”

She inhaled and went still as glass. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Darcy Allen Steele.”

Her legs wouldn’t hold her, her heartbeat was so fast she thought she’d pass out. She reached for the dresser, sinking to the floor, refusing to look at him, to confirm or deny. A flood of emotion and pain slipped through her like boiling water, scalding, burning.

Oh God, oh God, he knew!

“You investigated me?”

“I was a cop. A Vegas cop. And yes, I did.”

“How—how long have you known?” She couldn’t catch her breath.

“After I found you rescuing that woman.”

“For nearly two years, and you never said anything!”

“I was waiting for you to trust me.”

“It’s not that simple.” Still, she wouldn’t look at him.

“It is now, Darcy.”

She choked. Hearing her name was both painful and joyous, and the tears came, years of loneliness, of hiding and watching what she said or did chipping away like ice trapping her soul.

He was there, pulling her off the floor and into his arms, holding her tight.

Darcy cried, her fingers digging into his shoulders, arms wrapping his neck.

“Oh, Jack.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay, baby.” His voice wavered, big hands smoothing her spine. “Take a breath.”

She couldn’t. It hurt.

For long moments he said nothing, simply holding her. Her shoulders jerked with each sob. He kept telling her she was safe, that he’d never let anyone hurt her again. Darcy didn’t know how long she cried, didn’t feel time passing, only the safe haven of Jack’s arms.

“I’ve ruined your suit,” she muttered against his chest when she’d calmed.

“It’s okay. Rarely wear it anymore.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “Why, Jack, why did you investigate me?”

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t doing anything illegal by helping you.”

“But you were.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why didn’t you turn me in?”

His shoulders moved. “Because of you.”

“As flattering as that is, there has to be more than that.”

“Yeah, there is.” He inhaled and exhaled as if he were about to confess a crime. “My sister was beaten to death by her boyfriend. We didn’t have enough evidence for a trial and he walked. I didn’t want that to happen to you.” He shrugged, old pain tensing his expression. “So I watched your back.”

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. Is that the reason you’re not a cop anymore?”

He nodded solemnly.

There was a stretch of silence, and a thousand thoughts careened through her mind. “Then you know about Maurice.”

“Yes.”

Shame swept her. “Oh, God.” She pushed out of his arms.

“He hurt you, that’s why you go after those women.”

“Yes.”

“You even filed charges against him, I know.”

She laughed without humor. “Yes, I did. But Maurice is a very powerful man, Jack. People listened to him and not to the poor girl he married.”

She couldn’t believe she was telling him this, that with Jack, it was over, no more hiding, no more lies.

She sank down onto the sofa, her hands folded. “I stole my son from his father.”

“You were afraid for Charlie’s life.”

“You have no idea.”

Removing his jacket and tie, Jack went to the wet bar and poured her a drink. “I think I do, but you can tell me now, Darcy.”

When he said her name, her head snapped up. He smiled. “Piper never suited you.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

If she wanted proof of his trust, there it was.

“How much do you know?”

“Enough to know where you learned all those defense skills.”

Athena. “Bet that was a shock.”

“No, you’re a strong woman.”

“If I was, I would have done something about Maurice before now.”

“So talk.” He pushed the drink into her hand and sat beside her. “I’m listening.”

Darcy heard herself speak, but it was as if she were telling a story about a part of herself that didn’t exist anymore. She told him about Athena and the Cassandras, and then going to UCLA, working on movies, and meeting Maurice. Jack asked a few questions, cursed a few times, but didn’t say anything more as she told him about the horrors, the abuse. Being locked in her own house for days at a time. His features were still, but his eyes gave him away.

She found such peace in them.

Such tender warmth and love.

And still she told him all, the shame and regret bringing tears and anger. She told him how Rainy had helped her escape, and how she’d taken the burned clothing.

And when she was done bringing him up to the present, Rainy’s death, the Cassandras’ investigation, and her own decision to go after Maurice, Jack simply nodded.

“This evidence you have, the clothing, you’ve had it tested?”

“No. It might be nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. I’ll have it tested.”

“Jack, I can’t involve you in this.”

He gave her a look that said it didn’t matter anymore. “You did right to have the forgeries documented, especially with Loni.”

Darcy blinked.

“I worked with her in Vegas, a few years ago. You have plenty of proof, enough to open a file on Fairchild and Steele.”

“No, we don’t have a body.”

“We’ll look. Or the cops will.”

“Jack, don’t you get it? I could lose Charlie over this.”

“I won’t let that happen.” The edge in his voice cut through the air between them. “I swear to you. Charlie is not going anywhere.”

He loves my son, she thought. He loves him.

“How can you say that? As far as the L.A. police are concerned, Maurice is clean. I’m the criminal.”

“No, you’re not.” Jack left the sofa and paced a little. “Even if charges were never filed against Maurice, the incident reports have to be on file. There are calls with the dispatcher. You said you have pictures. And with the servants you’ll have witnesses.”

“Maurice never hit me in front of anyone, Jack. He never said a cross word near a witness. The man went overboard with gifts and jewels. And I accepted them.”

“Accepting them was placating his temper and we’ll figure this out, together.” He was quiet for a moment.

“What?” she pushed.

“If I saw you and Charlie on TV and recognized you, Steele could have seen you at that funeral, too.”

“Why do you think I’ve been working so hard to get all this together?”

“He wants you.”

“He’s not getting me.”

“Oh, I know that. Because you’re mine.”

Darcy blinked. He met her gaze, then moved across the room with quick steps as he said, “If you don’t know that by now, then I’ll just have to be clearer.”

He reached for her. That was all it took.

Suddenly she was against him, her fingers plowing into his hair, her warm mouth moving hotly over his. His energy slammed into her, and her body fired right back like a rocket, cooking her from the inside out.

They were savage and primal, tearing at each other like starved animals. She couldn’t be still, as if she had to run at top speed, nipping at his throat, his mouth, yanking his shirt from his trousers and sliding her tongue over his skin. Jack staggered, his shirt sailing to the floor. The sound of her dress zipper sliding down filled the room. He peeled it off her shoulders down to her waist.

Immediately he cupped her breasts and she pushed into his touch, begging for more as she shaped his erection trapped in his slacks. She made a little sound of hunger and passion, her kiss growing stronger. Unstoppable. As if she wanted to devour him whole.

“Oh, Jack, I knew it would be like this,” she murmured against his mouth, then kissed him hotly.

“See all the time we’ve wasted. Tell me you really want this or I walk,” he said even as he cupped her breasts, thumbed her nipples. “Because we’re fast approaching liftoff.”

She simply smiled, opened his slacks and freed him.

“Oh, man,” he groaned as her hand closed around his erection. She stroked him, making him tremble like a teenager, and Jack thrust into her palm.

“God, I love a woman who takes charge,” he managed, his breath coming in short rasps.

Darcy felt the power of being a woman, saw it in his eyes as she slid her finger over the moist tip of him. He shuddered for her, kissing her till her legs liquefied.

“Give me everything, Jack. It’s been so long.” It was almost a dare, a tiny battle for pleasure and he bent, his lips closing over her nipple. She gasped, bending back over his arm and Jack flicked and suckled harder, stroking her body, dipping and rubbing between her thighs.

Darcy felt the fire inside her rupture and spread. She couldn’t get enough of him, needing to feel alive and connected, even for just one night. Her hands skated over his smooth tanned skin, over ropy muscles that made her insides melt with desire. Then he moved lower, taking her dress down. Except for panties and thigh-high stockings, she was naked beneath. He licked a path down her stomach toward her center. Her body quivered with anticipation. He peeled the panties down and Darcy tipped her head back, her fingers in his hair.

Oh, I’ve missed this.

He spread her, driving his tongue between the folds and she flinched, then sighed with pleasure. Cupping her behind, he devoured her, sending untamed heat to the end of her nerves. Her body screamed with delight, and she gasped over and over, groping for him, pulling him back into her arms.

Mouths met and sank into each other, skin dampened, primed for sex.

“Tell me you have a condom in your wallet, cowboy,” she said, shoving at his trousers. He fumbled for it, dumping his wallet on the floor, and Darcy snatched it, then hooked her foot in his slacks and sent them down. He stepped back and stripped, then grabbed her against him.

His erection pushed between them.

It was all she could do not to climb on him right now.

Then he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him, leaning back, and together, they tumbled to the bed. She laughed softly, clinging to him, thrusting against him.

“Now, Jack, please, oh, now.”

He pressed her into the mattress, his knee wedged between her thighs. “Not so fast, baby.”

“Yes, fast, right now.” She squirmed beneath him, but he just grinned and dragged his tongue over her nipples, then latched on. “Ohh.” She dug her fingers into his shoulders. He was devouring and greedy, and it had been so long since she felt this good. She wanted to be touched, to play and be wild with him. And he would be wild. She could feel it, in the tense yank of his body, in the way he stroked and teased her.

“Jack,” she gasped.

“Man, you taste good.” His mouth cruised over her skin, wet and hot. He nudged her thighs apart, slipping a finger inside her and she moaned, kissing him as he slid in and out. Her hips pumped with his touch, and when he circled the beads of her sex, she nearly came off the bed, urging him on.

Gazes locked and she cupped him, rolling the condom down, playing, making it impossible to resist her. He sat back on his haunches, scooping her off the bed and onto his lap.

She was trapped in his gaze. Everything inside her went still, hanging by a thread.

“Darcy?”

She choked.

He kissed her face. “Tell me.”

“This hurts, Jack. I didn’t think it would.” She could feel the pain of her past shattering. A living thing that had gnawed at her for so long was dying with his touch, his trust.

“Hard to let those secrets go?” he said softly.

She nodded.

“Then let me carry them for a while.”

Her eyes teared. He kissed them softly, his mouth working magic over hers and in moments the energy steamed between them, and Darcy was begging for him to be inside her.

He entered her, teasing her with the tip. “Oh, Jack.”

Then in one long thrust, he filled her, making a sound all men made when they found satisfaction. Making her wounded heart bleed.

He kissed her ravenously, pushing in short thrusts, then longer and longer till Darcy felt herself falling apart inside. She moved with him, enjoying the thick hard push of man, the warm pulse inside her.

Oh, she’d missed this. She missed being taken. Feeling loved.

Her eyes suddenly burned and she scolded herself for it.

“Look at me.”

She did, holding his gaze as he slid from her and then plunged deeply. He had one broad warm hand on her behind, giving her motion, the other cupping the back of her head. His eyes were bluer, intense. She’d never had a man who was so intent on her pleasure, and seeing it.

“I feel you grabbing me,” he whispered, pushing harder and faster. He leaned till she was on her back, keeping his eyes on her face, the power of him pushing them across the bed with frantic cadence.

Laughing, Darcy grabbed the headboard, braced her feet on the mattress and let herself go. Her hips rose, her body open. On his knees Jack watched himself disappear into her, then met her gaze, quickening his pace. And she took all of him, a hundred sensations rushing at her at once, the feel of his skin, his fierce blue eyes, the hot throb clawing through her body. Her heart pounded wildly. Her breath labored. His hips pistoned.

“Come here, cowboy. Closer, I need you closer.” Grabbing the headboard, Jack slipped one arm under her, holding her off the bed. Her spine bowed and every sensation intensified.

Faster, deeper. Hotter. He shoved once, twice. The explosion ripped through them, pleasure crashing in heavy waves. The air prickled with it, and she clamped her legs around him, pulling him down onto her as the fire roared through them like a savage beast.

Feminine muscles clamped, robbing them of thought. They strained, kissing wildly even as they tried to catch their breath. Then like a dying wind, they softened and slumped to the side, a tangle of arms and legs on a lake of wrinkled sheets.

“Ah, Jesus, Darcy,” he said, breathless.

Something inside her shattered. Old pain, old life disintegrated.

She curled into his body, realized that he’d had her heart a long time ago. Tonight, she gave it freely. She met his gaze, his smile was soft and tender.

“This changes everything,” she said.

He looked at her, brushing her hair back. “You okay with that?”

He seemed apprehensive right then. Darcy cupped his jaw, laying a warm kiss over his mouth. “Yes, I am.”

She settled back in his arms, her eyes closing with exhaustion and new freedom.

Then in the quiet, his voice rumbled softly. “So…you’re really a blonde, huh?”

Slowly, Darcy met his amused gaze. He arched an eyebrow. She grinned, shoving a pillow in his face.

Chapter 12

In the middle of the night, Darcy’s cell phone rang.

She left the bed, smiling as Jack’s fingers slid over her arm.

“If that’s Charlie,” he said groggily, “Tell him I said hi.”

“I will not. It’s the middle of the night. He’ll know we—” She gestured between them.

Jack grinned. “He’s a smart kid, he’ll figure it out.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, then hunted in her purse for the phone. “Piper Daniels.” Jack made a face at that.

Raspy breaths came through. “It’s me.”

“Cleo?”

“They came after me.”

“I’m in your hotel, come right now.” She gave her the room number, then ended the call.

Jack was already out of bed, pulling on jeans.

“It’s Cleo, I think she’s been hurt.”

Darcy rifled through her bags for clothes, then went to the bath, showering quickly, then dressing. By the time she came out, Jack had everything tidy. Got to love a man who pitches in, she thought.

“When she gets here, don’t use my real name. Just because you know doesn’t mean I can afford to come out of the closet yet.”

“This is getting complicated,” Jack said.

When the knock came, he looked through the peephole, then said, “Jesus.” He threw it open, pulling her in.

Cleo struggled against him till Darcy came to her. “It’s all right, he’s a friend. God, Cleo.” Darcy smoothed her hair back. Cleo’s face looked like a punching bag. “Jack, get some ice for this.”

She led the woman to the nearest chair, and when he brought a cloth with ice, she pressed it to Cleo’s cheek.

Her left eye was already darkening with a bruise, and her neck bore deep red finger marks. Big and wide. A man had tried to strangle her.

Jack offered her a glass of water, and Cleo sipped.

Darcy glanced at Jack. He didn’t look happy about this and sat down beside her.

“Tell us what happened,” Darcy said.

Holding the compress, Cleo gave her a one-eyed stare. “I was at my place, just got there and hadn’t even opened the door yet. They came outta nowhere. One guy grabbed me and slammed me against the door. He held me by the throat, and every time he spoke, he smacked me.”

“What did they want?”

“Nothing. It was just a little reminder to keep my mouth shut.”

Jack went for his pistol, checking the load and putting on the holster.

Darcy knew it wasn’t all because of her part in the investigation. Five other Cassandras were looking into the egg mining and Rainy’s accident. She hoped they were all okay.

“I gotta go,” Cleo said, trying to stand. “They’ll come here and hurt you.”

Darcy easily pushed her back down. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Neither will I,” Jack said. Cleo’s gaze landed on the pistol in Jack’s holster. “And someone already attacked her.”

“But this is the second warning,” Darcy said and Jack’s eyes narrowed. He’d confessed to being there as her backup when she’d met Touchy.

Slowly Cleo lowered the ice pack. “When?”

“I was meeting with Touchy and two men got to him first. I managed to get the little pig away from them.” Cleo eyed her. Darcy wasn’t a big person, and clearly Cleo didn’t believe that was possible. “I needed Tony alive and talking. And I’m stronger than I look.”

“She kicks like a damn mule,” Jack said but his look said it wasn’t enough. Darcy agreed.

This was more dangerous than they’d thought and if any of it came back to hurt Charlie, she’d never forgive herself. She took a damp rag and began cleaning the cuts on Cleo’s face.

“How did you get away?” Darcy asked.

“Kneed one guy in the balls, then smacked the other in the head with my purse. I have a brick in there, just for that.”

“Ouch,” Jack said. “Good thinking.”

Darcy smiled. “How about you tell me everything?”

“What’s to tell? They tried to kill me. The first man had a knife and said he was going to finish what the other man started.”

“What other guy?”

Cleo looked away, then let out a harsh breath. “The one who did this.” She held out her hands, palms up. Her wrists had been sliced. The scars were old and silvery. To make it look like suicide?

“Good God.” Her gaze flicked up. “I think you better start from the beginning.”

Cleo shook her head. “I tell you any more and you two will be in some real danger,” she said. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

“Then why did you come here?” Jack asked.

“I had to warn you.”

And she had nowhere else to go, Darcy thought. “I’m aware of how dangerous asking questions has become, but I can protect you. I can. Don’t look at me like that. I do it all the time. You just have to trust me—us,” she said when Jack laid his hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him and a well of peace rose in her. He would help her. She wasn’t alone anymore.

She looked at Cleo. “I can slip you into a network where no one will ever find you.” She leaned close and gripped her hands. “I swear to you, we can help you.”

Cleo stared for a long moment, coming to grips with trusting complete strangers, then finally nodded. Darcy went for her tape recorder, setting it on the table between them. They sat in the corner of the hotel room, Jack beside her.

Cleo looked at the recorder, then at Darcy. “I did answer that surrogate ad twenty years ago.”

Darcy felt a weight slide off her shoulders.

“I wanted out of the business and I needed cash to start over. The only way to get Touchy off my ass was to promise to pay him for not working.”

“Walking away from him wouldn’t have been profitable to him.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s all about the money, the little weasel. Anyway, I called for the ad, and they sent me to a doctor. They did a physical and blood test, then they impregnated me with three embryos.”

Darcy felt her hands start to sweat.

“I got pregnant with one, and they set me up in a nice apartment with strict orders to stay there and not talk to anyone about the baby.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know anyone, so it didn’t matter. I wanted a clean break. Sitting on my butt for fifty grand was a whole lot better life than I’d had before then, so I was real game for it.”

“Did they monitor you?”

“Oh, yeah, real close, and I was driven to and from Dr. Reagan’s office each time by some guy who didn’t talk at all.”

“Reagan? You’re sure?” Rainy, Justin Cohen’s sister, Kelly, and now Cleo were all tied to the same dead doctor. What were the chances? Darcy thought, excitement coursing through her. “Did you notice any other women while you were in the offices? Maybe another surrogate?”

“Aside from the staff, most times there wasn’t a soul in there while I was there. It was usually after normal office hours. But once I saw a girl with really clear blue eyes. I noticed her because of the color. Brilliant. She was blond, about your size, and looked sorta nervous. Like she really didn’t want to be there. I heard the receptionist call her something like Tamara or Tanya.”

“I wonder if she was being impregnated as a surrogate, too.”

“I only saw her that one time, so I don’t know if that’s why she was there. Reagan was an OB-GYN, so there must have been many other women who saw him, I guess. If he did one, he could have done a lot more.”

Cleo reached for the water, but her hands shook, so she set it down.

“Cleo?”

The woman looked at her.

“Did you deliver a live baby?”

“Yes, I did.”

Darcy sagged into the chair. So there were potentially two children, Cleo’s and Kelly Cohen’s. But was either baby created from Rainy’s eggs?

“When I went into labor, I called Dr. Reagan. He came and got me, but we never made it to the hospital.”

“Why not?”

“A black car cut us off, and a couple guys got out. They forced Dr. Reagan from the car. They cracked him on the head and put me in their car. I wasn’t in the condition to struggle. I was going to have that baby any second and I didn’t care where.”

“This man who took you, what did he look like?”

Cleo leaned her head back, closing her eyes and drawing on a twenty-year-old memory. “He was average, dark eyes, and I think he wore a wig. He didn’t talk much and when he did, his face was sorta frozen.”

“How so?”

“Like his facial muscles were paralyzed. His eyes would look angry, but his face didn’t shift even a fraction. It was really creepy.” She shivered. “They took me to a warehouse.”

“Do you remember where it was?”

“No. I tried. It must have been somewhere near the hospital, because we didn’t ride for long. But I was in hard labor and all I cared about was pushing that baby out.”

“I understand that,” she said, glancing at Jack. “What happened after you delivered?”

“The instant I pushed that baby out, they took her.”

“Her?”

“Yeah, that much I know. It was a girl. A white baby, too. Strange. But she was so beautiful.” Cleo’s eyes welled up. “Pretty eyes. I never even got to touch her. Some other man took the baby. It wasn’t the guy who brought me there and hurt Dr. Reagan. This other dude, he just stood by as if waiting for a package.”

This is getting more twisted, Darcy thought, checking the tape. Cleo had seen two men, one was obviously the muscle, and the second wanted the product. A human being they’d created? From Rainy’s eggs, or another’s?

“The guy with the wig took me back to my place. I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Why would he do that? You’d fulfilled your promise.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t matter. As far as they were concerned I was a machine and I was no longer useful. This was some top-secret stuff. No one trusted each other. I had nightmares about what they did with the baby.” Cleo shifted the ice pack, continued. “The guy held a knife to my throat, then he did this.” She offered her slashed wrists as proof. “But then he helped me stop the bleeding.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Sick, ain’t it? But I thought for sure I was going to die right there, so I promised not to ever talk about the baby. He told me if I did, he’d know. He’d find me and kill me. And make it hurt.”

“Did Dr. Reagan ever come to you?”

“Yeah, Dr. Reagan came to the apartment with some other guy. I heard him call him Peters. They asked me what happened, and all I said was that the baby was kidnapped. I told them those other guys drugged me and that I didn’t remember even having the baby. I didn’t even tell them it was a girl.”

“Do you think they believed you?” Jack asked.

“I don’t care if they did and I didn’t ask. They were pissed. I gave them back most of the money and left town fast.”

“This man, Peters. Was he a doctor? Can you describe him for me?”

Cleo looked at the notepad, then Darcy. “He was older, maybe sixty, sixty-five. Tall, skinny, with snow-white hair. I don’t remember his eyes, he stayed back from me like I had some disease or something. He had a lot of creases in his face and acted real superior, like he was better than anyone on the planet and Dr. Reagan was his flunky. He wasn’t concerned that the baby could have been harmed or killed or that I was cut up.”

Cleo clamped her lips shut, her smooth forehead knitting.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking he was the boss. Because Dr. Reagan did whatever he said. Dr. Reagan checked me to see if I was okay, you know, after the birth and my wrists, but the Peters guy was annoyed and impatient.”

“Has anyone besides me and the bastards who did that—” she pointed to the new bruises and cuts “—ever contacted you since then?”

“No, not outright. But they’ve been around.”

“Really. Did you see them? Did they send a message or something?”

“No, they never talked, never called or nothing, but I was a hooker, I can spot a cop or someone who doesn’t belong somewhere real fast.” She snapped her fingers. “And once in a while I’d see some guy hanging around, smoking a joint on the street corner or drinking with the winos, watching me. And I knew they weren’t part of the crowd, you dig?”

“Yeah, I dig.” It was why Darcy used disguises and makeup and had for years watched the way people behaved. She’d pattern herself after someone she’d seen and slide into the role.

“Did you see anyone else besides that one girl at the doctor’s office, a technician maybe or a nurse?” Darcy thought if she could pinpoint someone working there back then, she might be able to get more information on how and why Reagan had done this. Clearly, he’d been the one to harvest the eggs, or at least given someone a heads-up on a prime candidate to harvest.

“Yeah. Reagan had an assistant, a nurse. She wasn’t there all the time. Maybe two or three. Late forties, blond hair with bad roots and blue eyes.”

“A name?” Though she could have told Cleo herself.

Cleo thought for a second. “Stand…no, Stone.”

Darcy’s features pulled taut. She looked at Jack and stood.

“You’ve made a connection,” Jack said.

“Yes, to Athena. Betsy Stone is the Academy’s nurse.”

“You need to warn your friends.”

“I will when we get home, but first we have to get Cleo to a safe place. She’s the only one so far who can confirm that there were surrogates and they were connected to Betsy Stone and Dr. Reagan.”

Jack stared down at her, his hands on her arms. “You need to contact the police.”

“I can’t. Not yet. It’s not up to me alone, Jack. The Cassandras have to be told all this first. But I have to get Cleo into hiding.”

He agreed, reluctantly. “I didn’t want that badge back, anyway.”

“Oh, jeez, Jack. Don’t get involved if it will ruin you.”

“We’re in this together now, baby.” He rubbed her arms, his voice low, almost intimate. “Your friends, these Cassandras, they know about what Maurice did to you?”

“They hadn’t back then. Only Rainy did. I was too ashamed to admit it or get them involved. I think they’ve guessed, though. Kayla knows some of it. Alex, too, I think.”

“You need to talk to them, baby. They’re your friends.”

“I—I will.”

“I’ll be there if you want.”

She smiled, touched. “Thanks, Jack. But that will wait. We have to get organized. I need the case out of the back of my trunk.”

“Makeup?”

She nodded and started dialing the network. She looked at Cleo. “We have to get you hidden, deep. You can’t go back to your apartment.”

“What about money? I have money.”

“Got an ATM card?” Jack asked and Cleo nodded. “Give me the number and I’ll draw out money for you. They’ll be looking for you two, not me.”

Cleo handed it over. “I’m trusting you with my savings.” She gave him an amount to take out.

“I’ll be back in a few, there’s a machine downstairs.” Jack slipped on a jacket, then kissed Darcy.

“Get some clothes, Jack, men’s clothing, too. I can’t disguise her well, but we can make it less obvious that she’s a showgirl.”

Jack glanced at Cleo’s long legs and short skirt. “That will take some doing. I won’t be long.”

When she locked the door after him, Cleo said, “He’s cute. You love him?”

She blinked. “I don’t know.” Did she?

“He loves you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He never questioned you, doubted you, and now he’s risking his life for you. Girl, that’s love.”

Darcy allowed herself a small smile, then went to work, packing everything up and dialing the network again. She couldn’t get anyone to answer and there wasn’t a machine to leave a message. She wished Jack would return, but she knew he had to go someplace else for the clothes besides the hotel stores. Armani wasn’t in the budget.

“It’s hard to believe that someone wants to kill me because I had a baby.”

Darcy related. There was nothing more horrifying than to know that someone actually wanted you dead. It had a startling effect, making her want to fight the very idea. She hoped Cleo was ready to do the same. There was no turning back. Whoever had taken the baby was willing to kill to keep it quiet. Rainy had been the first to pay the price. As far as Darcy could see, they were all becoming expendable.

Someone jiggled the door handle. Darcy stilled, moving to peer through the peephole. She couldn’t see anyone, but a shadow moved against the far wall. As if the person knew he’d be seen through the peephole. She drew her knife, wishing there was a window. Someone pushed on the handle and Darcy looked again. A figure moved away.

It wasn’t Jack, but he was big.

She backed away from the door, tense. She heard something in the room next door and thought, had they just misjudged the room number?

“Why are you doing this for me?” Cleo said softly.

Darcy pressed her ear to the wall, listening. No sound. “Because you’re in trouble. You don’t deserve to be, you had a baby thinking it was for some childless couple and you got the rotten end of the deal.”

“There is something else you two are not saying, though. Or you wouldn’t have come looking for me. I think I have a right to know the whole story.”

“Yes, you’re right, you do deserve to know, but it’s dangerous,” Darcy said. She looked out the peephole, saw nothing and stepped away.

“They want to kill me. How much more dangerous could it get?”

“I see your point.” Darcy told her about Rainy, and the discovery of the egg mining. Cleo’s eyes widened as she filled her in on the Athena Academy grads’ theory.

“I had this woman’s child? This Rainy Miller Carrington?”

“Unless there are more women who were used, it’s entirely possible you could have given birth to a child created from her eggs. Eggs that were fertilized with some man’s sperm.”

“And you think they killed her because she found out these people had taken her eggs when she was a kid?”

“No doubt about it.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “What did they do with the baby? Hell, she’d have to be about twenty years old now.”

“I don’t know. My friends and I are all looking into this, but we’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m going to hide you, Cleo, but you have to stay connected to only me. When we do learn the truth, we might need you to testify. You cool with that?”

Cleo snapped her fingers and did what Darcy referred to as “the home girl head slide.” “In a heartbeat.”

An unexpected rap on the door startled them, and they both froze. Darcy grabbed her knife, and whispered, “Get back out of sight.”

Cleo went into the bathroom, closing the door.

With her knife behind her back, she looked through the peephole, expecting housekeeping. She got Jack.

She opened the door.

He looked at the knife. “You need a gun.” He pushed his way in.

“I hate them. Besides, they look better on you.”

Darcy went to the bathroom, letting Cleo out. Jack handed the bags to Cleo, then an envelope of money and her cards. Cleo smiled, but counted it, checked it against the receipt. Jack was amused.

Cleo sifted through the clothes, holding them against herself to check the size. “Decent,” she said, then folded them.

“Get changed,” Darcy said, then to Jack, “Where’s the makeup kit?”

“Couldn’t get to it and it won’t matter, we’re getting out of here now. I spotted company downstairs. Someone was asking about her.”

“Someone just tried the doorknob. I thought it was housekeeping.”

“I’m betting it wasn’t.”

Darcy trusted his judgment.

“I’m checked out, we take the bags and get lost, fast. Did you contact the network?”

“I can’t get anyone to answer.” It was making her nervous.

When Cleo came out, they were ready.

“We go down the back stairs to the garage floor,” Jack said.

Darcy agreed. “Were they headed up here?”

“They got an ID on her, so yeah. We have about two minutes before they’re on this floor.” Jack looked out into the hall. “We have to make a run for it.”

“Oh, jeez,” Cleo said, tucked behind them.

“There’s a stairwell to the left. I want you to go first, then Cleo. I’ll be right behind you. Go to my car, I’ll come back for yours later.”

With her knives in easy access, Darcy stepped out. She looked left and right, then to Jack. He pushed them both ahead. “Go, go.”

They trotted down the steps, the echo in the stairwell making too much noise. They had to cover several floors and by the time they reached the last they were breathing hard and sweating. The bags felt like boulders.

Cleo jumped the last four steps.

Jack peered through the small wired-glass window leading to the parking area. “I’m parked in the far corner near the service elevator.” Jack opened the door, motioning to them and the women stepped out, heading straight to the car. Jack pinched the key ring, the car locks sprang and headlights blazed bright in the darkness. “Hurry, ladies!”

Darcy tossed the cases in beside Cleo, as Jack slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Locking her seat belt, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw two men, running, aiming guns.

“Oh, no, Jack. Move!” One was the man who’d attacked her!

“I see them. How’d the little bastard get out of jail already? Get down.”

Throwing the car in reverse, Jack hit the car alarm, the loud, constant pulse echoing through the parking garage as he backed out. He clipped a parked car, shifted, then slammed his foot on the gas. Gunshots blasted, one plunking into the side of the car.

“Cleo!” Jack swerved the car. “Cleo!”

Darcy twisted in the seat. “She’s okay, Jack.”

“Oh, God, the bullet’s in the door, right beside me!”

“Dammit, who are these people?” Darcy snapped.

Jack handed her his gun. “If they shoot, shoot back. Aim low, at the tires.”

Darcy swallowed, taking the gun, and glanced in the side mirrors. A black sedan was damn near kissing the bumper. Jack took a curve and gunned the engine harder, bouncing up the car-lined corridor, the bottom of the car hitting the pavement and sending up a burst of sparks. The car fishtailed to the right, and he corrected, the vehicle swerving before it lurched out of the garage and into the street like Jonah spit from the whale.

Cars swerved to avoid them and he headed toward the highway. It was the only way they could lose them.

“Shoot!”

Darcy opened the window, leaning out.

This is not as easy as it looks on TV, she thought. She pulled the trigger and the car behind them swerved hard.

Jack jammed on the gas and Darcy fell back into the seat.

Cleo was looking out the back window and slowly brought her gaze to Darcy. “Nice shot, girl.”

Darcy handed Jack back the gun as if it was infected.

“Well, we know one thing,” Jack said.

Darcy looked at him. His gaze was shooting all over, the mirrors, the road, then her. “Whoever orchestrated Rainy Miller’s death is out to make certain no one knows why.”

Chapter 13

The egg mining conspiracy, as Darcy had come think of it, knew where Cleo had been all this time. They’d watched her, noticed who she’d spoken with and Darcy realized that contacting Tony “Touchy” Feeley had put them on Cleo’s trail again. And on hers.

Darcy could kick herself.

She’d hidden from Maurice, kept much of her life from her Athena sisters and now she was on the verge of losing everything. More people would be hurt, she thought with a glance at Cleo asleep in the seat behind her.

Jack seemed to sense her anxiety and reached out, covered her hand and squeezed. “We’ll make it.”

Darcy could only nod, then pulled out her cell and dialed one of her contacts. She didn’t have time for the safe house. It was too far away. She had to hide Cleo tonight. She couldn’t risk a tail to her home, her business. She waited for Steve or Krissie Bishop to pick up.

“I have a package.”

“Jeez, Piper, don’t you ever rest?” Steve said, grouchy.

“Life happens all the time,” she said and regretted her waspish tone. “Sorry. This is major. My package has to go deep. Now.”

Behind her, Cleo roused, listening.

“No, I don’t have time for the usual routes. Or a good cover.” She listened as Steven Bishop gave her options. They would take her under if she got Cleo to the change point, a warehouse that Steve and Krissie had set up to house women while Steve made new IDs for them.

Darcy checked her watch, then glanced at the mileage road sign. “In the late afternoon. It will take me that long and I have to cover my tracks. Great.” She cut the line, laying the phone on the console.

“Whazzup, girl?”

Darcy met Jack’s gaze, then looked at Cleo. “I’m going to hide you for a while. You won’t be able to work, but these people will help you stay safe.”

“I need to work, Piper.”

Darcy didn’t correct her name. The less anyone knew, the better. “I know, but consider that your life is at risk. Make a choice.”

Cleo sighed hard. “You’re right. But doing nothing’s going to make me crazy. What can I contribute?”

“What are you good at?”

“Besides shaking my ass to music, not much.”

Jack laughed shortly and kept driving. “Ass shaking is a good living I hear,” he said.

“Yeah, but I have money now. I’ve saved for years. I wanted to marry, retire and have my own babies.”

Darcy smiled sympathetically. Regardless of the circumstances of the pregnancy, it couldn’t have been easy losing the child, especially knowing that people ruthless enough to cut her wrists had the baby.

“It’ll be all right, Cleo. We’ll find the child and get the bastards who hurt you.”

“You think?” Cleo scoffed, not at all convinced.

“I know.” Determination strengthened her tone. “But you can’t touch the rest of your money or go home after today, or they’ll know. Maybe we can get someone to go back if there’s something important you need, but for now, all ties have to be cut. I can’t be certain but I have a feeling these people have their fingers in networks that I can’t even imagine.”

Cleo shifted, sighing. “Well, I’m good with computers.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the computer-geek type.”

“Hey, geeks are cool.” She flashed her a smile. “I didn’t go out much, so yeah, I can find my way around a computer.”

“Good, but don’t touch your accounts, credit cards, nothing. You won’t need to. My friends will put you to work, trust me.”

Cleo nodded, agreeing to the terms that would change her entire life for God knew how long.

Jack drove without stopping. Darcy made a call to the Bishops and directed Jack to a warehouse. As they approached, the huge door rolled up. Once they were inside, it shut and the lights came on. Krissie and Steven Bishop walked out.

Darcy and Jack climbed out. Steve was walking toward her till he saw Jack and stopped short.

“Turner?”

“Hello, Bishop.”

Darcy frowned between the two men. Steve Bishop was an ex-cop. His wife had been a dispatcher. They were the heartbeat of the network, moving women from here to the safe houses. The last time she’d seen them was with Mary Jo.

“You know each other?” Darcy asked.

Jack slid her a glance. “Yeah. We went to the academy together. I’m not on the force anymore, Steve.”

“How’d she get you into this?”

“Osmosis, I guess.” Jack winked at Darcy.

Cleo climbed out, looking around and drawing attention. Darcy introduced her.

Bright and always cheery, Krissie nudged past her husband, saying, “You can stay with us, help out here till we can move deeper. There is no place safer right now, Cleo. We’ll give you a new identity, but I think it’s best if you stay out of sight.” She glanced at Darcy for confirmation, then looked back at Cleo. “Sorry, but as a woman, you’re just too tall to go around unnoticed.”

Darcy didn’t tell the Bishops that Cleo was a showgirl. That was Cleo’s choice. All they knew was that Cleo had to hide, yet had to be accessible to Darcy. She didn’t give details, yet she was certain Alex or Kayla would want to interview Cleo, and knowing Tory, she’d want to document the entire investigation. It was safer if only Darcy knew where Cleo was.

“You okay with that?” Darcy said to Cleo.

“Anything is better than dead, thank you.”

Darcy smiled, then looked at Steve. “By the way, Cleo knows computers.”

He clutched his chest. “Woman after my own heart.”

Krissie groaned. “Oh goody, another one who talks in megabytes.”

Smiling, Steve nodded toward the setup in the loft. “Come on, let’s get you a new identity, and I’ll show you around.”

Jack moved up beside Darcy and she looked at him. “So this is how you get it all done, the fake IDs?”

“Yeah. There are a few more stations like this, but this is where the most work is done. Are you mad?”

“No, but I can see several violations from here.”

She groaned. “I know, Jack. Why do you think I wanted to keep you out of this?”

“I understand, but it scares the hell out of me that you take risks like this.”

Cleo walked toward them and stared at Darcy. “You okay?” Darcy asked.

“Thanks. I feel safe for the first time in a long while.” Cleo reached out, hugging Darcy and nearly bringing her off the floor. “Thank you so much. I’d be dead without your help, and I won’t forget that.”

Darcy held tight, liking the woman and praying this all worked out before anyone else got hurt. “Do what they say, Cleo,” she said when they parted. Her eyes burned. “If they need to move you somewhere else, do it. This is my number.” She gave her another card with her number. “Memorize it. And if you need me or think anyone’s getting close, call me. I’ll come to you.”

“My own personal cavalry, huh?” Cleo pushed the card inside her bra.

Darcy smiled, reaching for Jack’s hand. “You could say so.”

“You and your friends will keep looking for the child?”

“Yeah, we will.” Whether the child Cleo had carried was Rainy’s or not didn’t matter right now. Matching up DNA when and if they found the girl would give them the answer. But it was the conspiracy, the entire manipulation of Athena Academy, its resources and the students, that needed to be uncovered. The trouble she’d encountered already told Darcy that this was more widespread than any of them thought. There could be other babies…well grown women or men now, that had been created by these people. The biggest question still was, why?

“Stay cool, sister.” Cleo gave her a straight-arm tap on the shoulder, then turned away.

Krissie walked up. “Jack’s a good man.”

“I know, Krissie, I know.”

She and Jack said goodbye and got back in the car. Steve climbed the ladder on the warehouse wall near the doors, then checked the area before he opened the door. They drove out sedately.

Darcy would have liked to see Cleo at the safe house in Utah, but too many people lived there, and Cleo’s physical appearance was harder to disguise. Although the network had operated in secret for years, Darcy couldn’t risk Cleo’s life. She was the first tangible witness to the conspiracy.

If anyone found her, they’d kill her.

When Darcy and Jack arrived at her place, it was late afternoon. Megan was at the house, and when Charlie saw her, he flew at her. Then Jack walked in and Darcy was suddenly ignored. Megan walked up beside her and they both watched Charlie and Jack. “So does Jack still get my vote?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Ah, I haven’t seen that look on you before.”

Darcy didn’t comment on the smile she had when Jack was near. Was it a feeling of relief or something more? “He knew who I was all this time, Meg.”

Megan blinked. “Oh, hell.”

“He gets the good-guy award for that, huh?”

“What about Kel?”

“I’ll break it off with him tomorrow. I have to call the Cassandras and tell them what happened first.”

“You were missed at the shop. Mrs. Burkewater is complaining.”

“Mrs. Burkewater always complains. I’ll take care of her on Tuesday, give her twenty percent off. She’ll love it.” Darcy hated being away from her salon, but with all the girls working for her, she didn’t have to be there. She did have to be there for Charlie, though.

Megan leaned closer to whisper, “Kel was in looking for you, by the way.”

“When?”

“The day you left for Vegas.”

He knew she was there, Charlie had said as much to him. Her gaze moved to Jack, and she wondered if she should tell him about seeing Kel in Vegas. Or rather, that she thought she’d seen Kel. And if he’d been there, why hadn’t he made himself known?

Jack’s cell phone buzzed and he answered it, setting Charlie down. She heard him curse under his breath.

“Give it to someone else.”

Darcy moved to him, covering the phone. “When?”

“Tomorrow. It’s a lead on a bounty headed west to California.”

“Take it, we’ll be fine. Right here.”

Jack muttered into the phone and shut if off. “I don’t like this. It’s different now.”

“Between you and me, yes, but between Maurice and me, it’s the same, and with the Cassandras. I have to tell them tonight, Jack. Everything. Besides, you can’t just suddenly stop your life for me.”

“I would to keep you safe, Darcy.”

A little tickle of giddy pleasure shot through her every time he said her name.

Charlie tugged on Jack’s pant leg. He looked down. “Are you staying?”

Jack looked at Darcy as if waiting for her to say something.

“Yes, Charlie, he is.”

Charlie whooped, and on the other side of the room, Megan smiled, folding her arms across her skinny middle. “It’s about damn time.”

Jack wouldn’t leave to go after his bounty until he saw the evidence she had on Maurice. She gave it all to him and he sifted through it like a detective, laying out each component and making notes.

“The clothes, where are they?”

She went to the freezer and gave him the bag.

Jack broke the seal, sniffing. His head jerked back. “Christ, that’s strong.”

“I know, raunchy. I don’t know what it is, though.”

Jack snipped a sample. “I’ll have it tested.”

“Calling in old cop favors for me, I’m touched.”

He flashed her a smile and when she passed him, he pulled her onto his lap.

“You’ve got a lot here, Darcy. The handwriting forensics are complete and documented. That’ll be your biggest weapon. Loni Marks’s verifications. It’s solid admissible evidence of forgery. On the surface, you could turn it over and it would lead police right to Maurice and a conviction.”

“But that’s not enough, Jack. He could pay his way out of a forgery charge.”

He scowled. “Your lack of faith in the justice system is almost insulting.”

“Do you blame me?” He kissed away any argument. “I know in my gut he killed that woman. If I could find a body—”

“I’ll say again, let the cops handle this stuff. You have the bloody clothes with Maurice’s DNA on them, plus, if your theory is right, the victim’s DNA.”

She was certain it was Porche’s. Her gaze slipped to the bag of clothing, and she left his lap and opened it. She sniffed the fabric again. “That’s not charred fabric, it’s chemical. Not a fragrance, though.” And it was familiar. Just on the edge of her memory.

She sat still, closing her eyes and thinking. Occasionally she took a whiff of the evidence bags. Her mind ticked off her career in the movie business, plucking through each movie set she’d worked on, each actor she’d had to dress and make up.

“Stop that, you’re going to kill brain cells,” Jack said, breaking off her train of thought.

He stored the evidence and boxed it up. “I’m taking this.”

“Why?”

“I’ll give it to someone who can make a case.”

When she looked apprehensive, he came to her.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she said instantly.

“Then you have to let the legal system work for you.”

“And if it doesn’t? If I go to jail for taking Charlie?”

“I won’t let that happen. Charlie means everything to me, too, and I’ll hide out forever with you if it comes to that.”

Darcy looked up into his Nordic blue eyes and for the second time in a week, laid her trust in his hands.

The Cassandras had answered her e-mail for the conference call. Kayla, Alex, Josie and Tory were on the line. Samantha St. John, a CIA operative, had responded via e-mail that she couldn’t call but to fill her in on everything. Megan sat beside Darcy, her moral support as always.

“You’ve got us scared, Darcy, you okay?” Kayla said, her voice clear through the speakerphone.

“I’m sorry. This is important. I should have told you all years ago, but I just couldn’t.”

“Is this about your new hair color and why you disappeared at the funeral when the press was there?” Alex said.

The comment didn’t surprise her, they were in tune with each other, even after all this time.

“Yes.” Darcy took a deep breath and began. She withheld nothing, not a single detail of her life with Maurice. They’d all been at the wedding. Poor girl marries millionaire. It sounded good. She was crying by the time she got to the night Rainy came for her, and had to stop to collect herself. She apologized for hiding all this. But she was ashamed, mortally ashamed of her weakness. There was a stretch of silence. Darcy looked at Megan, uncertain.

Then one clear voice, Kayla, said, “Rainy told me some of what you’ve been through. We all guessed that something was wrong with your marriage. We knew you would come to us when you were ready. You want us to go after him?” They started chattering at once, agreeing.

Darcy deflated into the chair, relieved beyond measure. She wiped her eyes and smiled. “I love you all, you know that.”

“Oh, Darcy, what a burden this must have been all this time,” Josie said. “And with Charlie to protect, too.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Tory said. “It’s not your fault. Fear for your life is not a flaw.”

When they asked about what she planned now, Darcy explained the situation with Porche Fairchild. They all had input that gave her confidence. She wasn’t alone anymore, and she realized that her life would have been so much easier if she’d just told them the whole truth from the start. Shame was an ugly thing, she thought.

“I can test the clothing if you want,” Alex offered.

“I could run a check on Fairchild, see if she has prints on file,” Kayla said.

They each offered help and Darcy felt her soul lift.

Alex said, “That evidence might not stand up in court because it wasn’t collected by forensics.”

“I know that. It’s a chance I have to take.” But she wasn’t dispirited.

“One more thing.”

“There’s more?”

“I found a surrogate.”

“Way to go!” came through the speakerphone. She explained about finding Touchy, the boys in black, and Cleo Patra. She told them what had happened in Vegas and all she’d learned from Cleo. “Dr. Reagan and Betsy Stone are the connections to Cleo and this Peters guy. Maybe if we find Reagan’s records they’ll lead us to Peters.”

“Where is Cleo now? I’d like to talk to her,” Tory said.

“I have her hidden. She told me everything she could and until I know it’s safe, no one can go near her. I’ll copy the tape recording and send one to each of you. But considering they chased us down and shot at us, we can’t let anyone know we have her.”

“You really need to carry a gun, Darcy.”

Darcy sank back into the cushions. “You sound like Jack.”

“Who’s Jack?” Josie asked curiously.

“A bounty hunter.”

“Intriguing.” This from Kayla.

She glanced at Meg, who was smug. “He is,” she said and Darcy introduced her trusted friend to the Cassandras. They all thanked her for being Darcy’s friend and support.

“Can you count on this Jack for help?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Jack knows everything. In fact he’s known who I am for nearly two years and kept his mouth shut.”

“I like him already.” Darcy thought that was Josie.

“We want to help, Darcy,” Alex said.

“You can’t.” When they all protested Darcy reminded them, “I’m a parental kidnapper, ladies. I don’t want any of you accused of aiding and abetting.”

“But you’ll let this Jack help?”

“Jack isn’t a man who takes no for an answer.”

She wondered how he’d feel about her going to see Kel. She had to, it was only fair to break off what little relationship they had. Besides, she wanted to confront him about seeing him in Vegas. She still wasn’t sure if it had been him, since she never got a good look.

But Darcy trusted her instincts and so far they hadn’t steered wrong.

Chapter 14

Darcy found it odd that the instant Jack left her house, Kel called, inviting her over for a drink. She agreed for one reason only—to say goodbye.

Her cell rang just as she knocked on Kel’s door. She answered it. “Yes, you can have cookies and milk tonight and mind your manners.” Kel opened the door, smiling.

“Charles?” he asked.

She nodded, said goodbye and ended the call. “He’s excited about watching some new video.”

He took her jacket, hanging it up on a peg near the door. He kissed her softly, running his hand down her back. She stepped away, wondering why his touch didn’t evoke the same feelings as before. Jack, she thought, walking farther into the apartment.

“This is cute.” It was sparse, a studio of sorts, with only a partition wall hiding the bed. It must have come furnished, she thought. It looked generic.

There wasn’t a radio but a small TV that looked like a throwback from the eighties sat in the corner of the living area. Not his, she decided. His camera equipment was set up in the corner, one camera on a tripod, and photos lay strewn on the table.

“May I?” she asked, pointing.

“Sure.”

She picked up a stack, examining them as he took out two wineglasses. The photos were lovely. Sunsets, old homes, the city from the hilltop. Like postcards.

“These are very nice.”

“You’re too kind. They’re just preliminary shots. Seeing what I like the best, then I’ll go back and shoot again to narrow it down. They don’t pay for soso, only for the spectacular.”

She heard the pop of a cork, and looked up.

He held up the bottle. “Wine?”

“I don’t drink.” Her mother was an alcoholic. She’d seen the effect up close and personal.

“I love American wines.” He showed her the label. “Costs a fortune in England. You sure you won’t have some? You look as if you could use some relaxation.”

Laying down her purse on the sofa, she went into the kitchen. When he put the wine in the fridge, she added, “I’ll have one of those, though.”

She pointed to the bottled iced tea, noticing everything in one sweep. The worn appliances and dishes that must have come with the place, the fridge that had little in it except what he’d recently purchased. What really got her notice was that his clothes were still in a suitcase instead of the dresser. There wasn’t any paraphernalia on the dresser, no jewelry, aftershave, receipts, pocket change.

He poured the tea into a glass, then handed it to her. Darcy drank half of it, not moving when he motioned her to the living-room area.

“I can’t stay, Kel. I came here for one reason.”

He frowned. “Well that doesn’t sound good.”

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

“And here I thought it was going great.”

“It was nice, but you’re leaving the area and I don’t want it to go further.”

“It’s him, isn’t it? That bulldog, Jack Turner.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You could at least have the decency to tell me the truth.”

“Fine, it is Jack.” She tripped over the words, her mouth suddenly numb. She frowned down at the iced tea, then peered at the bottom of the glass. A faint swirl of greenish powder colored the bottom.

Her gaze snapped up. “You drugged me.”

His look was deadpan. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s something in this.”

“You’re imagining things.”

Oh, no, Darcy thought, feeling her limbs soften.

“What the hell did you do?” She turned away, and grabbed the table when her world tilted. “Who the hell are you?!”

“If you must know, I’m an actor.”

Darcy’s heart slammed to a stop and she choked for air. Oh, no. Maurice!

“Ah, I see you understand.”

“You bastard.” She tried to move around the edge of the counter, ready to tear him apart, but he sidestepped and she nearly fell. The numbing feeling seeped down her body like liquid fire. She reached for her knife, turning to throw, but he knocked it out of her hand, shoving her onto the sofa.

“No, it’s your husband who’s the bastard.”

She grappled for purchase. Her bones felt liquefied.

“Let me help you to the sofa.” His accent was completely gone.

“Drop dead.” She looked at him, blinked, then sent her fist driving into his face. The impact rang up her arm and sent him flying backward. She struggled to her feet, the room swaying. She had to get out of here.

“Well I didn’t expect that, Mrs. Steele.” He worked his jaw, spit blood.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said, her words slurred, yet holding the power of her rage. Suddenly, her legs folded and Darcy dropped to the floor.

“I’ll be out of the country by the time you wake up.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Kel, or whoever you are!”

“Yes, I do. Your husband is a very powerful man in Hollywood.”

“You owed him, didn’t you?”

Kel’s expression sharpened. “Yes, I did. He got me out of a jam a couple years back.” His tone went bitter. “I’ve been paying for it for some time now. But my career means more to me.”

Her world moved along in slow motion, faint sounds amplified, and she barely managed, “Ho-how did he find me?” Did it matter now? She tried pushing herself up off the floor, but her arms wouldn’t obey her mind.

“The news report, ABS. About some funeral. Charlie and you were on it. He hired a detective to find you, then sent me in to hook you.”

Rainy’s funeral. Ex-Athena student Shannon Connor had blasted Athena Academy in that news report. Mostly because Shannon had a grudge against Athena and the Cassandras. She’d tried to frame Josie for stealing. Tory had exposed her, and Shannon had become the only student ever to be expelled from Athena.

Shannon must have caught her and Charlie on film at the funeral. Maurice knew she wouldn’t have missed the service. He must have recognized her and tracked her and Charlie through their plane tickets, must have discovered her alias.

This is my fault. I knew it was coming and didn’t move fast enough!

Kel picked up her purse, digging in it and Darcy’s panic shot like a rocket through her when he pulled out her cell phone. Kneeling near her, he hit Star 69, then dialed the last number. She could barely hear Megan answer, saying her whole name. Meg had no fears; her common-law husband was behind bars for the rest of his life for murder. Kel cut the line, then dialed information, asking for an address. “Clever girl, hiding him with your receptionist.”

Angry tears burned her eyes. Charlie, oh God, my baby. Maurice would use him for the single reason that Darcy loved him more than her own life.

Kel bent and gripped her jaw, kissing her roughly. “It was fun while it lasted, love.” He stood.

The drugs kicked through her, narrowed her vision, paralyzing her arms and legs. She could feel her heartbeat slow down.

Kel’s footsteps and the slamming door echoed through her mind.

Then everything went black.

Maurice’s jet landed at a small airport outside Comanche. Kel was waiting for him beside a compact car.

“Be gassed and ready to go in a moment,” Maurice said to the crew as he stepped onto the flight deck. He took one look at the small car and made a face.

He got in. “You couldn’t do better than this roller skate?”

Kel met his gaze. “A limousine will be noticed.”

Maurice flicked a hand for him to drive. “She’s out cold, correct?”

“Yes, for at least eight hours.”

“Good work. Let’s get the boy.”

“He’s with the receptionist.”

Maurice sent him a hard glance. “You don’t have him?”

“She hid him from everyone. No one knew who cared for the kid while she was away. And you wanted to do this. I said I’d find her and get close to her, but I’m not stealing the kid. That’s a felony.”

“And you do have a sexual assault record, don’t you?”

Kel’s expression turned bitter. “You better make this worth it, Steel.”

“Or?”

“I’m not sure. If you’d been here when I called, I might have found the boy sooner while she was in Vegas.”

“I had appointments I couldn’t break.” Maurice gave a distasteful look at the passing scenery. “Did you ever learn what she was doing there?”

“No. She almost spotted me, so I disappeared.”

Maurice gave him an annoyed look and when the car pulled into the driveway of a small house, he got out and with determined steps went right up to the door. He didn’t knock, and pushed his way in.

Darcy was abruptly aware of her surroundings.

Her face was hot, her skin itching. It felt like ants crawling over her back, making her shift and pushing back the thick, cottony feeling in her brain.

Sprawled on the floor, she had no idea how much time had passed.

Charlie.

The thought of her son in danger forced her to move her legs, draw her arms to support herself as she pushed up on her hands and knees. Her stomach recoiled and she gasped for air, trying not to retch and then not caring. Bile spilled, burning her throat. Crap. She swiped her mouth and struggled to her feet.

Her knees went soft and she grabbed the sofa arm, lurching into it. She lay there for a minute, trying to breathe, to clear the cloud of drugs. What did he give me? Now that it was out of her body, after a couple minutes, her blurry vision began to clear. Her breathing sounded like an engine in the small apartment.

She looked around. Alone.

Her heart twisted with anger and worry, and she grabbed the phone. No dial tone. Staggering to her feet, she swallowed, her mouth dry. She ripped the place apart looking for her cell phone. She found it in Kel’s suitcase along with papers from Maurice. An investigator’s report. She tried reading them but the words swam like bugs on the page. Stuffing them in her jacket, she dialed Meg. All she got was a busy signal.

Darcy cursed, the floor feeling unstable beneath her feet as she hurried to the sink. Filling a glass of water, she drank, then shoved her head under the faucet. Charlie, repeated in her mind, her thoughts going wild over what Kel would do with her son.

I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I will kill him.

She shook her head like a dog, smoothing her hair back as she looked out the window. The break of dawn painted the night sky purple. It’s been hours. Charlie would be scared. He’d scream. Maurice needed Charlie unharmed, but Darcy feared Kel had hurt Meg to get him. Her friend wouldn’t give up Charlie without a fight.

She dialed 911 and told the police that she’d been drugged against her will and where they’d find the evidence. She gave them the address, said Kel had done it to kidnap her son. They’d send a car to her house, but Darcy knew it was too late. It had been hours. The police wanted her to wait where she was. All she said was “No” and cut the line.

Whoever Kel really was, he was going to jail. And if he touched her son, she’d kill him. She didn’t care about herself, about watching her back, about staying out of jail. All that mattered now was her son and Megan.

Slinging her purse, she moved down the narrow hall to the door. The walls swayed a bit and she paused, waiting, then grabbed her jacket, threw open the door and walked out.

I hope pretty-boy Kel gets twenty to life as some guy’s prison bitch.

Maurice was back in L.A. within two hours. Darcy, he thought, was still on the floor of that apartment.

He paced the spacious living room, staring at the boy tucked into his grandmother’s side on the sofa. Delores Allen was just an added lure for Darcy. She was a drunk and liked all the things Maurice had given her to keep her quiet and docile. She didn’t look docile now, though, glaring at him from her perch like a thin sparrow.

“Would you like a drink, Delores?” he asked. He knew she wanted one. She’d been drunk when he called her, drunk when she arrived by limousine. Twenty-four hours locked up made her look like an aging hooker in detox.

He stepped behind the maple-wood bar, pouring a scotch, then bringing it to her. She looked at it hungrily and Maurice knew she needed it—more than she wanted it.

“Go on, it will take the edge off.”

She shook her head, hugging the sleeping child protectively. Maurice grinned and sipped the smooth, gold liquid. His gaze landed on the boy. He’d cried for his mother the instant he’d woken after the plane flight. He’d whimpered and whined, begging to go home. Maurice felt stung by it, wanting his boy to come to him. Maurice chose not to tell him he was his father and a little dose of his own insomnia medication had kept the boy quiet for now.

If he wasn’t certain the child was his, he would have thought the boy belonged to another man. He was a dead ringer for Darcy. He even had her bright blue eyes. The only trait of his the child possessed was Maurice’s dark hair, yet it was streaked with the same blond as his wife’s.

Maurice turned away to stare out the window. The alarms were set, the fence electrified, and the dogs were loose on the grounds. There was no way she could get in here, yet Maurice wasn’t taking any chances, keeping a gun close by. When she arrived, he’d call the police and claim she was trying to kidnap the child.

The boy stirred, whining for his mother, and Maurice motioned to a servant to give him the drug-laced milk. Maurice continued to look out the window, knowing Darcy couldn’t get inside and confident he had the upper hand. He’d lure her in, then make her pay for ruining his life by leaving him. No one left him. And he wasn’t going to let a pretty piece of poor, white trash win.

He’d kill her first.

Chapter 15

Darcy broke the speed limit and nearly crashed twice to get to Megan’s place. She dashed out of the car, leaving it running and pushed through the front door, shouting for Charlie and Meg.

Only silence answered her.

She tore through the house, searching each room, noticing the overturned furniture, and that Charlie’s backpack was gone.

“Meg!” she screamed, tears running down her face. “Meg!”

Her panic out of control, she raced out into the backyard and nearly fell over Meg sprawled facedown on the steps, the cordless phone inches from her hand. Darcy slid to her knees, checking her pulse.

“Oh, thank God.” Bending, she pushed the curls back off her face. “Meg, wake up, honey, wake up.” She tapped her face, rubbed her wrists.

Meg blinked and moaned.

Darcy felt as if the heavens opened up with hope. “Where are you hurt? Can you feel your legs and arms?”

Meg muttered, “Yes” and pushed up on her hands and knees.

“Where’s Charlie, Meg?”

“He took him. Oh, Darcy,” Meg cried, rolling onto her back. Darcy’s eyes widened at the open cut on her cheek, and the blood smeared over her face and staining her clothes. It was dry. “He was so scared and I fought him, I swear, but he had a gun. He had a gun on Charlie!”

Darcy stared at Meg, helpless tears sliding down her cheeks. Then suddenly she hugged Meg, helping her upright.

“I swear I tried, he came out of nowhere. He ripped him right out of my arms! Charlie screamed and screamed and then…he stopped.”

Darcy’s heart stopped, too, then picked up speed. “I can’t believe Kel did this!”

“No, Darcy. Maurice did.”

Darcy froze. “He was here!”

“I grabbed the phone to dial the police, but he knocked me down. I went for his leg and that’s when he backhanded me with the gun.” Meg touched her face, wincing. “Jesus, I forgot how much that hurts.”

“Come on, let’s get you up.”

Stuffing the phone in her back pocket, she helped Meg onto a lawn chair, then rushed inside for water and a cloth. Meg’s cheek was cut, her left eye bruised. Maurice had had hit her so hard she wouldn’t see out of that eye for days. Pistol-whipped. What a coward.

“Come inside.”

Meg stood uneasily. “Darcy, I tried. You gotta believe me.”

Darcy gripped her shoulders, meeting her gaze. “I don’t doubt you, Meg. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

She’d been too slow to take the signs for what they were, and should never have left Charlie alone. She’d walked right into a trap. She helped Meg into the house and into a chair, then hunted under the sink for a first-aid kit. Her hands shook as she cleaned Meg’s wound and put a butterfly bandage on the cut. It was the best she could do right now. The blood was nearly dried and Darcy gave Meg an ice pack, then checked her watch. She’d been out cold for over eight hours.

She pulled out the phone and cleared the line. “You never got to the police?”

“No. I passed out.”

Darcy handed her the phone. “Call them now.”

“What? But you’ve been hiding all this time!”

“It ended when Maurice took my son. Where’s your gun?”

Meg groaned. “Oh, Darcy, no.”

Darcy’s gaze pinned her. “Where is it, Meg?”

Letting out a sigh, Meg pointed to the soffit on the top cabinet. “The bullets are behind the flour, over the stove.”

Darcy climbed on the counter, retrieved the weapon in the plastic bag, then found the ammo. “Call the cops.”

“But…”

Darcy gave her a dark look and Meg nodded, sniffled, then just as she was about to dial, the phone rang in her hand. She answered it, frowning up at Darcy. Her eyes widened and she held it out.

“It’s for you.”

Darcy grabbed it. “Kel?”

“No, my love. It’s your husband.”

Darcy’s stomach rolled loosely. He sounded so smooth and confident. “Where is my son?”

“You mean our son.”

“No, he was never yours. You gave up that right when you tried to make me lose him. He’s mine.”

“Are you referring to the accident when you fell down the stairs? You always were clumsy, Darcy.”

Darcy gritted her teeth, letting him talk, saving her rage for when she met him face-to-face. She loaded bullets into the magazine.

“I want to talk with him.”

“No.”

“Let me talk to him, Maury!”

“He’s sleeping peacefully.”

They flew back to L.A., she realized. Good God, he had to have drugged Charlie to get him to go along without a fight.

“Charles will be all mine to raise when you go to jail for kidnapping him and keeping him from his loving father.” He chuckled softly, a dignified sound, not too harsh, practiced. Darcy wanted to ram it down his throat. “You’ll go to jail and never see him again.”

With her palm, Darcy popped the magazine into the weapon and sighted down the barrel. “Don’t count on it.”

“What do you think you can do to me?”

“I’m going to let you experience that for yourself.” She cut the line, laying down the phone, then stuffed the gun in the back of her slacks and pocketed the ammo.

“Darcy? What’s happening?”

“Maurice has Charlie. He took Charlie for one reason. To lure me back to him.” And have power over her, she thought. But then, Maurice had married a different woman.

“It’s a trap and you know it.” Meg held out the cordless phone. “You have to wait for the police now, Darcy. It’s kidnapping. Let the FBI handle this.”

“No, this is my problem, my son and my husband.” Darcy headed to the door. Time for some payback.

Meg called out to her. “What do I tell the police?”

“Everything.” Darcy was out the door and in her car within seconds. Police sirens roared in the distance as she sped in the other direction. She needed to get to L.A. as fast as she could and wanted to fly, but Maurice would likely have his hired creeps waiting for her. It would take her a few hours by car. She needed the upper hand.

But first, she needed some equipment.

And the help of the Cassandras.

Darcy was scrapping for a fight, feeling like a junkyard dog, mean and willing to bite hard on anyone who got in her way. She’d packed her equipment, clothes and some things for Charlie and pushed the legal side of the speed limit. There was no use charging in without a plan. It would only give Maurice a bigger advantage and that wouldn’t do her son any good.

She was going to get Charlie back the safest way possible.

Rage and worry simmered as she drove the six hours to Los Angeles. Maurice would be waiting for her in Bel Air. If he wanted to come out of this smelling like a rose, then he wouldn’t lay a hand on her son. It was the only thing keeping her from busting into the estate and shooting him on the spot. She rented a hotel room, tried to sleep and couldn’t. She was prepared, waiting for the timing to be right.

Darcy slowed her walk through the west end of Bel Air, high heels clicking on the concrete. Her leather slacks made her thighs rub and sounded like a squeegee on a clean window. It was annoying, but the dark cream leather outfit gave her the look of money and sophistication. Natural and unnoticed in Bel Air. It helped that her wig was black and her face bore the bone structure of an actress whom she knew lived this time of year in Tahoe.

She walked past Maurice’s estate. Just looking at it brought back the memories of Maurice pushing her down the stairs and smiling while he did it, of him locking her up in the guest room for days without food, when he’d used sex as a weapon, tying her to the bed. Though he hadn’t been violent then, it had been against her will.

Old fear made her body perspire under her clothes and she shook the memories loose, focusing on her plan. It was still a couple hours till dusk.

Surrounding the house and land was a two-foot-thick stone wall with a gate that was twice the size of a Mack ruck. It was electrified and on automatic from a keypad inside and a handheld sensor for entering from the street. Maurice hadn’t left the house. And no one had come in.

The west end of the property faced the water, the view open to the sea. Darcy could have swum to it and walked up onto the beach if not for the laser alarms near the water’s edge. Maurice had a boat in a slip a few blocks up the coast, but he never set foot in the ocean. He couldn’t swim well.

A car moved up beside her, slowing. She heard the window electronically go down. Great, a pick-up line.

Then a deep voice said, “Get in, now.”

She stilled and turned her head. Jack. He leaned and pushed open the passenger door.

Darcy let out a breath and climbed in. “How did you know?” She was wearing a mask.

“After two years, you ask that?” Jack pulled away and drove out of the area. “Are you nuts?”

“He has Charlie.”

“I know, Megan called me. The police are with her. Let them handle it, dammit.”

“I can’t. He’s got my son!” Darcy rubbed her forehead, a thousand thoughts tripping through her head and slamming against a wall. “What the hell am I supposed to do? The man tried to kill me and he has Charlie. Do you understand? He has my baby!”

“He wants you.”

“I don’t give a shit what Maurice wants! My child is in danger! Don’t interfere, I can handle this.”

“Baby,” he said softly, and immediately tears sprang into her eyes and her lips quivered. Jesus, this man could get to her so easily. “I know you can. I’m on your side.”

She pulled off the wig and fluffed her hair then carefully peeled the mask off as she spoke. “I’m glad you are, Jack, really. But I have to do this alone. This man has made my life hell for years and I just found the guts to fight him at his own game.”

“He won’t hurt Charlie, he wants you and you’re walking into a trap.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. The FBI has all the evidence on Fairchild and Maurice.”

“What?” She looked at him, horrified.

“I gave it to them. Don’t look at me like that, woman. It’s the only way, and you know it. You have to let the authorities in or nothing will stand up in court. After seeing your evidence, Agent Bale has agreed to open a case on Fairchild. They’ll have to review it before they go to Maurice.”

“That isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It will when we find the body.”

She shook her head. “Maurice covers his tracks really well, Jack. He was careful when he beat me where anyone could see the damage.”

“I still find it hard to believe you stood for that.”

“I didn’t. He lost a couple teeth to prove it. But he didn’t have to hit me to be abusive. Good God, when I was pregnant with Charlie, he threatened to cut him out of me.”

“Jesus, what a son of a bitch. I’m not going to ask why you married a man like that.”

“I grew up poor with an alcoholic mother, and he was rich, famous and wanted me. I just didn’t realize the price would be my self-esteem and pride.”

Jack reached for her, urging her closer. “That’s been over for a long time.”

Darcy sighed against him, her head on his shoulder. “We need to find the body.”

“The warehouse?” he said.

“I thought of that. But I was in there, and didn’t find one. You know a decomposing body would smell.”

He reached in his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, reading it and driving. “Do you know what ah…HCHO is? It’s urea-formaldehyde.”

She straightened in the seat. “It’s an adhesive used on fiber, wood movie sets and 3-D background paintings to preserve color and seal the surface. Set designers need it to maintain the integrity of background paintings while filming for months at a time.”

“Well, that’s what’s on the burned clothes.” He handed her the report. “And they were monogrammed, Darcy, with his full name.”

Her mind started clicking. “Take a left here.”

He did.

“You wouldn’t happen to have your old badge, would you?” He gestured to the glove box. She found it, and for a second ran her fingers over the gold shield. “Detective, huh? Would your sister like that you quit because of her?”

“No, she wouldn’t. You’d have liked her.” The sadness in his tone punched a hole in her heart.

“I know I would have.” She kissed his cheek.

“So what’s up your sleeve?”

“Use this to get in the gate.” She handed him the shield. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

Jack’s badge did the trick, and Darcy directed him to the Studio Eight warehouse. It was late afternoon, and shooting was done for the day except for night filming on other lots. The area was deserted. She climbed out and went to the warehouse door.

She cursed. “My lock picks are in my hotel.”

Jack nudged her out of the way and with his own, opened the lock. She looked at him. “I’m impressed.”

“Bounty hunting gives you certain advantages a cop doesn’t have.”

They opened the door, the seal popping loudly. Jack flicked on the light.

“You don’t care if we’re seen?”

“I’m calling the police as soon as we’re sure.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“You’ve been right all along so far.” He winked at her, then gestured to the cylinders and barrels, the rolls of cord and cases. “You know what all this stuff is for?”

“Yeah. Some of it’s corrosive—acids, ammonia. But the HCHO is over there.” She pointed to the back. They moved together.

“God that stinks,” he said.

“I know. When I was in here before it made me sick, light-headed. I almost got caught. I wrote down all the chemicals stored in here, but with all that’s been going on, I didn’t have a chance to research all of them. HCHO was one of the chemicals listed, but I didn’t realize it was formaldehyde.”

She inspected the barrels, finding nothing untoward. “So what do we do, open them all?”

“Where is the one that leaked?”

She tried to remember where she’d stood, moving from her hiding spot then pretending to go back into the warehouse as she had for her bag. “Here, this one.”

Jack knelt, touching his fingers to the concrete floor then bringing them to his nose. “This is it.” He looked around. “We need a crowbar.”

“The chemicals aren’t opened in here, Jack, they’re taken to the sets. There won’t be one.”

He went to his car, coming back with the tire iron. He pried up the lid.

Darcy’s heart pounded, half of her hoping, and the other wishing that Porche Fairchild hadn’t paid with her life. The lid popped and Jack used the tire iron to swirl the liquid.

Nothing.

“Damn.”

He looked at the bases of the barrels. “We have to open them all.”

She crossed to a row of three and stilled, something catching her eye. She moved to the back where the cylinders were lined up like soldiers. She tried moving one.

“Help me move this.”

He came to her, straining to move the cylinder. “Why am I doing this?” he said.

“Look, can you see in there, between the cylinders? There’s something back there and it’s shorter.” She pointed upward to the tops of the cylinders. “And there’s a gap.”

“They aren’t lined up against the wall.”

“Yeah, but there’s so many, who’d notice?”

Jack moved another; it took a few minutes. They weighed in excess of a hundred pounds.

In the center of the CO2 cylinders, there was a barrel. Jack looked at her, then got the tire iron to pry up the lid. It didn’t pop like the others.

Darcy realized instantly that Maurice hadn’t done his research. Most of the chemicals in here were corrosive, or explosive. Except HCHO. He thought it would disintegrate the body, instead, it preserved it. The night she’d lured him here, he’d checked to be certain the container was still hidden, but had no way he could remove it. So here it had remained. If he’d known the components and put her in another barrel, she’d have had nothing to prove him a killer.

Darcy didn’t have to look close.

Jack didn’t have to stir the chemical.

Porche Fairchild was there.

Perfectly preserved.

So much so that even her hairstyle was still in place.

Jack lifted his gaze. “Now, we call the police.”

Darcy smiled. “I hope you have friends, because we could be charged with breaking and entering.”

It only took the police a few minutes to get there and suddenly it was chaos. Police, forensics, studio officials and chemical experts crowded the area. The barrel was removed with Porche still inside and taken to the crime lab. Darcy had answered several questions and met Agent Bale. She freely offered her DNA, her shoes and prints, but by the time that was done, the place was lit up like a premiere and there were people everywhere, working, or there to gawk. Jack, she noticed, was in detective mode, and Darcy backed away from the crowd, heading toward the gate. Jack was going to be mad, but she had to leave. Now. Maurice would be nailed to the wall in a couple of days.

But Charlie was still in danger now.

She couldn’t waste another moment.

Chapter 16

Without a moon, there were no shadows.

Beyond the occasional streetlight or headlights, it was a soot-black night. Perfect. Crouched in the dark on a property across the wide street, Darcy watched the estate. A couple of the staff departed, leaving one car in the driveway. Maurice’s BMW would be in the garage under a tarp.

She didn’t have much time. When Jack realized she was missing, the cavalry would come and there was no telling what Maurice would do. She had to get Charlie out first.

Darcy removed a small package from her pack before slipping it on her back. The cat suit was black, and she wore a vest over it, zipped to her throat, more for storing a few things than for warmth. She tucked the small package in a vest pocket, then rose to a crouch, ran across the street and ducked into the shadows.

She approached from the east, on a neighboring property, beyond the blind spot of the security cameras she remembered from when she’d left Maurice. She shined a penlight at the camera, counting off the seconds it took for it to pan the yard and return. From her pack, she pulled out a thermal blanket with a thick rubber backing. Getting past the electrified wires on the top of the stone wall wouldn’t be easy. But she was more worried about the dogs. They weren’t pets, they were attack dogs. If she wasn’t quick, she’d be ripped apart before she could get to Charlie.

She climbed the large tree beside the fence on the neighbor’s property. They didn’t have Maurice’s security paranoia, but she still had to avoid the sensors. She wished she could risk the strength of the tree limb and just move out to the edge, but if it cracked, they’d hear it for half a block. Like a lizard, she lay facedown on the branch, then scooted inch by inch out onto the limb, balancing herself with her ankles wrapped around the thick branch.

In one quick motion, she unrolled the blanket, throwing it toward the wall and letting it sail open todrape over electrical wires as thin as hair. Gripping the branch, she rolled off, dangling for a second before swinging her legs up and throwing her weight at the wall. She caught the edge, praying the blanket didn’t slip out from under her as she flung her leg over. Sitting on the ledge, she watched the cameras pan, then jumped.

Immediately she heard the dogs growling, the soft thump of their paws as they raced toward her. Quickly Darcy pulled the package from her vest, but in seconds she was cornered, the black Dobermans baring their teeth and barking.

She unwrapped the raw meat and stretched out her arm. One dog snapped at her.

“Easy, Hercules,” she whispered and the dog cocked its head. “Hello, Zeus, how’s it going, buddy?” Her voice was hushed, the meat hanging from her fingers. The growling was a low constant hum. Before she left Maurice she’d secretly fed the dogs so they’d obey her and wouldn’t bark when Rainy came to help her escape. She tossed the meat to the left near the wall, but the dogs didn’t go for it.

Now what?

Tugging off her glove, she extended her arm. The dogs growled, shiny fangs bright in the dark. Darcy didn’t think she’d ever been more afraid of being eaten. She let them sniff her.

One whimpered. One sat.

“Go on, eat.” They just stared, their growls low and steady. Then she remembered the commands, and motioned sharply to the meat and said, “Eat.”

The deadly black pair went for the food. Quickly, Darcy backed against the wall, blending into the dark, glancing down at the dogs. The drugged meat would put them out cold for at least a couple hours. Harmless drugs, but necessary. Pulling on her gloves, she moved swiftly along the perimeter toward the back patio where she was able to see a considerable part of the lower level through the great room. With the lights on inside, no one could see her.

She edged around the house, remembering when she’d selected the flowers and bushes, the curtains and furniture. Maurice had given her free rein and endless money to decorate. It had been a blanket covering the truth about her husband. There was always a price with Maurice. That was how he’d gotten Kel Adams to do what he wanted.

She slipped over the low retaining wall that cupped the back patio, her felt-and-rubber-bottomed shoes soundless. She heard music, Bach, and knew Maurice was near. She inched along the outer wall of the house, sliding up to each window and looking in. The floor plan in the house was etched in her mind, the way in, the way out. Darcy knew she had to find Charlie first.

The great room was empty, the low light spilling softly over the decor. It looked just as it had when she left. Nothing had been changed. Even her wedding picture still hung over the mantel.

A shadow flickered, and Darcy’s gaze shot to the walls, then to her surroundings. It moved again and her gaze zeroed in on the lower guest-bathroom window to her left. Darcy rushed to it, peering.

Oh, crap. Her mother!

What the hell was she doing here? First instinct was that her mother was in on this. She still hadn’t forgiven Delores for not helping her when she needed her mother’s understanding the most. But Darcy wasn’t leaving her mom behind. And if she was drunk? Getting to Charlie was one thing—getting her mother out as well was another.

Darcy watched Delores fill a glass of water and leave the bathroom. Quickly she moved to the next window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Charlie on the bed, motionless. Delores held his head, tipping the glass to his lips.

Charlie was pale as a sheet and not moving. Damn you, Maurice!

She squatted to rethink the plan. If Charlie was drugged, then he’d be tough to carry out of the house with any speed. And her mother—drunk? Or not?

The dull rumble of voices pierced the quiet, and she hurried along the length of the house. There was a long breezeway leading from the house to the garage with doors to the side lot where the servants parked.

Strapping on her NVGs Darcy shifted around the bushes and leaped the north patio wall to see who was leaving for the night. Two women hurried down the glass corridor, one glancing back at the house. When the first woman stopped, the other grabbed her, shaking her head.

They knew and did nothing.

Darcy moved along the west side of the breezeway, then around the garage to the east side. One woman punched in the lock code. Darcy inched closer. She ought to knock one out and take a uniform, but the maids usually lived in the house. Which meant Maurice had sent them home for a reason.

One woman stepped out, then the second. Darcy slipped up behind them and caught the door, darting past. It closed without her being noticed. The lock clicked shut, the alarm light turning from green to red.

Inside the breezeway, she stored the NVGs in the pack then moved down the hall toward the main house. Outside the kitchen door, Darcy concealed a couple of her knives. The gun was a last resort, in a holster under her left arm and hidden by the vest.

She opened the door slowly, her gaze shooting around the kitchen. To the left was the dining room, to the right and beyond the separating wall was the foyer and stairs leading to the second floor. She hoped her mother and Charlie stayed on the lower level. If they didn’t, she’d have a tough time getting upstairs then back down.

Part of her needed to confront Maurice, but her maternal instincts wanted her son out as safely and silently as possible.

She stepped inside.

She moved through the kitchen, alert to sounds. She needed to locate Maurice first and suspected he’d be in his office to the left of the foyer, next to the library. Music still played, muffling any sound she’d make. She followed it, then realized it was over the in-house speaker system. Where was he then?

She moved through the house, to the foyer where she’d landed when he’d pushed her down the stairs, then beyond. The door to the library was open, but the room was empty. The door to his office was closed. Keeping back so she didn’t cast a shadow on the floor in front of the door, Darcy listened. She was nearly certain Maurice wasn’t in there till a chair squeaked. She darted back, flat against the wall. His high-backed oxblood leather chair, which looked like a throne, had always made that sound. Retracing her steps, she passed through the kitchen, crossed the dining room and into the back hall.

Her mother was talking to Charlie, but her son wasn’t responding. Darcy checked the unopened doors before slipping into the guest room.

She reached her mother just as Charlie opened his eyes. “Mom!”

Her mother turned, and Darcy covered their mouths, hushing them with a warning look.

Her mother just stared at her, her gaze moving over the cat suit, the knives. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Darcy glared at her mother to be quiet as she scooped up her child, hugging him tightly. She checked him for injuries, noticing his pupils were dilated, then motioned for him to stay quiet. Darcy pulled out her cell, hitting send, and she let the call ring once, then cut the line. Her own cavalry would come now. She took a step. Her mother stood there, immobile. Darcy inclined her head for Delores to follow.

Down the hall and into the dining room, Darcy made a decision to take the shortest distance and headed toward the great room. If she could get out without Maurice knowing, she’d consider it a miracle. But she couldn’t shut off the alarms. Maurice was paranoid about security and changed the codes all the time. Even if she tried the breezeway doors, the floodlights would come on, and every window and door would lock down. It was how he kept her trapped in here.

They edged the room, behind the sofas and tables to the French doors leading to the back patio deck. Darcy set Charlie down to cut the sensor wires in the glass door.

“Well, aren’t you the clever girl.”

Darcy whipped around.

Maurice was standing on the far side of the great room near the Roman columns, a cocktail in his hand. He smiled and a chill rippled all the way down her spine.

“Hello, my love.” He looked her over thoroughly, walking closer. “You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”

Her lips thinned. She put herself between Maurice and her family.

“You were stupid to even try this, you know that, don’t you?”

He spoke to her the way he had four years ago, reasonable, as if making him mad over something trivial was her fault, as if the threats to her life were her doing. It just pissed her off more.

“Bite me, Maurice.”

“Interesting proposition, but my tastes have changed.”

“You have taste?”

His expression sharpened and he tsked. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Darcy.” He set the glass down and shrugged his jacket into place. It set off a warning in Darcy. He always did that before he hit her, before he pushed her down the stairs.

Maurice moved closer, eyeing her. “I like the longer blond hair better. That reddish mess doesn’t suit you.”

She said nothing.

“And what do you think you are, dressed like that?”

He moved closer and she advanced, not about to let him near the only exit and her child.

The dignified act slid away and he lunged for her. Darcy tipped her body, her foot shooting out and hitting Maurice in the chest. He flew backward, banging into a delicate table, sending the lamp and knickknacks across the floor.

Maurice gasped for air, clutching the table ledge, glaring at her. “You deserve a beating for that, bitch.”

He came at her and Darcy struck first, one to the face, a second to his stomach. But Maurice was fit and took the brunt of it easily, locking his arm around her throat. She went loose, sliding down and twisting. He tightened his grip, held her back against him.

“Fighting me just makes it all the more interesting,” he growled in her ear. “Now what, my love?” He jerked tighter, cutting off her air.

She answered in successive moves. She threw her head back into his nose, drove her elbow into his stomach, then snapped her fist down to slam into his groin.

He grunted each time, howling with the last. She shoved him away, turned, fist primed. He was folding to the floor.

Charlie moved.

“No!” she shouted.

Maurice surged and grabbed Charlie’s leg. Darcy went after him till he pulled a tazer from his pocket. He held it crackling near her son’s skin.

Darcy froze. “Don’t, Maurice.”

“Give up then.”

She said nothing, trying to ignore the fear in her son’s eyes.

Maurice gave the tazer a jolt, blue current sparking. “This is supposed to take down a two-hundred-pound man, what will it do to a child?”

It would kill him. Maurice knew it.

She threw her hands up. “Okay, okay, don’t hurt him.”

Maurice climbed to his feet, using Charlie as a shield as he moved toward her. Charlie whimpered.

“Shut up.” He shook her son violently.

“You do that again, Maury, and I swear to God I’ll scar you for life.”

Maurice let the tazer crackle, the blue stream of energy too close to her child’s throat. Then he backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. Slowly, she turned her head, leveling him with a stare meant to fry the flesh from his bones. She swiped her hand across her lip. Blood smeared.

Maurice’s confidence slipped a little.

Between them, Charlie sobbed, staring up at her with his big eyes and trusting her to free him. Moving back, Darcy circled, making Maurice turn, making him look at her and not her son.

“This is between me and you, Maury. Let him go.”

He didn’t, holding Charlie by the collar of his shirt. “You’ll be my wife again.”

“Dream on.” She moved to the right.

“Or you’ll go to jail for kidnapping.”

“I protected myself and my son.” She wanted to draw him near the fallen knickknacks, make him trip. She needed Charlie clear of him. “You’re the one going to jail, Maury.”

“For what?” he said supremely arrogant.

“Forgery, illegal money transfer, defrauding the government and there is the matter of Porche Fairchild.”

His face turned to stone. “I heard she’s still on sabbatical.”

“She’s dead.”

“Really. You kill her?”

“No, you did. Lot eight, the studio? Ring a bell? I found her body in a barrel of HCHO.”

He paled, but covered it well. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“It should. Remember when you burned the bloody clothes in the hearth? You passed out, and I put out the flames and took them. They have her blood and the HCHO all over them. Plus your monogram—and your DNA.”

Slowly the color drained from his handsome face.

“And I’ll give you one guess who has them now.”

“Well, it seems you’ve grown a brain.” He lunged, the tazer out, and Darcy swung her leg up, clipping his wrist. The tazer flew out of his hand and he stumbled right on her, dragging Charlie. She brought both fists down on the back of his neck.

He dropped like a stone, taking Charlie with him. Darcy pulled her son away, pushing him toward her mother. Delores grabbed the tazer and stood near the door with Charlie behind her and the weapon out. Her hand shook.

“Now you have no way out.” Maurice pushed up on his hands.

“You are so stupid sometimes.” Darcy moved backward toward the French doors. “Do you think I came here alone?”

Maurice’s expression turned molten, the ramifications sliding through his brain. “I’ll kill you!” He got to his feet, swaying a little.

“You tried that once.” Fists out, she flicked her fingers. “I’ll give you another chance, though. Close your eyes, Charlie, Mommy has some house cleaning to do.”

Maurice charged at her and Darcy waited for one moment. Waited till he was nearly on her. Her fists shot out in rapid succession, breaking his nose. Blood poured and he stumbled back, swiping at his face and staring at the blood. Then he came at her, and she drove her fist into his solar plexus. He buckled over, gasping, then threw his head back, clipping her under her chin. Darcy tripped backward, putting distance between them.

“You can’t testify against me, Darcy,” he snarled. “A wife can’t testify against her husband!”

“You really need to come out of the movie world, Maury. A wife can’t be forced to testify. Nobody will twist my arm.”

“You spent the money, bitch!” he roared advancing. “You decorated this house with it.”

“I never signed a thing. Remember? You wouldn’t let me.”

The instant he was near, she executed a high spin kick, knocking him in the side of the head. He fell against the grand column, grabbing it for support. Darcy wasn’t done. Another double kick packed with anger sent him flying back. He landed hard on the tile floor, sliding a few feet.

He didn’t move.

Darcy adjusted her stance, not trusting that he was out for the count.

“My God in heaven Darcy, where did you learn that?”

“Athena Academy.” Darcy rushed to the doors. Taking the tazer, she shocked the alarm system on the door. It shorted out and the locks sprang. She scooped up Charlie and shoved her mother out ahead of herself.

Maurice was still on his back.

Outside, she heard the blare of sirens, the squeal of tires. But it was the sweet sound of the incoming chopper that alerted half the neighborhood. Lights blinked on for a block as Darcy raced out, helping her mother run toward the beach.

Like a hawk diving for its prey, the helicopter swooped in from the shoreline. The blades beat the air, the power knocking over planters, bending back tree limbs. The pilot delicately lowered the iron bird, and Darcy smiled at Lieutenant Josie Lockworth as she touched down.

God, it was good to have heavy-duty backup.

Darcy hurried her family toward the chopper.

Maurice screamed her name. “If I lose it all, so do you!”

Midstride, Darcy turned her head to look behind. Maurice stood on the patio and pointed a gun at her back. He cocked the hammer. She stopped and put Charlie down, telling him to run to the chopper, pushing her mother with him. Josie was already leaning out to pull them in.

“Darcy! Come on!” Josie shouted when Charlie and Delores were inside.

Darcy met her gaze and put her hands up in surrender, then made small circular motions with one gloved finger. Josie’s gaze shifted beyond to Maurice and her lips tightened. She didn’t want to leave her, Darcy knew. Darcy shook her head and mouthed, Save my baby. Josie adjusted her headset and lifted off without her.

“Don’t shoot, Maurice.” Behind her, he smiled and Darcy looked up as the chopper rose, putting her hands behind her head.

Charlie was screaming for her, reaching, and her mother struggled to hold on to him.

The helicopter blades twisted the air, stirring dirt and leaves, the water in the pool. Josie aimed the spotlight down like a beam from heaven, showering them in white light.

Maurice fired a shot at the chopper and in one motion Darcy twisted, pulling a knife from the pocket behind her neck. She threw. The small blade whistled through the air and sank into his thigh.

He howled, tottering backward, grabbing the hilt and yanking it out. For a split second, he stared at the blade. “You really think that made a difference!” He threw it aside and extended his arm, aiming.

But Darcy was already sighting down a .9mm barrel.

Maurice’s eyes widened.

“You fired a gun at my son, my mother and my friend,” she said with each step closer. “You pathetic little worm.”

His gaze flicked to the chopper lifting higher, the TV news van crew spilling from the van, already filming. But Darcy’s attention was on his face, his finger on the trigger.

“ABS cameras are rolling. It’s over Maurice. You’re on national news trying to kill your wife and son. You’re ruined.”

His face twisted with rage and he pulled the trigger. Darcy lunged right and heard the shot whiz by her as she returned fire. Her bullet impacted his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Rushing forward, she kicked the gun out of his hand.

He clutched his shoulder, breathing hard. Blood fountained between his fingers. “I’ll make you pay for this. This is assault! I won’t go to jail, you know it. I own people!”

“All that money, and you’re still such a loser.” She pointed the gun at his head, breathing hard. “Payback’s a real bitch, ain’t it?”

For the first time, she saw real fear in his eyes.

“Darcy?”

The familiar voice floated to her, clear and determined. Jack.

“Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

At the sound of Jack’s voice, Darcy felt something invigorating slide through her and she lowered the pistol. Maurice deflated like a spent balloon.

“You’re not going to die, Maurice. That’s too easy. You’re going to live in the same hell you put me in.”

Suddenly cops were everywhere, one man checking Maurice for weapons, then pulling him off the ground. He groaned, bleeding all over himself. He could barely stand.

An officer clamped on handcuffs, ignoring Maurice’s wince of pain.

Darcy moved close, in his face. “You know what, Maury?” she said, disgusted. “I want a divorce.”

Chapter 17

Darcy turned away from Maurice and let the cops search her, but her gaze was on Jack standing a few feet away.

Her eyes teared, the tension of the past hours flowing out of her in hard breaths. Her son and mother were safe in the air with Josie. Maurice was in handcuffs.

And Jack was here.

When the police had her knives and Meg’s gun, she lowered her arms. For a second, she just stared at Jack. Then he rushed to her, clamping his arms around her. He buried his face in the side of her neck.

“Woman, are you ever going to stop scaring me like this?”

Darcy closed her eyes, tears of relief falling. “Yes, I promise. No more,” she said and he leaned back to look her in the eyes.

“What made you think you could—”

She pressed two fingers to his lips. “I had a plan, you know.” She gestured to the news van, the chopper that was circling the estate.

“Athena graduates?”

“Yeah, they’re the best kind of people.” She glanced back toward the parking area. “Go, Tory.”

Tory Patton kept the cameras on Maurice, shoving her microphone in his face, asking him why he had tried to kill his wife. Maurice just glared at Darcy as she walked with Jack toward the gathering of flashing lights and cameras.

The police read Maurice his rights, and Darcy watched as they put him in a cruiser.

“Did they find Kel or whatever his name is?”

Jack gestured to a police cruiser. “The actor didn’t go far from Hollywood.” Darcy marched up to the car. Jack grabbed her back.

“I want to punch his lights out.”

“I took care of that for you.”

Darcy blinked, then looked at Kel. He had a black eye and a split lip.

Smiling, Darcy grabbed Jack’s right hand and kissed the scrape. “You’re such a knight,” she said.

“I figured if you got a hold of him, he wouldn’t be fit for trial.”

She smiled.

The chopper hovered, then like a feather falling gracefully to the ground, Josie set it down on the front lawn. The blades beat slower as the door slid back and her mother hopped out, hair whipping as she reached for Charlie.

Darcy ducked and ran near, grabbing up her son. She met Josie’s gaze through the windshield. “Thank you,” Darcy said, though she knew Josie couldn’t hear above the noise.

Grinning, Josie threw her a salute. Darcy hurried her mother away from the chopper and Josie lifted off, swooping high and out of sight.

“Men are in real danger if Athena produces women with guts like you three,” Jack said, walking up behind her.

Charlie shrieked Jack’s name and lunged into his arms. Jack held her son tightly, then wrapped his arm around her and pressed his lips to her temple. “No more secrets, Darcy, no more.”

“A girl has to have a few. How else can I keep a man interested?”

Jack smiled. “It wasn’t your secrets that kept me around, darlin’.” He pressed his forehead to hers,both releasing a heavy sigh. Then he kissed her, staking his claim. And Darcy let him.

Oh, glory glory, she thought happily. Let freedom ring.

Several months later

Darcy stared at her mother. Her drinking had aged her. She was only about fifty but looked sixty-five.

It had been six months since Maurice’s arrest. The trial had been the sensation of Hollywood. Televised and drawn out. She’d testified, staring Maurice down in the courtroom. Her mother had confirmed the details, and Darcy had watched her humiliate herself on the witness stand to do it.

Darcy had seen Delores only once since then. Now she was asking to be a part of their lives.

“I’m sorry, Darcy. If I hadn’t been drinking maybe I could have gotten Charlie out or helped you.”

“Yes, you’re right, but Maurice wasn’t giving up easily.” Her mother seemed to crumble a little.

Darcy studied her, remembering her childhood, all the things her mother had done for her to try to make her life better. She’d worked two jobs, made her clothes, and it wasn’t until she’d remarried for the third time that the drinking had started. One day they’d have to sit down and understand why she sank into a bottle. They were all frail, she thought, each with fears and lost hopes. And Darcy had a feeling her mother hadn’t experienced a lot of love in the past years.

She reached out, gazing into her mother’s eyes, and said the words her mother needed to hear. “I forgive you, Mom. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we pay for them for a long time.”

Delores’s eyes teared and she whispered, “Thank you.”

Darcy hesitated for a second. “I want you to know that I really can’t let you near Charlie till you’re sober and willing to go for treatment.”

“I know, I know. I have been to AA meetings.” When Darcy’s look doubted, she showed her the chips awarded for sober months.

Darcy smiled, genuinely pleased. “I have to be able to trust you.”

“Honey, I know. I have to trust me, too.” She looked longingly out into the backyard where Charlie was playing with his new puppy. “Some things are worth it.”

Darcy held back her tears and said, “Go on, Mom.”

Delores met her gaze, her eyes glossy. She sniffled and gripped her daughter’s hand. “Thank you, Darcy. I’m so proud of you, you know. So very proud.”

Darcy kissed her cheek, and then because she needed it more, she hugged her mother, whispering that she was proud of her, too.

When they parted, Delores’s gaze shifted past her daughter. Darcy turned.

Jack sipped coffee, his shoulder braced on the doorjamb. Like an excited child, Delores went outside to Charlie.

“I know what it took to forgive her,” he said.

“Not as much as I thought.” Darcy watched her mother kick off her shoes and drop to the ground with Charlie. There was a comfortable silence between them before she asked, “So, are you going back on the force?”

“What do you want?”

She met his gaze. “I have what I want. My son, my real name back, my divorce. My shop’s doing well without me there 24/7 so I get more time with Charlie.”

Jack’s smile was patient. “You’re missing the point.”

“Jack, it’s not my life, not my decision. But I’d rather you be a detective than on the street chasing crazies.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Why?”

She made a frustrated sound, fidgeting. “Because I really like you.”

“Like?” He looked insulted.

“Jeez, Jack, what do you want from me?”

He pushed off the wall and set his cup down, then slid his arms around her. He pulled her against him, every inch of them sealed together.

“I want the truth. The honest to God truth. There’s no one to hide from, no one after you. You still have your network, though most of it’s illegal as hell.”

“Jack,” she warned. “I’m trying to make it all legal, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She smoothed her hand up his arms to his big shoulders. “So what’s this big truth you want to know?”

He brushed her hair off her face. “Tell me…what’s in your heart, Darcy?”

She gazed up at him, feeling as if they were standing on the edge of a cliff and not in her kitchen.

“You, Jack.”

His smile was warm and slow. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Deep in there.” She plowed her fingers into his hair, tipping his head near. “You’re sorta like that stray dog that won’t go away.” He snickered. “I’ll keep you around.”

“And around and around and around,” he murmured against her mouth, then kissed her with all the hunger she’d been longing for in a lifetime.

Soon she’d tell him how much she loved him. How she wanted to share her new life with him. But it was new to her, this freedom. She was trying it on still, still learning about the woman she was meant to be.

Jack seemed to know her already. He’d seen beneath the masks, understood who was hidden behind the alias. And he’d stayed beside her, with quiet strength, as she rediscovered her freedom.

He’d wait for her, till it fit right.

Because if Darcy knew anything about Jack, it was that he had infinite reserves of patience.

And she hoped, persistence.

EXPOSED

KATHERINE GARBERA

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

To my family—Courtney, my little kick-*ss girl who knows there’s nothing she can’t do. You make me so proud to be your mom! Lucas, my stubborn won’t-give-up-until-I’ve-tried-every-avenue guy. And Matt, who gave me the greatest gift of all—our loving family.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Shannon Butler, who took time out of her busy schedule to explain to me how the television news business works and how to conduct an interview with a man who’d come back from the dead.

Thanks to Amy Fetzer and Cathy Mann, who helped me with the military stuff.

Thanks to Sue Kearney for helping me out when I thought all hope was lost.

Thanks especially to Eve Gaddy for always being willing to listen.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Katherine Garbera for her contribution
to the ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Victoria Patton held the phone away from her ear for a second and carefully covered the mouthpiece. “Hot damn!”

It looked as if all of her hard work had paid off. Of course, a good deal of luck was responsible for her being in the office when her boss had called in with the story. But he’d specifically asked for her, so she knew it was the break she’d been waiting for.

She pulled the phone back. “Of course, Tyson. I’ll be ready to go by six o’clock.”

Smiling, she hung up the phone, leaning back in her office chair. The halls of UBC, United Broadcasting Company, were quiet during the lunch hour. She spun her office chair around and stared out at the skyline of Manhattan. An office with a nice view wasn’t bad for a girl from a cattle ranch in south-central Florida. Days like today made the hard work and separation from her family worth it.

She turned back around and took in the evidence of how much she’d already achieved. One wall of her office held her journalism degree in a frame that her father had given her. The other wall held awards and framed photos that she’d picked up during her career. Her low credenza had neat and orderly shelves, but the top was cluttered with photos of her friends and family.

The surface of her desk held a blotter that she used to jot notes on and a green alligator pencil cup her brother had sent her when she’d done a story on the Florida Everglades. She also had a PVC figurine of Buttercup from the Power Puff Girls, because her practical joker co-workers thought she resembled the steely-eyed, tough-as-nails girl.

Tory was an up-and-coming television news reporter who’d been proving herself on the national level for the past five years. At five feet two inches tall, she knew she wasn’t exactly an imposing figure, but her insightful questions and keen ability to read between the lines had given her an edge few reporters had. She had black hair and green eyes that she’d been told were as mysterious as a cat’s. She knew that line had been corny flattery, but it suited her image of herself. At the age of twenty-eight, she was poised to take the national news media by storm, following in the footsteps of her role model, Diane Sawyer. At least, once she completed this interview she would be.

She was young to be considered for the job that her boss, Tyson Bedders, had just offered her—an exclusive interview with Commander Thomas King, a navy SEAL who’d been presumed dead for the past six months after a failed mission in the volatile island country of Puerto Isla in Central America.

Bedders had received a call from Joe Peterson, a public-affairs officer with the U.S. Navy, inviting Tory to go to Puerto Isla and interview King. Tory was to contact the minister of foreign affairs once she arrived on the island. The minister would coordinate the interview.

The details of King’s mission were sketchy, but she knew that the members of the SEAL platoon he’d been directing had all been killed and King had been declared dead with the rest of the troop. According to the information Tyson had, King’s platoon had been ambushed when they went in to rescue a group of American hostages being held on Puerto Isla.

The phone rang before she could completely digest the fact that she was leaving for Central America in less than six hours. There was a lot to do, including contacting her favorite cameraman, Jay Matthews. She wanted someone with her whom she could count on to film the story the way she wanted it captured.

“Patton.”

“Hi.”

It was Perry Jacobs, her boyfriend. She smiled to herself. Perry said he was too old to be anyone’s boyfriend. He always referred to himself as her significant other. She hated that term, because it suggested that there was nothing significant about her without that other.

Perry was a producer at UBC and they’d been working together for more than five years now. They’d been dating for the past four. He was nearly twenty years her senior and had more experience and knowledge of the business than anyone she knew.

Tory had been attracted to Perry from the first. At the start, she’d ignored the chemistry, not wanting to be fodder for the office rumor mill. Then they’d worked together on a feature story in Virginia, and the relationship had grown from there.

“Will you be home for dinner?” Perry had recently asked Tory to move in with him, and she still wasn’t sure about the situation. Her relationship with Perry was one of the things in her life that she questioned.

Which was why she’d kept her own apartment and never stayed over with him more than once a week. She didn’t want to encourage Perry to think too strongly in terms of permanency until she knew for sure that she really wanted to be with him for the man he was and not for the producer who had helped to make her into a top-rate journalist.

“Can’t. I’m going to Central America on assignment.”

“Where?” he asked. There was a note of resignation in his voice, and she suspected he knew that even without the assignment she wouldn’t have come over tonight.

“Puerto Isla. Tyson got me an exclusive with a navy SEAL who’d been presumed dead.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

Perry was right. Puerto Isla was dangerous. The small island was still struggling to keep its new government in place after a bloody coup four months earlier.

Alejandro Del Torro, the new leader, had been cooperating with the U.S. government to get much-needed aid to his suffering people. He’d come to power after leading a rebel movement. The people of Puerto Isla were leery of following another military man, but Del Torro was only an interim leader and was organizing the government and preparing to hold elections within the next six months.

Before Del Torro, the island had been controlled by Diego Santiago, a dictator and suspected drug lord, a man who had allowed the island’s coca-plant ranchers to supply many South American countries with the leaf that had become a part of their daily life. A leaf that the U.S. government was trying to eliminate because it was used to make cocaine and crack. Puerto Isla also served as a convenient stopover and refueling place for planes en route to Miami and the profitable American drug trade.

Tory was glad that she was fluent in Spanish. Languages came easily to her, and she figured she’d be able to communicate easily with the locals once she was on the island.

The interview was a step up from her usual kind of exposé assignment. Typically her stories involved going undercover with a hidden camera. Last year she’d been inside a women’s maximum-security facility, which had been chilling and had given her nightmares. Tory suspected that any juvenile delinquent who spent one night in that facility would never commit a crime again.

“Tyson thinks I’m ready for it,” she said. She’d like to hear that Perry did, too.

“Well, then I guess you are.”

As a vote of confidence that one sucked. She shrugged it off. “I’ve got to get my stuff together. So I really can’t talk.”

“I understand. When will you be home?”

“I’m not sure. Probably three days.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out her passport and immunization record.

“Want a ride to the airport?” Perry asked.

“I think I’ll cab it. Don’t you have a story airing tonight?” Perry sometimes worked on Tory’s stories but he had a stable of reporters that he produced.

“Yes, but I’d make time for you, Tory.”

That warmed her heart. Moments like this one made it hard for her to decide what to do about Perry. “I know you would. Take care.”

“Be careful,” he said and hung up.

She dropped the phone back into the cradle and started making a list of things she had to do before she left. Her heart pumped faster and she knew that this was the kind of break she’d been working toward for a long time.

She checked her excitement as she realized the new assignment would take her away from a very personal investigation she’d been working on—the death of one of her closet childhood friends, Rainy Miller Carrington. Rainy had been Tory’s orientation group leader when she’d first gone to Athena Academy as a nervous seventh-grader.

Tory had been invited to attend the mysterious Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women at the age of eleven. The unique seventh-through-twelfth-grade boarding school was set up similarly to famed military schools, but had no affiliation with the military.

Rainy, a senior, had been put in charge of Tory and five other girls other who, after a rough start, had come together to become lifelong friends despite being from very different backgrounds.

They’d named their group the Cassandras for the prophetess who was doomed never to be believed. Tory liked the irony of being a reporter and a Cassandra. In fact many of her Athena friends had gone into careers that involved uncovering the truth. The other Cassandras were FBI forensic scientist Alexandra Forsythe, private investigator Darcy Allen Steele, CIA Agent Samantha St. John, Air Force Captain Josie Lockworth and Kayla Ryan, a police lieutenant.

They’d bonded while they worked hard at Athena. Tory had enjoyed the female camaraderie and the competition. At home Tory had always had to outsmart her older brother, Derrick, who liked to play tricks on her. For the most part she and Derrick had a good relationship, but he’d definitely kept her on her toes when she’d been younger.

She had gone into network news because she’d realized early on that getting answers and putting together the pieces of a puzzle were things she was good at. Her classes in archery, marksmanship and martial arts had been invigorating, but she’d really excelled in the subjects that focused on criminal procedure and investigation. She’d briefly debated going into law but in the end had decided to become a journalist. She liked writing and photography and she had a talent for getting people to open up and talk.

She opened her e-mail and found one waiting from Josie, summarizing the findings of the Cassandras’ investigation into Rainy’s death. Tory and Josie were very close friends. They seldom had time to get together in person, but they communicated via e-mail often.

The e-mail was written with a military efficiency.

To: Cassandras

RE: Rainy Miller Carrington

Facts (Recap):

- In August, Rainy enacts the Cassandra promise, summoning all available Cassandras to Athens, AZ. Meeting set for the third Saturday in August at Principal Christine Evans’s bungalow at Athena Academy, 2000 hours sharp. Kayla Ryan, Darcy Steele, Alex Forsythe and Josie Lockworth are present.

- Rainy dies in a car accident on her way to the meeting. Seat-belt failure contributed to the fatality. No evidence of tampering present.

- Alex attends Rainy’s autopsy. She discovers that the appendectomy Rainy supposedly had in her first year at Athena never happened. Old ovarian scars show evidence of egg mining. Alex brings FBI agent Justin Cohen in on the investigation. Cohen’s sister died twenty years ago in childbirth after becoming a surrogate mother, about nine months after Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. Records show the baby died, as well. Cohen suspects Athena Academy of a conspiracy resulting in sister’s death. No proof found.

- Kayla begins search of old medical records at Athena Academy for more information. Athena Academy continues to be under informal investigation. Nurse Betsy Stone potential suspect. Stone was a nurse the academy at the time of Rainy’s operation.

- Darcy finds ads for surrogate mothers in Arizona papers from the months before Rainy’s operation. Hypothesis is that Rainy’s eggs were used to make a child/children. Darcy finds Cleo Patra, a woman who answered the surrogate ad and subsequently gave birth to a baby girl. The child was kidnapped. Whereabouts unknown. Attempts made on Cleo’s and Darcy’s lives. Cleo now in hiding.

- Tory to investigate fertility clinic records for the time period surrounding Rainy’s operation for any possible links.

- Messages left for Samantha St. John to apprise her of the situation. Sam in touch infrequently by e-mail. Whereabouts currently unknown. Everyone please keep in touch with any new information.

Josie

Tory rubbed the back of her neck. Just before Rainy had graduated, all the Cassandras had made a vow that they would all come, no questions asked, if one of the Cassandras called for help. They’d called it the Cassandra promise. Rainy had been the first to call on it, and all of the Cassandras knew that the situation must have been dire indeed for Rainy to make that call.

Tory had been in Britain in July covering a major development with Ireland when Rainy had placed the call to the Cassandras. Tory hadn’t gotten the message until it was too late. Before she had a chance to respond, Kayla had called with the news of Rainy’s death. Tory had returned to the States just in time to attend Rainy’s funeral.

Tory was still coming to terms with Rainy’s death. If only she’d known…

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t go back in time and change things.

All the Cassandras were certain that Rainy’s car accident could not have been accidental. Much to their horror, the facts they’d put together indicated that Rainy’s death had something to do with Athena Academy.

Something that ex-Athena student and reporter for rival network ABS Shannon Conner had picked up on. Shannon had always been sneaky and a little underhanded when Tory and she had been at Athena.

In fact, Shannon had tried to frame Josie for theft, an event that had led Tory to the career she had today. The incident had become Tory’s first investigative case. She’d used the skills she’d acquired at Athena in criminal profiling and investigating to solve the crime, finding evidence to prove that Shannon had been the perpetrator.

Shannon had become the only student ever to be expelled from the school. And Tory knew Shannon hadn’t forgotten. She was always dogging Tory’s heels. It was funny that they’d both chosen media as a career, but on one hand it made sense. That incident with Josie had changed both women and had forced them to look hard at what they wanted.

For Tory, it was to always be a voice for those without one. To uncover the stories that had to be told.

She wasn’t sure what Shannon had taken away from the incident. But a few months ago, Shannon and her network had descended upon Rainy’s funeral and had aired an interview in which Shannon had raised questions about Rainy being used for scientific experiments while in school at Athena.

Shannon’s newscast had put the school in a bad light and had brought the school the unwanted publicity Athena had avoided since its founding more than twenty years ago. Tory had stepped in with a very upbeat piece about the school, which she hoped would counteract the negative publicity. But Shannon was still making noises about a follow-up on Athena, and Tory wasn’t going to let Shannon get away with ruining the school. Loyalty was one of the cornerstones of Tory’s life.

But even more important than neutralizing Shannon was finding out what had happened to Rainy, both now and in the past.

Darcy Steele had tracked down a surrogate mother who had carried a baby that might have been Rainy’s. All the Cassandras were committed to finding the child. Tory had promised to look into the ads and use her news sources to look for leads through fertility clinic records.

Kids scared her on so many levels. Another plus to dating Perry was that he had two grown kids from a previous relationship and he wasn’t looking to make her into a wife and mother. Tory freely admitted that settling down wasn’t in the cards for her. There were too many stories for her to cover to willingly give up her career for a husband and kids.

But she would do everything in her power to find Rainy’s baby. Tory frowned. That “baby” would be about twenty-one years old now. If he or she existed at all.

She’d researched a two-year window around the time the ads had run. And kept narrowing the search until she’d found something interesting—a break-in at a fertility clinic in Arizona about three months before Rainy’s surgery. She wasn’t sure it meant anything, so she’d sent the information to an old college friend, Lee Chou. Lee worked for the FBI crime lab in D.C. and was an expert at unraveling mysteries. Though Alex also worked for the FBI, she didn’t know Lee. And Tory knew that because Alex’s specialty was forensic science, Lee was going to be the man to get the information for her.

Tory dialed his number from memory.

“Chou,” he said, answering his phone on the third ring. He sounded the same as he always did. Tired, brusque and maybe a little mean.

Not the kind of guy you wanted to piss off. And that might be why they’d become fast friends at Columbia. Tory had the kind of sunny personality that balanced out the more abrupt people of the world.

“Hey, it’s Patton.”

“Twice in the same week. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. It had been at least six months since she’d seen him.

“I can’t call to say hello?”

“You can, but you never do.”

“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“I know. Making quite a name for yourself. I saw that piece you did on Maurice Steele. Nice job. I was impressed.”

“Thanks, Lee. I was glad it turned out well.”

Maurice Steele was a Hollywood producer—and Darcy’s soon-to-be ex-husband. He’d been possessive and abusive to Darcy, but Darcy and her son were now free of Maurice and the world knew the truth about the kind of man he was. He’d soon be on trial for murdering one of his financial backers, a crime Darcy had exposed while fighting to be free of Maurice once and for all.

Tory had intended to put together a follow-up piece that delved into the Hollywood myth that celebrities were above the law, but her story had been eaten by the editor’s computer. The next evening Shannon Conner had gone on air with a similar story.

“Have you got anything for me yet?” Tory asked.

She heard the creak of his chair. She knew him well enough to guess that he’d probably propped his feet on his desk. “I’m not sure. I’m trying to track down a child that may not exist. This feels like one of those bizarre X-Files type cases that traces back to little green men.”

She glanced at the picture of her and the Cassandras that had been taken on graduation day. It hung on her wall where she could easily see it.

“Chou, you’ve been watching too much TV. I have some old print ads that I received from a friend that might be connected to the burglary at the fertility clinic. Can I e-mail them to you?” she asked.

She addressed an e-mail to him, then scanned the old print ads that had led Darcy to the surrogate and attached them to the e-mail. She explained a little more of the background and what she knew about the situation.

“I’ll look into it and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Lee. I’m going to be out of the country for a few days, so contact me via e-mail if you find anything.”

While she was on the Internet she sent a brief message to AA.gov. The Athena Academy alumni Web site had been created by several Athena grads. Along with maintaining the Athena student network, they worked with the intelligence community to provide couriers. Tory did some work for them because her job provided really good cover. She had a legit reason to be in many of the world’s hot spots.

She let them know she was going to Puerto Isla, mentioned her flight number and then shut down her computer. She had to go home and pack.

Tory leaned back in her chair, crossed her booted feet and smiled to herself. This SEAL story was going to be the one to take her into the big leagues. She could feel it in her bones.

Chapter 2

“Tory Patton, please pick up the white courtesy phone. Tory Patton to the white courtesy phone.”

Tory slipped her shoes back on and then gathered her laptop case and large carry-on. Having just passed through airport security, she had about forty minutes to waste before her flight took off. She found the white courtesy phone and gave her name.

“Your mother left a message for you. You can get hepatitis from the water, so watch what you drink. And that tunnel trick is getting old. Be careful.”

“Thanks,” Tory said. “Any other messages?”

“Just that one,” the operator said with a chuckle.

Tory smiled. Her mother had called while Tory was on her way to the airport and had proceeded to give her usual safety lecture. Tory had pretended cell phone interference in the tunnel and had hung up on her. No matter how old she got, Evelyn Patton insisted on seeing Tory as about twelve. She made a mental note to call her mother from Miami. She hung up the courtesy phone, then turned and bumped into a man. He steadied her and leaned close.

“Tory Patton?”

“Who wants to know?” The guy was a little taller than she was in her two-inch heels. He had brown hair and wore a navy-blue trench coat. He subtly scanned the thin airport crowd as he held her arm.

“AA.gov.”

She edged back from the guy, surprised that he’d contacted her out in the open like this. Usually courier drops were arranged via e-mail and done without any direct contact. But she knew there hadn’t been time to set up a drop the usual way, and she assumed that this case was time sensitive.

“Can I see some ID?”

He sighed and pulled his wallet from his pocket showing her the American-eagle insignia that AA.gov used. She had the same leather card with the same insignia on it.

“Can’t be too careful these days,” she said. Rainy had always said not to trust appearances. What am I missing here, Rainy?

Tory found her old friend on her mind all the time lately. She knew it was because she still felt guilty for not being there when Rainy had called. She’d started talking to Rainy in her thoughts, as if her old mentor would somehow hear her and answer.

“There’s an envelope for you inside this newspaper. Shred the instructions before getting on the plane. You’re on a work visa, right?”

She nodded.

“Any problems, you know who to contact.” He handed her the paper and left.

Tory stood there for a minute wondering why she continued to do these jobs. She didn’t need the money the way she had when she’d been in college. But she knew in her heart that she did them because they validated all the hard work she’d done at Athena.

She tucked the paper under her arm and went to the Admiral’s Club. Her frequent-flyer status assured her entrance. She went to the bar and got a gin and tonic before finding a seat in the corner away from the sparse crowd. It was a Wednesday, so there weren’t too many people flying.

She opened the paper and Alexandra Forsythe’s brother, Bennington, smiled up at her with a woman on each arm. Tory knew that Alex was more than a little frustrated that her older brother was so…shallow. A frustration that Tory couldn’t relate to because her own brother, Derrick, was a DEA agent on the fast track to the top.

Alex was driven and didn’t understand how someone who was related by blood didn’t share that same drive. Ben said he’d been born to wealth and intended to take every advantage and opportunity that afforded him, which drove Alex crazy. But despite Ben’s playboy lifestyle, he and Alex were very close.

Was it possible that Bennington was a changeling? Wearing a white dinner jacket and a smile that half the men in Hollywood would kill for, he looked utterly charming. But Tory knew better. She’d met Alex’s brother several times, and the man had been totally annoying. He had been in the military for a short time but had said the tailoring didn’t suit him.

His hair was swept back from his forehead, and he had a look in his blue eyes that promised decadence and pleasure. The caption of the photo said it had been taken in Manhattan at a charity event sponsored by his family’s foundation.

Bennington had charisma, something that Tory had always thought was wasted on him. That kind of power should have gone to a man who would use it for more than his own ends.

She shook her head. Flipping the page, she saw the envelope. Tory glanced around to make sure no one was watching her. The tables nearby were empty. She opened the envelope. It contained a small leather pouch and a note addressed to her. Tomorrow night, Thursday, she was to meet her contact in Cabo de la Vela, a small mountain town on Puerto Isla.

The information included longitude and latitude numbers, as well as instructions for what she was supposed to wear. She was to give the contact the leather pouch and leave. She committed the information to memory.

One of the reasons Tory had come to the attention of the Athena Academy had been her photographic memory. She’d grown up in Placid Springs, Florida, a small ranching community, and the local weekly paper had done a story on Tory when she was ten, talking about how she could memorize anything and repeat it verbatim.

Entertainment had been hard to come by in those days, and Tory had been a main source for the town, which doted on the Pattons’ only daughter. Her classes at Athena had honed her photographic memory and taught her to use it for intelligence gathering. She used it in her job at the network all the time.

She folded the newspaper and slid it and the leather pouch into her large carry-on bag. Then she walked to the office area in the lounge and shredded her directions. She walked out of the lounge without a backward glance, feeling the familiar excitement pumping through her veins.

Tory met up with her cameraman, Jay, in Miami. Their flight had been delayed overnight so it was Thursday morning when they arrived in Puerto Isla’s capital, Paraiso, via an Air Mexico flight. Tory had been surprised at how crowded the flight was. Puerto Isla still had a State Department warning against travel because the new government, though more stable than the last, had yet to prove itself.

The coup four months earlier had brought an end to the reign of Diego Santiago. Alejandro Del Torro had taken power and established an interim military government. Tory had taken the time to do some Internet research on Del Torro last night in her hotel room. She’d also notified AA.gov that she’d be unable to make her courier drop until the following day.

Del Torro’s government was getting different parties in place and would be holding elections within the next six months. The U.S. had sent troops to help restore order, but the majority of them had been pulled out in the past month. Tory knew from a conversation with her brother that the DEA still had agents in Central America and Puerto Isla.

The U.S. Embassy had backed the new leader because he favored the policy of eradicating the coca-leaf plant. Tory had spoken to Juan Perez, Puerto Isla’s minister of foreign affairs, on the phone during her layover in Miami.

Minister Perez had said that many locals weren’t happy with the new government’s policy on the coca plant, though they did like the money that the U.S. was pouring into the economy. He invited her to tour his office while she was on the island. Tory planned to do just that. An interview with Perez would be a nice detail to the feature story on the navy SEAL. He’d agreed to speak to her this afternoon at the presidential palace in Paraiso.

Perez was also her main contact to connect with Thomas King. King had been found only a few days earlier and was in a military hospital in Paraiso, recovering from his harsh captivity. Tory was eager to get to the hospital and see King. Mr. Perez had warned her that King was still in pretty bad shape.

Perez hadn’t answered any of her questions over the phone about how King had been found or why he’d still been imprisoned in the first place. But Tory didn’t plan to let Perez dodge her questions when they met in person.

The hot island air brushed over her skin like a lover’s hands. She shed her jean jacket and smiled at Jay.

“Not bad for November.” The weather was so different from the chill of November in Manhattan. She closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrances of wildflowers and sea breeze. The freshness of the air reminded her of her parents’ ranch and for a minute she felt as if she were back in Placid Springs and life was simpler.

“Not bad at all. I knew there was a reason you were my favorite reporter,” Jay said.

“Because I brought you to a warm place in November?”

He just smiled at her. Jay moved with an easy grace through the airport terminal. He was almost six feet tall and had broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. Tory knew him to be a hard worker and a wicked poker player. He’d also spent the first few years of his career working at the Central American desk for the network. He was familiar with the people and the customs of this island nation.

“You say that to everyone.” Tory liked Jay because he was easy to get along with and he was more of a photojournalist than just a cameraman. He’d gotten some film that was pure genius over the years. He was also incorrigible. He’d let Tory know a few times that he’d like to start something with her. But Tory had no interest in ruining a perfect reporter-cameraman relationship.

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.”

“Ha.” She deftly changed the subject. “Our visas should clear us through without too much problem.”

They made their way through the airport. It wasn’t as crowded as LaGuardia had been or even as bad as Miami International, where they’d connected, but there were people here. The line at customs was short, and Tory scanned the people waiting ahead of them. Suddenly she did a double take.

A familiar-looking blonde stood two people ahead of Tory. She had a few designer bags and the same Midwest generic American newscaster’s accent that Tory did. Shannon Conner. How had she gotten there without Tory seeing her? She must have been on their flight.

Tory’s reporter’s mind started sorting through information and trying to find answers. Shannon must have flown first-class and gotten on at the last minute, so Tory and Jay hadn’t spotted her. Was she following Tory in the hopes of getting to a story before her? Or did she know where Tory was going? And if so, where was she getting her information?

Shannon showing up at the same location couldn’t be a coincidence. This was the fourth time in as many weeks.

Tory suspected Shannon was still sore about getting kicked out of Athena. That had been a long time ago, and Tory had tried to put the incident behind her. However, Shannon had never really wanted to bury the ax. Except maybe in Tory’s back.

In college, they’d both interned with the same television station, and it was there that Tory realized that Shannon still had it in for her. Not that Tory really cared. Their business was highly competitive, and having Shannon nipping at her heels or a half pace ahead of her really kept Tory focused on her career. She didn’t plan on letting Shannon win.

“There’s your buddy,” Jay said. It was common knowledge in the industry that she and Shannon didn’t get along.

“Very funny. Save my place?”

“Sure.”

Tory got out of line and walked up to Shannon. Shannon was from Atlanta and always made Tory feel like a country bumpkin by comparison. Tory knew she wasn’t. She carefully picked her clothes out at exclusive New York department stores so that she looked successful. But every time they met, she remembered her jeans and worn cowboy boots and how Shannon had made fun of her.

“Shannon?” Tory called.

Shannon pivoted to face her with a smug grin. She pushed her sunglasses onto her head and looked Tory over from head to toe. Tory felt rumpled and dirty from flying. Shannon looked as if she’d just stepped off a luxury jet.

“Tory, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Working on a story. Puerto Isla is hot right now with the new regime in place and making new announcements every day.”

“That’s right, it is.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” Tory asked.

“Of course.”

Tory knew they were both lying and she sensed that Shannon was after the same story she was. If it had been any other reporter, Tory would have been tempted to fish around a little more for some information. But it wasn’t.

“You don’t usually handle world politics,” Tory said at last.

“I’m trying to broaden my scope. My Athena story really made the network take notice of me.”

“I’ll bet. Going to do a story that focuses on the facts instead of sensationalizing them like you did with Athena Academy?”

“You’re just jealous because the story got so much attention.”

“I’m not jealous, Shannon. I’m angry because you showed up at my friend’s funeral and tried to make the school sound like a top-secret breeding ground for freaks.”

“Well, you managed to cover up the truth nicely.”

“I managed to tell the truth. See if you can’t remember what that is. Have you read the Broadcast News Style book lately?”

“I’m not a rookie. I know enough to get the job done.”

“I hope so.”

“You know, Patton, I never really cared for your attitude and I can’t wait to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“I intend to.”

Jealous cow, Tory thought as she turned away and walked back to Jay. She should have said, “I’m not going to try. I’m going to do it.”

“Happy reunion?”

“Why did I request you again?” she said, but she was smiling.

“You can’t resist a man with a tattoo.” He gestured to the intricate hawk on his arm.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Don’t sweat Conner’s appearance here. She’s not half the reporter you are and she knows it.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

Jay moved to the customs agent to the left, and Tory was directed to the right. She handed her passport to the agent, who stamped it and checked her bag and said, “Recepcion, Puerto Isla, Señorita Patton.”

Welcome, she thought. It was funny how countries always said that when you entered them whether they wanted you there or not. “Gracias, señor.”

Jay and Tory rented a Jeep and made their way through the island traffic to the tourist district of Paraiso. The city had the old-world appeal of Cuba before Castro. Tory wished she had her still camera in her hand so she could capture the beauty of the island. But she wasn’t here to photograph; she was here to investigate.

It was just after lunchtime when they arrived at the hotel. The hotel was in the Hilton chain and was in better shape than Tory had expected.

Shannon was at the front desk checking in when Tory and Jay walked through the lobby doors. Tory and Jay waited for her to finish her business and leave the lobby before they checked in. Tory left Jay in the lobby bar, where he said he’d be getting the lay of the land. But she had the feeling he just planned to get laid. He had taken a seat at a table with two beautiful, dark-haired women.

Tory planned to do some work. She didn’t need Jay until tomorrow morning when she went to the hospital for the interview with Thomas King, since Perez had agreed to speak to her only off camera. She checked her watch. She still had three hours until she was supposed to meet with Perez.

Her room was on the second floor. She found it and hung up her clothes, then settled at the small desk with her laptop. According to the desk clerk nothing happened in Puerto Isla until after the siesta time was over at 2:00 p.m. That gave Tory a little more than an hour to do some recon.

Shannon Conner wasn’t getting this story. It went beyond anything resembling competition, straight to the heart of who Tory was. Something strange was going on in her life, and she was tired of Shannon showing up everywhere.

Tory started making notes and composed a list of questions to ask the islanders about the tension in Puerto Isla six months ago when the hostages had been taken and the navy SEALs sent in to rescue them.

What was the emotional climate? How did they feel about having the U.S. send its troops in? Did they back Del Torro’s government? Were the hostages familiar to them?

Already the story was starting to form in her head, and she jotted down a few opening sentences. She could hear her own voice-over, introducing American viewers to the island paradise that had turned into Hell on Earth for Thomas King. She wrote a note to Jay about some cutaway shots she wanted him to get for the feature. She wanted to show the lush tropical forest and long, white sandy beaches they’d passed on their way here.

She worked for thirty minutes, doing some research on the Internet. But since she was here she wanted to get out there with the Puerto Isla people and listen to them talk. To try to understand what had happened when Thomas King and his platoon had come to the island.

She picked up the phone and called Jay’s room. He answered on the second ring.

“Matthews.”

“Hey, no luck with the ladies?”

“I’m saving myself for you.”

She chuckled. “Sure, you are. Listen, I want to go interview some Paraiso citizens to get their views on what’s been going on here.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes. How long are we going to be?”

“I’m not sure. I have a four-o’clock appointment with Perez but he’ll only speak to me off camera.”

“I’ll go with you anyway and do some pick-up shots of the palace and surrounding area.”

“I’ve made a list of shots I want you to get.”

She changed into a pair of black trousers and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. She pulled out a map of Puerto Isla that she’d downloaded from the Internet. They were staying in the former resort town of Paraiso, now the island’s capital. There were main roads from the small airport and the large port into the city. The island’s coast was dotted with smaller towns and farms. The middle of the island seemed uninhabitable.

Tory went out on the balcony. To the west, she could see the high-rise condos that blocked the view of the beach. To the east rose a large mountain. Leaning over the balcony railing, she studied the city as it started to wake up from siesta. People appeared on the sidewalks, and small European cars filled the cobblestoned streets.

She took her notebook and grabbed her jacket. Jay wasn’t in the lobby when she arrived, so Tory approached the front desk, hoping to get some information from the young man about the hostage situation and the recent coup.

The desk clerk looked up in disinterest as she approached. Before she could ask him a question, the elevator doors opened and Shannon walked into the lobby.

She was dressed similarly to Tory but had her arm through a local man’s. She gave Tory a superior look as she walked by. Tory ignored her.

Tory smiled at the desk clerk. He didn’t smile back. She asked for directions to a local tavern and the docks. She hesitated, then asked, “Where is the prison?”

She took the map out of her bag. She knew that Thomas King had been held in one. “Could you mark it on the map for me?”

Finally he looked up at her and she read the fear in his eyes. He pushed the map back toward her. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Not a nice place for a gringa.”

“What about a gringo?” Jay asked, walking up beside Tory.

He leaned in, close to Tory. She hesitated for a moment and then shifted away from him. Jay always crowded her.

“Do you know where it is or not?” she asked.

The desk clerk searched her eyes for a minute and she didn’t know what he was hoping to find. Finally he sighed and pulled out a street map of the city. His finger fell on a road near the edge of town that looked as if it ran into the jungle.

“Take Camino al Infierno. It dead ends at the guard shack.”

She translated the road’s name in her head. “Road to Hell.” Well, it took more than a name to scare her.

Tory drove the Jeep through the streets of Paraiso. They stopped at an open-air market, and she surveyed the people who went about their business with little rushing around. The mood was laid-back and the steel-drum band that was set up on the corner playing added to it.

“What’s the plan?”

“Do you have the Steadicam?” she asked. The Steadicam was a camera that didn’t need a tripod but could be balanced and steadied on the cameraman’s shoulder. Jay handled the camera with an ease that belied its heavy weight.

“Of course.”

“You’re fluent in Spanish, right?” Tory asked.

“Yes. I grew up in Little Havana, so I’m more fluent in the Cuban dialect, but I can get by. What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to that steel-drum band and see if they’ll agree to be filmed. I think that will give our viewers a nice sense of the flavor of Paraiso. Oh, and I want to go back and film that slum we passed on the way from the airport, too.”

“Will do. Where should I meet you?”

Tory glanced around the open-air market. It was comprised of rough wooden stalls and thatched roofs. There was a weather fountain that was dry but had a nice flowering stone in the middle of it. “Right there.”

“Fifteen?”

She nodded, and they went their separate ways. Tory walked with the crowds for a minute, letting the language swell around her. Gradually her thought patterns began to change and she became accustomed to Spanish again. She listened to the conversation of two women about her age and realized that overprotective mothers were universal. These women were the equivalent of suburban mothers in America, with similar concerns about issues like schools, health insurance and child care.

Tory joined the conversation and sympathized with the two women. They chatted for a few minutes about families before Tory brought up the coup and the new government. The women were very vocal about their feelings that Del Torro wasn’t any better than the man before him had been.

“Why not?” Tory asked.

“He’s the puppet of the American government. Our people need a leader who can stand by himself.”

Interesting. She knew that Del Torro was well liked by the U.S. because he enforced their policies, which weren’t always popular in Central and South America. “I’m a reporter from UBC and we’re doing a story on Puerto Isla. Would you be willing to let me interview you on camera?”

The women looked at each other and then at her. Abruptly the warm rapport she’d developed with them disappeared. “No.”

“How about off camera?” she asked. But the women only shook their heads and walked away. It was the same with everyone she spoke to. They were living in a military state, and though Del Torro was better than Santiago had been, no one was willing to take a chance of speaking out against him.

When she got back to the fountain, she found Jay lounging in the sun. “No luck?”

“They all had plenty to say, but off camera. Can you just film the market and the people coming and going? I’ll summarize what I learned and do a voice-over.”

Jay nodded and then went to get his shots. Tory thought she saw Shannon in the crowd of shoppers, but when she moved closer to look, she couldn’t find her rival. When Jay returned they headed over to the presidential palace for Tory’s meeting with Perez.

The palace was a large stone structure that overlooked the port. It was a fortress that had been built to withstand attacks from the sea by pirates. There were cannons on the walls, and Tory felt for a minute that she was back at St. Augustine on her fourth-grade Florida-history field trip.

Jay parked the Jeep on the street and got out when she did.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Stay here.”

He shrugged his shoulders and returned to the Jeep. Perez had been friendly to a certain point, but he’d been very clear that he didn’t want to speak to anyone but Tory. And she needed him. Needed to find out exactly what was going on with King.

“I shouldn’t be long.”

She entered the building and gave her name to the receptionist, who invited her to sit down. Tory took a seat on one of the hardwood chairs and went over her questions for Perez.

The most important one being why had it taken the government so long to locate King? She also wanted Perez to arrange a visit for her and Jay to the prison, and perhaps an interview with the warden.

A door opened down the hall and Tory glanced up. A man was walking toward her. He looked familiar, and she ran through faces in her head, trying to place him. He was tall, probably about six feet and had blond hair with a bit of silver at his temples. He looked like Robert Redford. The distance was too far for her to see his eye color, but he carried himself with confidence and an easy style that spoke of success.

He glanced up at her, smiling at first. Tory smiled back and stood up. He froze when he noticed the notepad in her hands and then turned to the left out of her view.

Tory sat back down, jotted the physical description of the man on her notepad and put a question mark next to his name.

“Who was that?” she asked the receptionist.

Before the woman could answer, Juan Perez arrived. He was a few inches taller than her. He had dark hair and olive-toned skin. He wore battle fatigues and combat boots.

“Señorita Patton?”

“Sí.”

“I’m Juan Perez. Welcome to Paraiso. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No problem.”

“Let’s go into my office where we can talk.”

Tory followed him down the marble hallway into an office that overlooked the ocean. The office was sparsely furnished with a battered-looking desk. Perez gestured to one of the guest chairs. Tory sat down on the edge and had her pen poised ready to start asking questions.

The phone rang before she could.

“Perez,” the minister said into the phone.

He listened for a few minutes, glanced at Tory and then hung up the phone.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patton. But something has come up and I won’t be able to speak to you today.”

“We’ll set up another time, then. Tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid this business will keep me tied up for…some time.”

“Okay. Then tell me where King is being held so that I can set up a time to interview him.”

“I’m sorry, but that will no longer be possible.”

“What are you talking about? You called my network.”

“I’m afraid that was a mistake.”

Perez quickly showed her the door. No matter what questions she asked, he remained stubbornly reticent. A few minutes later she was standing alone under the hot late-afternoon sun of Puerto Isla, wondering what the hell was going on and why the invitation to an exclusive interview had suddenly been revoked.

Chapter 3

The next morning Tory woke up ready to work. After her disastrous meeting with Perez, she and Jay had gone to the prison to see where King had been held. The guard at the prison hadn’t been any more cooperative than Perez had been. Jay had gotten a few long shots that they’d use when they edited the piece. Tory was beginning to feel that her exclusive interview with King wasn’t going to come through.

Shannon had been in the lobby when Tory and Jay had returned, but Tory had ignored her and returned to her room to contact Cathy Jackson in UBC’s research department. She’d spent thirty minutes on the phone describing the man she’d seen in the palace hallway and asking Cathy to pull information on Perez, Del Torro and Puerto Isla.

Tory had finally realized that the man she’d seen in the presidential palace was Chris Pearson. Pearson was a good friend of James Whitlow, the president of the United States. And many observers of the White House had noted Pearson’s influence on the U.S. president. Tory tucked that away for later.

This morning the sun shone brightly through the gap in the room’s blackout drapes. Tory stretched her arms over her head, remembering the story she’d read in the newspaper about the hostage incident earlier that year. It had been a small article in the world-news section saying only that four hostages had been killed on Puerto Isla by a group of local guerrillas.

According to the information she’d retrieved from her e-mail last night, Thomas King’s SEAL team had been dispatched to rescue those hostages. What had gone wrong?

She knew they’d been based out of Little Creek, Virginia. During her three-hour layover in Miami she’d placed a call to the base there and spoken to Lieutenant Joe Peterson in the public-affairs office. He’d given her strictly the facts, which she’d passed on to Cathy in research for follow-up. All he’d really said was that the navy was very happy to find King alive. But she hadn’t been satisfied with the answers she’d received.

They were, of course, thrilled that Thomas King was alive and recovering in a hospital in Paraiso. The extent of his injuries had been unknown to Peterson, but he did indicate that King had been starved and beaten.

She had a profile of the team that had been sent in. As she looked at the military ID photos that accompanied each name and short bio, her heart ached that only one of them had survived.

She’d pressed Peterson, trying to find out why King hadn’t been moved to a U.S. airbase, and had been very politely told that King was a guest of the Puerto Isla government.

Someone didn’t want him to leave, but who and why? Perez had definitely been in favor of her interview when she’d called him from Miami. What had changed when she arrived on the island?

She wondered if it was injury-related starvation, which could take a terrible toll on the body. The man had been in prison for six months. The only other reason Tory could think of was that he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. But what?

When she’d spoken to him on the phone, Juan Perez had alluded to the fact that King wasn’t well enough to move.

She felt a sense of urgency to get to Thomas King. She didn’t question it. Trust your gut. It was something Rainy had said to her many times when she’d been trying to figure out a puzzle. And her gut was usually right.

Three policemen stood in the entrance to the coffee shop just off the lobby talking to Jay. He caught her eye and tilted his head back sharply. Tory ducked behind a large potted plant and edged closer to Jay.

“…Señorita Patton,” said the tallest of the guards. He was dirty and unshaved and a long, wicked-looking scar curved across his cheekbone, disappearing into his oily whiskers.

“¿Cuáles el problema?” Jay asked the guards.

“What’s the problem?” he’d asked. And Tory leaned a little closer, trying to make out the guard’s response.

“…para el comportamiento sospechoso,” the guard said.

Suspicious behavior? Great. She wondered if one of the people she’d spoken to yesterday in the market had called the cops on her. She hadn’t even gotten started yet. Sinking back against the potted plant, she waited until she heard the guards leave. They’d probably stake out her room and wait for her to return.

Well, she’d known that her exclusive story had some risks. She thought briefly about packing up her stuff and heading back home. Tyson would understand. But Tory wondered if she’d ever be able to look herself in the eye again.

She wanted to visit—as a journalist, not as a guest—the prison where King had been held. The story was flowing through her veins. And though it might be dangerous to stay on Puerto Isla, she knew that nothing would satisfy her until she figured out the puzzle that was this exclusive interview with a SEAL.

She peered around the plant and saw that the lobby was clear. She hurried out the front door of the hotel, her pulse pounding and her hands shaking. She wasn’t used to evading the local cops. A hand snaked out and grabbed her arm as she exited the hotel.

She jerked her arm free and spun around, hitting her assailant with a jab. She tried to lessen the pressure when she realized it was Jay.

He grunted and rubbed his jaw. His breath smelled like coffee and mints.

“You’re a dangerous woman to know, Patton,” he said under his breath. He pivoted so that she was pressed up against the side of the hotel wall and his body shielded hers from view. A little too close for friendly working-relationship comfort.

“Sorry about that,” she said, stepping sideways and away from his body. Jay was her co-worker and she reminded herself that she was involved with Perry. She was feeling things she wouldn’t normally feel if they’d been on her home turf.

He sighed and leaned against the wall next to her. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

“I’ve done worse damage tripping over a chair,” he said with a wry shrug.

“So la policía are after me?”

He gave her a wry look beneath his eyelashes. “Yeah, who’d you tick off?”

The list was short and she had a feeling that this problem had followed her from New York. “It could have been one of the people I spoke to at the marketplace. But I’ve got to be honest—I don’t think they like the police.”

“Yeah, but I got the feeling the locals don’t like the americanos that much, either.”

“You didn’t sound American,” she said, then had another thought. “I thought I saw Shannon following us yesterday.” Did Shannon hate her enough to throw her to the island militia, which pretended to be all that stood between Puerto Isla and lawlessness? Tory knew the answer and she suspected Jay did, as well.

“Do you think Shannon called them?”

He shrugged. Reaching out, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You do look very American.”

She waggled her eyebrows at him. She’d been in scary situations before. She’d never forget the first night she’d spent in the maximum-security prison for her story on women behind bars. This wasn’t any different. She’d done nothing the Puerto Isla cops could hold her on.

“I’m good at wiggling out of tight spots,” she said.

“Let’s hope you don’t have to use that skill while you’re here.”

“I want to go to the hospital where King is being held and see if we can’t get our interview tonight.” She’d made another call to Perez and had flat out told him she wasn’t leaving the island without her interview. In fact, he could have sent the police to arrest her. But he’d reluctantly told her to call again in the morning. He’d see what he could do.

What if Del Torro’s government didn’t want her to see King until he’d recovered from his time in their prison? She thought it would be in their favor to demonstrate how different they were from Santiago’s government. But Perez had done an abrupt change in position in the past twenty-four hours. And Tory knew that she was working on a short clock. She needed to get to King, and quickly.

“You got it, boss lady. I’ll grab my camera gear and meet you here.”

They pulled up to the hospital where Thomas King was being treated just after lunchtime.

Jay parked the vehicle and they headed toward the building. Two men with AK-47 assault riffles stood at attention at the entrance, despite the fact that it was a public hospital, not a military one. Considering the fact that there was still a curfew and guerrilla unrest on the island, the guards weren’t unexpected. But they did give her pause as she walked toward them.

There was something unnerving about men in uniform with guns. Tory put on her most charming smile and approached them. “¡Hola! Soy Tory Patton con UBC. Estoy aquí ver a un paciente americano.”

“Ningunos visitantes permitieron adentro hoy.”

No visitors, interesting. She’d hoped they’d just let her in. “I’m with the press and spoke yesterday to Juan Perez. Is there someone here I can speak to?”

“No.”

“I’m just going to go inside and talk to the doctor in charge, okay?” Tory said. From past experience, she knew that, if you kept talking and walking, usually you could get in anywhere.

“No visitors.” Both of the guards stepped closer together, blocking her path.

“Okay,” she said, backing away.

“That was a little weird,” Jay said once they were out of earshot of the guard.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t they let us in?” she asked.

“The police captain who was asking for you mentioned that they are enforcing a strict curfew.”

“What time? It’s only the afternoon.”

“I know. I don’t think things are going as smoothly for the new government as we were led to believe.”

“Me, either. If we have time, we’ll try again to shoot some tape on the street talking to the citizens about the new government.”

She and Jay got back in the Jeep. Tory glanced over and noticed the guards still watching them. “Damn, this ticks me off. I’m not going back to the States without this story.”

“So what’s next? Come back later?”

“Did you bring the hidden-camera unit I used for the prison story?” Tory asked. The hidden camera actually looked like a purse and had a switch that she could flip to record.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure what the situation was going to be like here.”

“Jay, I love you.”

“Ha, you say that to all the guys.”

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.”

He climbed over the seat and dug around in his camera gear until he found the camera and small handbag that went with it. Tory shot some test film of Jay climbing back into the front seat. She rewound the film and played it back.

“This looks good. Okay, drop me off around back. I’m going to make sure King’s really in there.”

“I’ll park up there and wait for you.” Jay gestured to a park a block away, overlooking the ocean. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes I’m coming in after you.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

Tory got out of the Jeep at the corner, and Jay drove up the block to park and wait.

The afternoon sun was weakened by storm clouds gathering over the mountains. Tory walked as if she had a purpose and a reason to enter the building. She approached the ER entrance of the hospital and saw two armed guards there, as well.

She ducked back in the shadow of the building before they could spot her. Help me out here, Rainy.

A minute later she saw a man with a nasty-looking wound in his chest walking toward the hospital. He was held upright by the swarthy woman under his arm. Two bedraggled kids followed behind her.

There were a couple of teenage girls in the family, as well. The girls were taller than Tory was, and she was able to walk just a few steps behind them and blend into the family.

Thank you, Rainy.

Tory followed the family to the nurses’ station and stood back while they were helped by the one nurse on duty. She led the family to a small partitioned area.

Tory glanced around quickly. Several people sat in chairs in the waiting area, and a doctor in scrubs walked past the desk and down another hallway.

Tory hurried behind the desk and shifted through the papers on the desk. She wasn’t sure if King’s name would be used on file or not. He’d been rescued only three days ago. She assumed he’d be in the critical-care unit.

She scanned the hospital layout and found that those units were on the fourth floor. She walked around the desk as a nurse reappeared.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked in Spanish.

“No, thanks.” Tory got on the elevator and went to the fourth floor.

She stepped off the elevator and came face-to-face with two armed guards.

“Este piso es fuera de límites.”

Tory smiled at the men and got back on the elevator. She went down one floor. She asked where the stairs were and climbed back up to the fourth floor.

She cautiously opened the door and saw the guards still at their post in front of the elevators. She wished she had a doctor’s coat but she didn’t know where they’d be stored here, if at all. Maybe she could find some surgical scrubs to wear.

She eased out into the hallway and kept close to the wall. She felt as if she had a huge orange neon sign on her back. Her heart beat so rapidly that she was convinced Jay could hear it a block away. Finally she turned the corner away from the guards.

She opened the door to the first room on the left and found it empty. She closed the door and started toward the next door.

“¡Parada!”

Tory glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the guards from the elevator. She sprinted away from him around another corner, dashing into the first open doorway and shutting the door. She scanned the dark room. It was empty. I’m going to have a heart attack.

A pair of arms came around her. A hard-gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and her head was tilted back at an uncomfortable angle. The body behind hers was hard, masculine and smelled too damned good.

Tory knew there was no rule that bad guys had to smell bad, but she thought there should be. Her instincts took over. She lifted her left leg and brought her heel down hard on her attacker’s instep, but he didn’t even groan at the impact. Instead he brought one of his legs around hers, trapping her. She tried to move but she was surrounded by his body.

She heard running in the hall. She tried to glance over at her captor but couldn’t until he released her jaw. Her eyes widened as she recognized the man holding her. His grip loosened as he identified her, as well.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bennington Forsythe asked.

“I think that’s a question I should be asking,” Tory said. She scarcely recognized this Bennington. Instead of flawlessly cut designer clothing, he wore a black T-shirt and jeans. But the biggest change was his expression. Gone was the charming man-about-town and in his place was a dangerous man who made Tory wary.

Footsteps sounded right outside the door. Bennington cursed under his breath. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her across the room and into a closet.

“Quiet,” he said in a whisper that carried no farther than her ears.

Tory stood tensely next to her friend’s brother, her mind spinning with a totally new puzzle. Bennington Forsythe—international playboy or spy?

Tory was still trying to process what had happened. One minute she was running from an armed guard; the next she was standing nose to nose with one of the best-known playboys in the Western Hemisphere. Had she taken a turn and stumbled into Alice’s rabbit hole?

“Bennington, what are you doing here?”

“Not now.”

One of the door guards entered the room, walking past their hiding place in the closet. The door was partially open, and she could discern the shadows of the men as they searched the room.

Their shapes were large and bulky. Tory closed her eyes and slowed her breathing the way she did for yoga, focusing very carefully on making sure that her body relaxed from the sprint into the building.

Bennington kept his hand over her mouth. Now that the shock of seeing him was rubbing off, her training from her Athena days was kicking in. She heard the men moving in the room and knew the danger implicit in being caught. She’d been the one running from them.

Actually she’d probably have to rescue Bennington if they were discovered. Despite his long-ago military training, the hardest he’d exercised recently would probably have been in bed with those two supermodels he’d been photographed with. She reached behind her and felt along his belt to see if he was armed.

His thumb rubbed against her cheekbone, and for a minute Tory totally forgot everything else. They were alone in a small, dark space. Deprived of sight, she felt her other senses were on hyperalert.

Tingles spread down her body from his caressing thumb. This was the Ben she knew. A charming Casanova with a girl in every port. God, he was an idiot to be on Puerto Isla. But she guessed he wasn’t here for the sport fishing, though it was some of the best in the world.

The arm he had around her waist tightened, and he pulled her more fully back against him. He spread his fingers and she felt his touch at the bottom of her breast. She shifted in his arms. His hand moved up over her ribs, his touch hot through the layer of her thin cotton T-shirt.

She stepped down on his instep again. He didn’t say a word but tightened his grip on her.

Even though two thugs were less than a few feet from them, her mind filled with sexy images of her and Bennington. She needed some space.

She bit his palm when he didn’t move his hand, but he didn’t drop it. She still had on her backpack so they weren’t pressed too closely together, but he seemed to surround her. He was solid muscle. Maybe he’d had more recent training than she’d thought.

Using his grip on her, he tipped her head back and whispered straight in her ear. “Quiet.”

The one word was a command. She nodded to let him know she’d understood. With all those muscles, even if he didn’t have martial-arts training, he’d be able to take care of one of the guys. Quickly she turned, reaching for his waist to see if he was armed or wearing a holster.

Ben grabbed her hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked in that soundless whisper again, his hot breath grazing her ear with each word he spoke.

“Getting ready to rescue you,” she whispered back. Once again she reached for his waist.

“Patton, don’t push me,” he hissed. He captured her hand in another one of his unbreakable grips.

“Oh, why not?”

A chair scraped across the floor in the room, and Tory froze. She strained away from Ben, ready to confront the men searching the room. But he pulled her deeper into the recess of the closet.

“Enough.”

She felt him move around her and saw the glint off the barrel of his gun as he pushed her behind him. So he was armed.

The sliding door scraped along the track as one of the men pushed it open. He played the flashlight over the interior with clumsy skill. A voice called out from the hallway, and the guard turned just before the flashlight would have illuminated their spot. The guard muttered something in Spanish and retreated from the room.

Tory waited until they could no longer hear the guards, then pushed her way past Bennington, intent on getting some answers. She stepped out of the closet and turned on him. “What was that all about?”

“Keep your voice down—they could come back.”

“I know that.” Damn, he’d made her forget her Athena Academy training.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Every line in his body was tense. He vigilantly watched the door. Tory couldn’t reconcile the man standing before her with the man she knew as Alex’s brother.

“I’m looking for Thomas King. I came here to interview him.”

“How did you know he was here?” His eyes narrowed, she felt caught under his eaglelike glare.

“My boss got a call from the minister of foreign affairs, Juan Perez. I don’t think it’s been leaked to every network yet.”

“It shouldn’t have even been leaked to you.”

“How do you know that? And what are you doing here, Bennington?”

Before he could answer, they heard footsteps approaching again. The person stopped outside their door, and Tory dropped into a fighting stance as the doorknob turned.

“Stay behind me, Ben. I have a third-degree black belt in tae kwon do. I’ll protect you.”

“Like hell. You Athena grads think you can take on the world one-handed,” Ben said.

“We can.”

“Not today. I’ve got a gun, and a gun trumps a black belt any day.”

Chapter 4

Tory didn’t like taking a back seat to Ben, but she hadn’t made it to the top of a very competitive profession by making stupid choices. And though she wasn’t sure of his abilities, he had a point—guns did trump martial arts.

He motioned for her to stand to the left of the door as he glanced around the room. She did as she was ordered.

He kept the barrel of his M-9 pointed toward the door. “You know how to use that thing?”

He didn’t look at her as he took a pillow from the bed and held it in front of the gun barrel, then moved into position on the right side of the door. She realized he’d been searching for a silencer so as not to announce their presence to the guards searching the hospital for her.

“Believe it or not, men trained outside of Athena have some ability with weapons.”

“Did I offend your manhood?” she asked. Ben knew a lot about Athena because his and Alex’s grandfather Charles Forsythe was one of the academy’s founders.

He did look at her this time, and even in the shadowed room she could make out his cocky grin. “Not yet.”

He edged forward and she stayed in position, poised to attack. She remembered midnight training sessions at Athena in which she’d run through the dark, wooded area outside of teacher housing, knowing that other students, all black belts, were waiting to take her down. The exercise had honed her reflexes and stealth skills.

The door opened and a nurse froze in the doorway. Before she could speak, Tory reached past Ben and pulled the woman into the room with them.

“We won’t hurt you.”

Her eyes widened and she started to scream. Tory clamped her hand over the woman’s mouth and pinched her carotid artery. The woman slumped against her. Tory took her under the armpits and laid her on the bed.

“Let’s go,” Ben said.

“I need to get to Thomas King. Something weird is going on with him. I can sense it.”

“Why are you concerned about King?” Ben watched her with narrowed eyes.

She was surprised that he knew who King was. Some pieces of the puzzle that was Ben Forsythe were morphing shape. “Why are you here in the same hospital as he is? And why are you armed? What do you know about him?”

“Nothing really,” Ben said.

“Or if you do, you’re not saying, right?”

“Tory, just pretend this never happened,” he said, gesturing to the room and himself.

“You know that as a journalist I can’t ignore this story, Ben. I’m not leaving the hospital until I’m sure King is here and he’s unharmed.”

“The less you know the safer you’ll be.”

“I’ve already started asking questions. And I’m not going to stop until I have this story figured out.” Tory moved past Ben, intent on searching the floor and finding out where Thomas King was.

“I was afraid you’d say that. King’s being moved tonight.” Ben stopped her with a hand on her arm.

She was surprised he gave her the information. “Where to?”

“A more secure location.”

“Ben, what are you doing here?”

“Listen, I’m kind of busy. Can we talk later, Patton?”

“Right.”

Ben tucked his weapon into his ankle holster, and they left the room. The corridor outside wasn’t busy, and Ben glanced both ways before leading her toward the stairwell.

“I don’t want to—”

“Trust me, Patton. You’ll still get your exclusive but you need to get out of here now before those guards come back.”

She nodded. Ben was tall and ruggedly good-looking in this light. He scarcely resembled his newspaper pictures. A beard covered the bottom half of his face, he wasn’t grinning and his eyes didn’t have that vacant expression he usually wore. In fact, he seemed like a highly trained military man.

Funny that he’d never really looked muscular in his evening wear.

“I thought you left the military years ago,” she said as they went down the stairs.

“Who says I didn’t?”

“I’m trying to put the puzzle together, Forsythe. And most of the pieces don’t fit.”

“Then don’t force them.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked out of the hospital past the guards as if he owned the place.

Once they were away from the entrance, Tory tried to move away but Ben wouldn’t let her. He pulled her against his body as they walked around the corner of the building.

He was pressed all along the side of her body. Her face was level with his chest and she leaned her head against him for a moment, guessing that he wanted them to look like a couple as they got away. He smelled good and clean, and for a second she wanted to rest there. To let her heart stop pounding like crazy.

Give her a lying politician or an apologetic Hollywood superstar who’d been busted for using cocaine and she was okay. But running and hiding from el policía who hated americanos made her feel vulnerable. Something she’d vowed a long time ago to never be.

As soon as they were out of sight of the guards, she forced herself to shift away from Bennington. Hell, he was Alex’s useless brother. What the was going on here?

She stopped and turned to stare up at him. “What are you doing on Puerto Isla?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?”

“It’s a little too dangerous for you to come down here to chase after your love bunnies, so I’m not sure.”

He gave her a half smile that took her breath away. “Nice opinion you have of me.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

A patrol of two guards rounded the corner. Ben tensed and swore.

He backed her against the wall. His mouth moved over hers with none of the skill and finesse she’d have expected of him. Instead she was overwhelmed with raw passion and a primal feeling that welled up deep in her soul.

His free hand cupped her butt and pulled her fully into the cradle of his thighs. One of his legs slipped between hers. He had her completely protected with his body, and though the threat was imminent she still responded to the passion in him.

It had been a long time since a man had kissed her like Bennington was doing right now.

“Helada. ¿Qué usted está haciendo?” one of the guards called out.

Ben lifted his head, rubbed his lips over hers one time and then glanced over at the guard who’d asked them what they were doing.

“El intentar conseguir una cierta acción,” Ben said with a grin. Then lowered his head to hers again.

The guard laughed and walked away, wishing Ben luck. Ben continued to hold her until the men disappeared, and she did her best to ignore the racing through her bloodstream.

She was here on the job, dammit. And nothing—certainly not Bennington Forsythe—was going to mess with that.

The afternoon air was thick with the smell of hibiscus, something that always reminded Tory of her mother’s house and the bushes that grew under her childhood bedroom window. She pulled back from Ben. He kept her loosely tucked to his side.

He put on a pair of sunglasses, shielding his eyes from her. She wasn’t sure she could trust him. He hadn’t said he was in the military, and the Ben she knew could very easily be down here on a lark. Working—or rather playing—at some dangerous game that involved little or no ethics.

“I can see why you have a reputation as a ladies’ man,” she said lightly. She edged farther away from him. But his hand on her waist stopped her.

“There’s a lot more smoke to my reputation than substance.” She pushed his hand off. He put it back, more firmly. He scanned the area searching for something. Backup? More attackers? She didn’t know.

“Actually, Forsythe, I’m beginning to think there’s more substance than you’d like the world to see.” That wasn’t very subtle, but she was on an adrenaline jag from her near escape with armed police.

“There isn’t, Patton.” His voice was devoid of its earlier commanding tone. This was the Ben she’d run into a few times in Manhattan. Society’s golden boy, who flitted from woman to woman and party to party with little care.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. His hand still gripped her waist. She’d always been a little intrigued by Alex’s brother.

“You heard what I told the guards,” he said.

“Trying to get a little action? Ben, you’re hopeless.” She tilted her head back and tried to read his eyes, but it was impossible with those dark shades and his guarded expression.

“Nah, baby. I’m just an all-American male.” He ran one finger down the side of her face. She knew he was playing her. Using the spark of attraction that had developed between them to distract her from the questions she was dying to ask.

“I won’t stop asking until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

Ben stepped away from her. He took her hand, leading her away from the hospital.

“You’re not still on about that, are you?” he asked. He pushed his hands through his thick hair and pivoted away from her.

“I never really left it,” she said softly.

“Well, forget it, Tory, and forget me. Get yourself off this island as quick as you can. This isn’t the place for you. Who let you come down here?”

He didn’t sound like Society Sam now. He was pure pissed-off male and Tory bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. She wondered if he’d ever be able to fool her with his charming rogue’s smile again.

“Ben, it’s the twenty-first century. No one let me come. My station sent me. I was promised an exclusive.”

He nodded. “Go back to Miami. I’ll make sure you talk to King there.”

“How can you ensure that? Are you still with the military?”

“Never mind me. Just get back to your hotel, pack your stuff and get your sweet ass off this island.”

“My sweet ass?” Tory wanted to smile at him but wasn’t going to. Her mind was swirling with questions and half-formed answers. She needed to write this encounter down on paper. She thought better with a pen in her hand.

“It’s a phrase.”

“One most guys are smart enough to keep to themselves.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints.”

She narrowed her eyes and stepped away from his touch. “I’m not leaving the island. This interview is my chance to reach the next level in my career. And it’s not like I don’t have the training to handle this type of situation.”

“God save me from Athena women. Seriously, Tory, forget you saw me here.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that,” she said. There was something different about Ben in her mind now, and she knew she’d never forget his rock-hard body or his skill and knowledge in getting them away from the hospital.

“Try real hard. You’re a smart lady—you should be able to figure out something.”

“That’s right, Bennington, I am a smart lady and I’ve finally realized that something about you doesn’t add up.”

“Let me know when you figure out what it is,” he said. “Where are you staying?”

“Near the airport.”

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

She gestured in the direction where Jay was still parked. She hoped.

“I’ll see you safely to your car.”

“I can handle walking to my car by myself,” she said.

“Be careful. Even Athena graduates sometimes find themselves in over their heads.”

“I know that.”

“I wish you’d leave.”

“I’m not going to until I talk to Thomas King. I’ve had some time to think about his situation, and nothing adds up.”

“Like what?” he asked. She couldn’t tell if he was curious or ticked off because she refused to let it go.

“Well, how did the guerrillas ambush an entire SEAL platoon? You know how well trained the SEALs are. One or two causalities I can believe, but the entire team?”

“They are highly trained. But even highly trained men can make a mistake.”

“Is that what happened?”

“How would I know? I’m here for the sun, sand and beautiful babes.”

“Thirty minutes ago I would’ve believed that.”

“It’s in your best interest to believe it again. When are you supposed to meet King?”

“Well, I kind’ve got officially uninvited to interview him, but Perez is meeting with me tomorrow morning.”

“Be careful, Patton. Someone doesn’t want King to talk to you,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was warning her or threatening her.

“You?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if that were the case.”

“You don’t scare me. I’ve got my Athena training, don’t forget,” she said with a wry grin.

“What does scare you?” he asked, his playboy smile fixed firmly in place.

She wasn’t going to admit to fears to this man who’d implied that he might have killed her if that had been his order. She tossed her hair. “Nothing.”

She walked away without looking back. And though she’d never admit it, she was glad Jay was in the Jeep.

The afternoon was balmy and she paused in the shade for a moment to tip her head back and just breathe. She wasn’t as brave as her Athena pals. Her hands were still trembling. It’s just an adrenaline letdown. But it felt like fear, and she didn’t like being reminded that failure here could have higher consequences than just being busted back to the local television station.

Going the distance meant doing things you didn’t want to do. She wasn’t weak and she wouldn’t give up. No one was going to deter her. Not even herself.

Thanks, Rainy, for making sure I paid attention at school. She smiled to herself and fancifully imagined Rainy by her side, covering her back on Puerto Isla.

She must be more tired than she thought. In fact, she was bone weary. Her limbs felt heavy and her mind was buzzing with everything she’d learned today. Actually, with everything she hadn’t been able to answer. Ben Forsythe was an enigma. How was he connected to King?

Thomas King was her priority. Why was he being moved? And why was the government suddenly refusing to let her see him? Something wasn’t right. She wished she’d brought some kind of weapon with her. She felt ill equipped to handle the situation.

Thank God, Jay was waiting for her right where he’d promised. She climbed in and made a show of getting situated while she gathered her thoughts.

Jay shifted the vehicle into gear, and it bumped its way over the pothole-filled road. Tory stretched her arms over her head and tried to focus.

Thomas King had been in prison for six months. The new government leader, Alejandro Del Torro, the interim president, had rescued him. Del Torro had been outraged to realize that American POWs were being tortured in the prison. Which begged the question—why were they now refusing to grant her access to King? They had been the ones to call Tyson.

“Jay, I think I need to talk to President Del Torro instead of Perez. We’ll go to the presidential palace in the morning.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that everything is more complicated than it should be?” she asked. She needed to talk her ideas out to see if they had any substance. Usually she’d bounce ideas off of Perry or her boss, but Jay was the only one who was seeing what she saw.

“Yeah.” Jay pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled deeply and then turned toward her. The smoke circled his head.

“What’s up?” Tory asked Jay when he pulled the Jeep to a stop a few miles away from the hospital.

“I had another visit from el policía captain while you were breaking and entering.”

“Just entering—no breaking.”

“I’m glad you think this is funny.”

She didn’t. “They came up to you in the car?”

“No, I’d stepped out to have a cigarette.”

“Why was he looking for me?” she asked. It wasn’t the first time she’d ruffled feathers, but it was the first time she’d done it before she’d really started asking questions.

“A woman called in an anonymous tip that you were here to broker a weapons deal with some drug runners.”

Tory froze. “Shannon.”

“He didn’t say, but it makes sense. You haven’t had time to cultivate any other female enemies—have you?”

“Not that I know of.” Tory had the chills. Rivalry was one thing, but this was more than rivalry. Drug runners and arms dealers weren’t very nice people, and if she’d gone to jail on those charges, she’d have been severely beaten and probably raped. The law on Puerto Isla was still too used to doing what it wanted. She’d heard tales from the people she’d talked to in the marketplace.

Did Shannon hate her so much?

Shannon had gone too far this time. The next time she saw Shannon, Tory was going to have it out with her. Scooping Tory’s stories was one thing; sticking third-world cops on her trail was another matter entirely.

“I gave the police some money and moved the car. When I circled back I made sure they weren’t around.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“Not for long. They had a photo of you and they definitely wanted to take you in for questioning.” He reached out, rubbing her shoulder in a comforting way. She wanted to lean against Jay for a minute. She needed something to break the tension riding her.

“I shouldn’t need more than twenty-four hours to get this thing finished.”

“Good. I’m ready to leave the dust of this island behind.”

“It’s such a lush paradise, it’s hard to imagine corruption here.”

“That’s where it prospers. Don’t you remember the snake in Eden?”

“Yeah. I wonder how many snakes are here.”

“Someone thinks it’s us. So we need to be careful.”

“I always am.”

As Jay parked the Jeep and they gathered their stuff to head into the hotel, Tory wished for a minute she were a different sort of girl.

Maybe she could have sought comfort in Ben’s or Jay’s arms tonight to forget about everything. But she knew she was too deeply private to ever allow any man access to her soul. To ever trust a man in a way that would let him know she wasn’t the powerhouse she pretended to be.

She’d never really been able to trust men because she’d seen so easily that they were intimidated by a woman who knew her mind and wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. Her father had always cautioned her to let the boys win, and when she hadn’t, she’d seen her boyfriends back away. Even with Perry she sometimes sensed that their relationship would have trouble if the balance of power shifted to her at the network.

She closed her eyes for a minute, finding the quiet strength she’d always known was deep inside her. Comforting herself by looking to the future and imagining her name mentioned in the same breath as Diane Sawyer, Jane Pauley and Katie Couric.

She wondered if any of them had had to fight off rival reporters who wanted to see them fail or even land in jail. Or if they ever had to deal with handsome playboys who weren’t what they seemed.

Chapter 5

Later that evening Tory walked into a tavern on the outskirts of Cabo de la Vela, one of many small mountain towns in Puerto Isla. Cabo de la Vela was only about ten miles from Paraiso, but it was a world apart. The town had a narrow, rugged road that was unpaved. The housing consisted of rough lean-tos, and there was one main street that had a restaurant with a broken Coke sign hanging over the door.

For the first time since she’d agreed to work as a courier for AA.gov, she resented having to go to a drop. Cathy Jackson had sent a research packet to Tory via overnight mail, and she’d wanted to hole up in her room to start making notes on the information Cathy had gathered.

Tory also wanted to find Shannon and tell her to back off.

She’d had a busy day of researching and writing once they’d returned from the hospital. She’d even read Thomas King’s obituary. It hadn’t revealed much, stating only his rank and the length of his military career and saying that he was survived by his wife, son and two brothers. She’d made two calls to Virginia but had been unable to get in touch with Ellen King, Tom’s wife.

She’d called Joe Peterson at the Miami base again to find out if Ellen King knew her husband was alive. He said she’d been informed and that she wasn’t talking to the media.

The bar was run-down in a pleasant way that comes from usage and not neglect. At this hour—early evening—darkness had just fallen and the bar wasn’t particularly busy. Tory picked a corner table near the door but out of the main traffic flow.

There were two waitresses, and the menu consisted of some sort of fried thing that Tory’s Spanish wasn’t up to translating. She ordered a bottle of beer from the large-figured woman who came to take her order. She wanted to be prepared in case she needed to use the bottle as a weapon.

Maybe she should have taken the time to bring a weapon of some kind. She didn’t like guns but she’d brought her hunting knife and ankle sheath with her. Her dad had taught her to use the knife when she was eight years old. Tory had always had a lot of skill with it, and practicing back at Athena had given her deadly aim.

She felt nervous and tense. Something she usually didn’t associate with her courier drops, but Puerto Isla was getting to her. There was a tension in the air that said the violence of the recent coup wasn’t over.

She sat in the corner waiting for her courier contact to arrive. She’d dressed carefully for this evening in a pair of black jeans, a matching undershirt and a large sapphire-blue silk shirt that she’d tucked into the jeans. The blue shirt was her signal to the person she was meeting.

A group of hikers entered the bar and took a table near the door. They were either American or European. She knew from an earlier e-mail from AA.gov that this tavern was a popular watering hole for groups of Americans who came to Puerto Isla to explore the interior mountain ranges.

The dim lighting lent the bar a feeling of ambience. She took a sip of her beer and leaned back in her chair. It had been a little over six months since she’d been in this kind of bar, a working-class place frequented by men and women after a hard day’s work. This place had a real small-town meeting place feel to it, and Tory loved it.

It reminded her of the bar where her dad hung out in Placid Springs. In the back corner was a door leading to a large kitchen. Tory was tempted to go and see if they had a table set up for wives and kids back there, like Old Joe’s did at home.

A child of about six or seven years ran into the bar and paused at the door. He scanned the crowd carefully. He made eye contact with her and gave her a grin that was much too charming for a child of that age.

He probably thinks I’m an easy mark for a few bucks. She reached for her wallet, intent on being the one to give the kid enough money to keep him out of bars—at least for the next few days.

“Señorita Patton?”

“Sí.”

He thrust a piece of paper at her before running into the kitchen. She opened the paper and found a tersely written note: “Out back five minutes.”

She folded the paper and slipped it into her back pocket. Nonchalantly she glanced at her watch and took another sip of her beer.

She finished her beer, tossed a few bills on the table and stood. She walked out of the bar and paused in the shadows away from the flickering neon light.

She’d worn her hiking boots tonight because the rains had made the roads a quagmire of mud. But the boots weren’t the best shoe for moving quickly to defend herself. They were heavy and awkward. She went over a few tae kwon do self-defense moves in her mind, then went on her way.

A light drizzle began to fall as she walked around the back of the building, every instinct on hyperalert. Rainy, if you’re hanging around out there, watch my back.

She rounded the corner and paused to listen. She didn’t hear anything but sensed someone waiting in the dark.

“Hello?”

“Over here.”

She walked toward the man’s voice. There was something familiar about it. Was he the man she’d met in Paris last month? She reached into her bag and pulled out the leather pouch she’d been given in the airport in New York.

“Don’t come any farther,” the man said.

“Why not?” Tory wasn’t used to taking orders, but on these courier gigs she’d learned that privacy and secrecy were of extreme importance.

“Put the package down and leave.”

She started to obey but there was something familiar about the intonation of the man speaking. And the air of command with which he spoke. “Do I know you?”

He said nothing. She filed a few substantial facts through her mind and came up with nothing but more questions. She moved closer to the shadows. The man smelled familiar, too.

“I do…. Ben?”

He cursed under his breath. A long lean hand reached out of the shadows and snagged her wrist, pulling her into the darkness with him.

She couldn’t make out his expression, but she’d become intimately familiar with his body earlier this afternoon. Those same rock-hard muscles cushioned her as he tugged her deeper into the shadows.

His scent—some sort of spicy aftershave and something else that was uniquely Ben—surrounded her. This wasn’t a good idea, she thought. She knew herself, knew her weaknesses too well.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first,” he said. “I want some answers. I thought you were a journalist here for a story. Why are you lurking around outside a dive bar in this mountain town delivering confidential packages?”

She knew then that he was more than the playboy he’d always appeared to be. And that no matter what he said, he was definitely down here doing more than checking out the local sights.

“I’m soaking up the local flavor.”

He spun quickly, pinning her between his body and the hard cold concrete wall of the building. He held her jaw in an unbreakable grip, forcing her head up. Their eyes met and she didn’t like what she saw in his.

“Let me go.”

“Not until I have some answers.”

“I’m not even sure who you are, Ben.”

“Who do you work for?”

“UBC.”

“Not tonight, though.”

“No. Tonight I’m working for AA.gov.”

“The Athena alumnae organization?”

She slid her thigh between his. He canted his hips toward hers, and she hesitated a second too long before trying to knee him. He grunted and pressed her harder into the wall so she couldn’t get leverage.

“Let me go.”

“In a minute. So you’re a courier and you work through AA.gov. Why you?”

“My job gives me a reason to be in hot spots without arousing suspicion.”

He nodded. He let go of her jaw, drawing his fingers down her neck, where they lingered at the pulse beating hurriedly. Then he stepped away from her and leaned against the wall next to her.

“When did you start?”

“When I was in college. I knew that the military wasn’t for me but I wanted to help my country.”

“Idealist.”

“I’m not the only one. What are you doing here? The truth this time.”

He lowered his forehead so that it brushed hers. Each exhalation of his breath brushed across her face. She tried to concentrate on the questions she wanted to ask, but only one kept circling in her mind. Would he kiss her again?

Ben’s lips brushed hers in a slow, sensual movement designed to seduce. But she wasn’t going to be distracted from the truth tonight. She moved away from his mouth and he let her go. His hands dropped to his sides and Tory stood there in the dark, not able to hear even the sound of his breath.

“What do you want from me, Tory?” he asked in that whisper-soft tone.

It was the first time he’d said her name, and she savored the sound of it on his lips. Then she shook herself. She was in a committed relationship. This could go no further.

“Just a few answers,” she said at last. The rain was soft and warm and barely penetrated the layers of her clothing.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Really, Ben. I’m not falling for the I’ve-got-more-teeth-than-brains act anymore.”

“Is that what you thought?” he asked.

He knew it was. He’d cultivated his toothy grin and charming-idiot image carefully. The man she’d met earlier in the day and again this evening was smart and savvy, two words she’d never have applied to Bennington before. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Smart-ass.”

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

She could like him, and that scared her. Her relationship with Perry worked for a number of reasons—chief among them were mutual respect and affection—but beyond that they weren’t all that close. They didn’t laugh together or share any intimate secrets. In fact, Ben now knew more about her than Perry did.

It was a sobering thought and she shivered deep inside when she realized that she wanted to know the real man behind the different faces. She wanted to stay close to him, feeling his heat, breathing his scent and verbally sparring with him.

“What are you?” she asked.

“A man. Come closer and I’ll prove it.”

She backed away. She’d never been good at self-denial, and despite Perry she wanted Ben. It made perfect sense to her here in this tropical getaway, with danger at her heels, but in the real world it would be an insanity she wouldn’t contemplate. “Slow down, Casanova. I had a lot of time to think.”

“And?” he asked, moving closer to her.

“There’s something not right about you being here. And I’m not going to rest until I figure out what it is.”

He gripped her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She wished they hadn’t. He looked angry.

“I thought you were on a story.”

“I am. I can multitask.” She shrugged, trying to free herself, but his grip was unbreakable.

“No need. Just keep your nosy self out of my business. Stop wiggling.”

She couldn’t back down now. She had to find out every detail of what made him tick. “That’s hard.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Alex’s brother.” If she leaned toward him their bodies would be touching.

“Believe me, Alex is happy with what she knows of me,” he said.

“Ha.” She had no idea why they were talking about Alex when what she really wanted to do was not have a conversation at all.

“With comebacks like that I find it hard to believe you’re a journalist.”

“You make me crazy.”

“Crazy good?” he asked softly, his breath brushing along the exposed curve of her neck.

“Crazy crazy.” She tensed, waiting to see if he’d kiss her there. But she felt only the barest touch of his lips on her skin before he released her and stepped away.

“You’re just plain nuts. Why are you here?”

“To interview a navy SEAL who has come back from the dead.”

“If I get you your interview, will you leave me be?”

“I can’t,” she said honestly. If he’d been nothing more than a society playboy running through Daddy’s money and supermodels, she wouldn’t have even noticed him. But now that he’d shown her this other side, she couldn’t let him be. He fascinated her and her curiosity was aroused along with her feminine instinct.

“Dammit, Tory. I’m not going to let some TV reporter ruin this.”

“Ruin what?”

“Nothing. If you want your interview with Tom King, you better forget you ever saw me here. Where’s my package?” he asked. Why was he so angry? It wasn’t as if she was going to go on network television and expose him as a…what the heck was he?

She thrust the leather pouch to him. She’d forgotten she still had it in her hands. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you can’t forget your damned job long enough to do what’s right.”

She realized he’d misunderstood her. “I wouldn’t—”

“Go back to your hotel and wait for the call. You’ll have your interview with King in the next twelve hours. But I’m serious, Tory. Cross me on this and you’ll regret it.”

He pivoted on his heel and walked away before she could respond. She watched him leave. Rubbing her arms, she wondered how a few innocent questions had turned into the inquisition.

Tory exited the alley muttering to herself about stubborn, hardheaded men. Since she was just as determined about her job, she could understand why he’d taken the hard line. But at the same time he should know her reputation well enough to realize she didn’t do stories that would hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. And it seemed that a story on Ben would blow his cover and make it impossible for him to function.

Did he think she was one of those bimbos he usually dated? She didn’t care what he thought. After tonight it was doubtful she’d see him again.

She heard footsteps behind her. She stopped and turned, expecting to see Bennington Forsythe, but no one was there. Creeped out, she started walking again, this time at a quicker pace. She hugged her purse to her side and then realized she was advertising the fact that she wanted to be a victim.

She straightened her spine. There was nothing out here in the night that she couldn’t take on. She’d been tested and had proved herself many times in battle. Repeating her mantra—it’s hard to defeat an enemy with outposts in your head—she continued toward the Jeep.

She had one more deserted shop front to walk past and then she’d be safely back in that rickety old Jeep. Actually she was probably in a better place out here. The pocket of darkness made her wary, and she hurried her pace again but then stopped.

Someone was in the shadows.

“Ben?”

The red-hot glow of a cigar flashed and the pungent scent assailed her. She turned to cross the street and found a man behind her. He wore grubby jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt and a straw cowboy hat that had seen better days.

The rain still fell in a steady drizzle. Tory cursed her luck. The man with the cigar moved out from the shadows. He had a long scar that ran the length of his face from his temple to his jaw. He was taller than she was and about two hundred pounds heavier.

“You will come with us,” he said in broken English.

“No, thanks.” Tory edged away from the two men.

Scarface laughed. The sound sent chills down her spine. “You misunderstand, Miss Patton. It wasn’t an invitation.”

They knew who she was. At first that scared her. Was it another of Shannon’s schemes to make sure that Tory didn’t get her story, or something more sinister? Or maybe they were a rebel group who needed media coverage.

“What do you want from me?”

“Grab her, Jose,” the man said in Spanish, probably not knowing that she spoke the language.

Jose stepped closer, and Tory feinted to the right and tried to dash around him. But the man was smarter than he looked and grabbed her around the middle. He brought his free hand up to her throat and held her with her neck tipped back. Her purse dropped from her hand.

He tightened his grasp until she fought for every breath. And got pissed off. Her pulse quickened as she grabbed his wrist in both hands. Dropping her body weight forward, she flipped him over her shoulder. She backed away and brought her hands up in a defensive pose.

He got up unsteadily and charged straight at her. He hit her with a punch to the stomach, followed by a jab toward her face. Tory doubled over before he made contact with her nose.

The man with the cigar circled around behind her and Tory knew she couldn’t fight two men at once. She gasped for breath and remembered a bit of advice her tae kwon do instructor had offered her long ago. In a street fight, go for the legs and take your opponent down.

She aimed a side kick at Jose’s leg just above the knee and watched his leg crumple. She spun and kicked out again, this time catching him in the ribs. She aimed just below the ninth rib and knew she’d hit her target when he fell to the ground. Tory was sure she’d knocked him out. Whirling quickly, she faced Jose’s accomplice.

“Very nice, Miss Patton,” Scarface said.

“I cherish your praise.”

He stubbed out his cigar on his forearm and placed it in his pocket. Tory backed away to keep both men in her line of vision. Jose hadn’t moved since she’d kicked him. But she wasn’t taking chances.

Instead of waiting for Scarface to attack, she went on the offensive. She took a deep breath and centered herself. Lashed out with a spinning hook kick to Scarface’s hamstrings. She spun away and fell back into a fighting stance. The kick should have rendered one of his legs useless, but he moved back and the kick didn’t hit him squarely.

She caught him under the chin with a knife-hand blow to his neck. His head snapped back. Tory danced away and came back with a high kick to his head. He leaned back and grabbed her foot to yank her off balance. Tory used his hold on her foot as a weight. She hooked her other leg around his knees and leaned forward, forcing him to let go of her ankle as they both went down.

She rolled and sprang to her feet again. Her ankle throbbed, dammit. Scarface stayed down. The fall had knocked him out. She grabbed her purse and sprinted to her vehicle, digging for the keys. She got inside the Jeep and started it.

Her hands were shaking and her ankle throbbed. She wasn’t GI Jane. She was a relatively successful urban girl with some martial-arts training who was out of her environment. She struggled not to let panic set in as she drove away.

The road was a patchwork of muddy potholes, which forced Tory to concentrate on driving. Slowly the adrenaline from her encounter seeped away.

An American journalist was just the kind of political hostage some of the gunrunners or drug dealers could use. But if those men were criminals, why hadn’t they been armed?

Chapter 6

Jay was waiting inside the hotel for her when she returned. Though it was only a little after eight it felt more like midnight. He took one look at the way she was hobbling and steered her into the bar for a shot of tequila.

He handed her the shot glass and Tory took it thankfully, swallowing the liquor in one gulp.

She leaned back against the wooden chair and closed her eyes. She heard a chair scrape backward, and then Jay sat down across from her.

“Making friends again?” he asked. He pulled out a cigar and a clipper. Trimming the end of it, he rolled it through his fingers a few times, then brought it to his mouth and lit the end.

She forced a smile. She was getting edgy, and the feeling of everything going to crap was getting stronger. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a difficult time getting a story, but it was the first time that so many different elements in her life had converged. “You know me. Always the life of the party.”

“Actually, Tory, you are.”

She enjoyed a reputation not only as a brilliant journalist but also as a very good-natured woman. “I know. Obviously the natives don’t realize how likable I am.”

“Obviously. What happened?” he asked.

She debated how much to tell Jay. He’d become her father confessor since she’d been here. She didn’t like leaning on him, but without Perry she had no one to talk to here. “A couple of guys tried to grab me.”

“Rape?”

“I don’t think so. They knew my name and wanted me to come with them.”

“Probably a group of drug or gunrunners. The new regime frowns on that kind of activity, so having a pretty American journalist as a hostage could be very beneficial to them.”

“That’s one theory. But the sentiment in the city is very pro-coca ranchers from what I heard when I talked to the people in the marketplace, so I’m not too sure that was their goal,” she said.

“What were you doing tonight?”

“A little person-to-person research.” She couldn’t let Jay know that she was a courier for the government.

He raised one eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. She realized she had to come up with something. “What about Shannon?”

“I saw her earlier talking to an older man. I think he works for Perez’s office.”

“I wonder if she’s filed a story yet. I’m going to call Perry and find out.”

“How’s things with Perry?”

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

“For the same reason I always do,” he said after a moment.

Jay had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to see her. Or at least see her naked. But she had to wonder if maybe he’d picked up on some of her restlessness with that relationship. Regardless, she wasn’t ready to make a change, and certainly not without talking to Perry first. “Things are fine. Back to Shannon—do you think she would have sent those guys tonight?”

“It’s possible, given the nature of the rumor she started, that they may have believed you were a contact for them.”

Tory took her glass from the bartender and sipped at this one. She was too tired to really think straight. Pulling out one of her notepads, she wrote down a few notes. “We forgot one.”

“What?”

“Maybe they wanted me to interview their leader.”

“A possibility.”

She added that to her notes and then jotted down descriptions of both men. She thought there might be a story in this somewhere. Gathering her stuff and herself, she stood. She wanted to ice her ankle and rest.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said.

“No problem. I’ve been trying a convince you to have a drink with me for a long time.”

“Not tonight, Jay.”

He set his cigar on the table and reached for her hands. “Why not? You look like you could use a shoulder to lean on.”

She was conflicted and couldn’t deal with thoughts of Jay tonight. He tempted her, but then he always had because he was fun. But she was still involved with Perry.

“I can’t,” she said with what she hoped was finality. She nodded her goodbye and walked away.

The night clerk at the desk looked up as she approached the elevator.

“Tory Patton?”

“Yes.”

“I have a message for you.”

She crossed to him. He dug around on his desk and finally located an envelope with her name on it. He handed it to her. She took some money from her pocket and gave it to the man.

“Thanks.”

She pushed the envelope into her pocket as she waited for the elevator to arrive. Finally she was in her room. She tossed her bag on the bed and pulled off her torn shirt.

She bent and removed her boots and gently probed her ankle. It wasn’t swelling, but a bruise was starting to form. She’d wrap it before she went back out.

Pulling the envelope from her pocket, she used her nail to rip it open. A slip of paper fell out.

Come to the Vista Del Mar Hotel in Paraiso if you want to meet King.

Tory sat up straight, her fatigue falling away as she realized her interview was at hand. She stripped out of her clothing, which was dirty from her earlier altercation, and took a quick shower. Ten minutes later she was on her way down the hall toward the lobby. Her wet hair clung to the back of her neck.

She’d packed up everything in her room and brought it downstairs with her. Jay was in the lobby speaking to a local when she returned.

“Grab your camera and come on.”

He said something to the man he’d been talking to and followed her. Ten minutes later they were on their way to the Vista Del Mar and Tom King.

Jay drove so she could review her interview questions and notes one more time. She jotted a few final questions on her notepad as they neared the hotel. Jay followed her directions to the parking lot.

King was in the hotel and no longer at the hospital—and Ben had something to do with that. It was a circumstance she planned to explore when she got inside. It was a few minutes after nine when they got out of the car.

“What are we doing here?”

“I got a tip that King was here.”

“From who? This could be a trap.”

Tory knew that the note had come from Ben, but knew he wouldn’t want Jay to know. “It’s reliable.”

“It’s not just your ass if turns out to be Perez’s idea of a joke.”

“Perez won’t give me the time of day. You’re going to have to trust me, Jay.”

He looked at her for a long minute, then turned and gathered his equipment. Tory helped him by carrying in the sound equipment. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d miked herself and the person she was interviewing.

The hotel lobby wasn’t as run-down as the place they were staying in. When they entered, a man in jeans and a dark T-shirt stopped them. His carriage had an air of military to it.

“Tory Patton?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Robert O’Neill. Follow me.”

“Who are you with, Robert?”

“The military,” he said, which wasn’t much of an answer. Which branch? Why wasn’t he in uniform?

She didn’t have a chance to ask him any other questions. He led them to the second floor and into a suite with a sitting room. The room to the connecting suite was ajar.

“I’ll set up over there,” Jay said.

Tory nodded. “I need to change and then I’ll come back and help you set up.” She turned to O’Neill. “Is Thomas King here yet?”

“He’ll be here in a moment, Ms. Patton. You can use that room to change,” he said, gesturing to the right.

Tory took her garment bag and entered the small bathroom. She changed quickly and applied her makeup with a heavy hand, knowing that the lights would wash her out if she didn’t. She smiled reassuringly at herself in the mirror and practiced a few of her questions.

She closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down, adjusted the buttons on her jacket and then stood and sat down again. Her clothing was free of constrictions and she felt comfortable.

She left her jeans and T-shirt folded on the counter and reentered the room. Only Jay was there and he had the lights set up and was loading the tape in the beta camera.

Tory looked at the chairs and then rearranged the angle of each one. “How’s this?”

They discussed the placement of the chairs, and Tory moved from one to the other so that Jay could check the camera angles.

The door to the connecting suite opened and a tall, gaunt man walked in. Tory closed her eyes for a minute to compose herself. She’d expected him to look bad, but the reality was so much worse. He had a jagged scar on his neck and a bandage over his left temple, and he looked as if he might weigh less than she did. His clothes hung from his body like rags on a scarecrow.

She opened her eyes again and met his green-gold gaze. In his expression she saw determination and a quiet kind of rage. She sensed that, though his body was temporarily not up to fighting, his spirit was. His blond hair was thick but cut short and neat.

“I’m Tory Patton with UBC. Thank you for granting me this interview,” she said, holding out her hand.

He took her hand and shook it. She noticed that despite his gaunt appearance he had a strong grip and his hands were warm. “You’re welcome, Ms. Patton. Please call me Tom.”

“I’m going to have to mike you,” she said.

Once he was back in shape he’d be a very attractive man. His eyes were fatigued and his body battered but his charisma shone through.

Tory smiled back at him. She had him loosen his shirt so they could wire him with the microphone. Then they were ready.

“What’s your rank, Tom?” she asked, to establish him in the eyes of her audience.

“I’m a commander in the U.S. Navy.”

“Take us through your mission from the beginning,” Tory said.

“I came down with a platoon on a leader recon mission.”

“What is leader recon?”

“My team was assessing the situation. We verified that hostages were being held in one of the small mountain towns on the west side of the island.”

“Americans?”

“Yes, from Doctors without Borders. The dossier we received said there were three men and one woman.”

“What happened next?”

“We verified the location of the hostages and then we went in to extricate them. We were ambushed by the previous government’s military.”

“How?” she asked. A hundred new questions popped up. SEAL teams were elite. No one knew when a platoon was deployed or where it was going. How would the old government have the knowledge that the team was coming in?

“We entered the compound and found the hostages had already been executed. As soon as our team was inside, they opened fire on us. We returned fire but were outnumbered.”

“Take me through the last moments when you saw your crew alive.”

Tom gave her a look that would have scorched steel, but Tory didn’t flinch. Her questions had to be probing and go past the superficial. She needed to know what he’d felt—that’s what viewers tuned in to see.

“We were under heavy fire. I ordered my team to retreat. A bullet grazed my temple and I lost consciousness. When I woke up I was in prison.”

“What did they want from you?” she asked, knowing he’d been tortured.

“They asked me repeatedly about my mission and how long we’d been on Puerto Isla before we took action.”

She asked him several questions about his imprisonment and listened to him detail the torture he’d endured while his captors tried to find out more details of his mission. Tom had refused to tell them anything.

She swallowed against the tears burning at the back of her eyes. This man had sacrificed so much for his country, and she felt proud to be sitting across from him. And infinitely saddened that he’d lost his friends and teammates. More questions formed in the back of her mind.

She needed to do some digging. It made no sense that the government would know the SEALs were coming, and clearly it had. Santiago had been anti-American, and the U.S. wouldn’t have given him any information.

“How were you found and rescued?”

“I was able to bribe one of my jailers to send a message to the U.S. Embassy.”

“Then you were freed by Del Torro’s government?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was taken to the hospital and my wounds were treated.”

“And then you were moved here to the hotel?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Tory let it drop for now.

“One last question, Tom. What is the one thing you want to do now that you’re out of captivity?”

“Kiss my wife.”

Tory left Jay packing up his equipment and changed back into her jeans. She wasn’t ready to head back to her hotel. Something wasn’t right with Tom King’s story. No one should have known that the SEALs were coming and from what he’d said, someone had.

She was going to get some answers from Juan Perez’s office if she had to camp on his steps all day long.

“Ready, Tory?” Jay asked.

“I want to hear more about what the city was like earlier this year when the SEAL team came in. I’m going to talk to the military men who are here. Can you hang around a few hours?”

Tory had the feeling it wouldn’t be long before history started to repeat itself on Puerto Isla. Despite its tropical beauty, there wasn’t enough of a tourist trade to keep the economy going without illegal activities.

“Sure.”

“I’m going to go down to the lobby and see what I can get from the bar crowd.”

“Keep an eye out for Shannon. I don’t think she followed us here, but you can never be too sure.”

“I will. Where will you be?”

“I want to talk to our friend Robert O’Neill and then I’m going to call Perez again. I don’t want him to know we spoke to King yet.”

Jay left and she went into the bathroom to gather the rest of her stuff. When she came back into the main hotel room, Robert was waiting for her. “I’ll make sure you get back to your car safely.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet. Would you mind answering a few questions for me, Robert?”

“Depends on the questions.”

“How did you get involved with King?” Tom had refused to answer any questions about how he’d come to be at the hotel. In fact, after the interview he’d been hustled out of the room they’d used and moved to an undisclosed location. She had warned the men with him that Shannon might be following her and that the local police were also watching her. She figured the team that had busted King out of prison was probably a very elite military group that didn’t want or need any publicity. And she understood that.

“I can’t say.”

“Are you part of a Special Forces team?”

She was also trying to figure out how Bennington Forsythe fit into the picture. Because she knew that Ben had something to do with Tom King and the rescue. She just couldn’t believe the conclusions she drew on her own. She needed more information.

He nodded, but refused to answer any more of her questions. In fact, he opened the door leading to the hallway, checked the hall and then took her elbow, leading her out of the room.

“What branch of the military are you with?” she asked as he led her to the stairwell and started down the steps.

“Does it matter?” he asked over his shoulder.

It did, but he obviously wasn’t going to tell her. She tried a different angle. “How many men are here with you?” she asked. She’d heard voices in the other suite while they’d been cleaning up after the interview. There had been at least two, maybe three men in that other room besides Tom King. If Robert didn’t come through with some answers, she’d double back and do some investigating on her own.

He paused on the landing and faced her. “You talk a lot, don’t you, lady?”

She grinned at him. “Yes, I do. It’s part of my appeal.”

“Don’t count on it,” said a voice behind her.

She turned and saw Ben at the top of the stairs. Where had he come from? Dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his chest, Ben leaned in the doorway. “I thought we had a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” she asked. She was not flirting with him, she assured herself. Her questions were for the greater good. He was a puzzle and she had to figure him out.

“I get you your interview, you leave me alone,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t recall those stipulations,” Tory said.

He shrugged and looked past her. “I’ll take care of Ms. Patton, Robert.”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert walked past her without another word. She waited until he was gone before looking back at Ben. “What are you doing here?”

“You keep asking me that,” he said, taking her arm and leading her down the stairs.

“I’m going to keep on asking until you give me an answer.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” she countered. Playing games wasn’t normally her style, but there was something about Ben that made her contrary.

She shook her head. Felt the weight of her hair brush her cheek and reached up to tuck the strand behind her ear only to encounter Ben’s hand. He pushed her hair back, and his callused fingers rubbed the rim of her ear. She shivered.

“I’m not going to let you distract me, Ben. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Not here,” he said, and led her out of the stairwell and into a room on another floor.

And then they were totally alone.

Chapter 7

The room Ben took her to was decorated in the same bland style as the one in which she’d interviewed Tom King. There was a duffel bag on the end of the bed next to a neat pile of clothing. The light was on in the bathroom. She noted the pile of wet towels on the floor and the damp shower curtain pushed to one side. There was a shaving kit on the counter.

It was almost ten-thirty now and she wondered if Ben and his men were going to try to move King tonight. She knew then that if they were, she was going to be there. She’d have to phone Jay and have him bring the Jeep around back.

Ben turned on the television.

“I was serious about the questions, Ben. I don’t want to watch TV.” She had a feeling he thought he could placate her with a few platitudes and some double-talk.

“I know. I’m using it to cover the sound of our conversation.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. But then she wasn’t usually trying to keep people from overhearing her conversations. To cover her awkwardness she pulled out her notepad and pen.

“This is strictly off the record, Tory. Understand?” he asked. His steely-eyed gaze reminded her of his lethal efficiency at the hospital when he’d gotten them out of the heavily patrolled facility.

“Yes. I know what that means. I’m just making notes so that I can figure out what’s going on with King.”

Still he hesitated, and Tory knew she had to put him at ease. This wasn’t an interview, but she needed more of the facts to put the pieces of the story into perspective.

“I never thanked you,” she said quietly. If Ben hadn’t interceded, she’d still be chasing her tail and trying to outwit Perez and the Puerto Isla policemen.

He leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. Muscles bulged in his arms. Why was she noticing this now? Perry had nice muscles, she reminded herself.

“For getting you to King?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You’re welcome,” he said at last.

“I don’t understand what’s going on. The Del Torro government invited me down here,” she said, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to add anything else.

“Who did?” Ben asked.

She realized he was making notes as she was, but instead of writing them down he was keeping it all in his head. That fit with what she knew of Alex’s brother. Though he had earned a reputation for a playboy, he’d also graduated with top honors from a military prep school and college.

“Juan Perez,” she said. “The minister of foreign affairs.”

“That makes sense. Take me through everything that happened once you arrived,” he ordered.

“I’m asking the questions here.”

“Humor me.”

But he didn’t look as if he was joking and so far he hadn’t given her any information that she could use. “I’m not sure you have much of a sense of humor.”

“Okay, smart-ass, you made your point. But I’m in charge of getting King off Puerto Isla alive. I need all the information you have.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but I want to follow you out with him. Kind of a look inside the rescue.”

“Can’t do it. My team is top secret.”

“I won’t film it.”

“We can negotiate that later,” he said.

He didn’t intend to let her go with him. But she knew how to follow a story and had been called tenacious as a pit bull by one upset merchant on whom she’d done an exposé. In the end the public had benefited from her story. And she sensed that the public should know what was going on down here, whether she could give them all the details or not.

“What are you doing here? And why is King at the hotel and no longer in the hospital?” she asked, changing gears.

“He was no longer safe.”

“From the Puerto Isla government?” Tory wasn’t sure she was following this. Why would Tom King no longer be safe? His rescue and freedom was the kind of public-relations stunt that newly formed governments seldom got. Returning King to the U.S. was a huge goodwill gesture from a country that had been under trade embargoes for a long time.

“Yes. When I ran into you at the hospital, I overheard two of the doctors talking about sedating King so that he could be moved to another location. I know for certain that the U.S. was not in on that decision.”

“What is going on here? First Perez and the navy call me down here for an interview, then things go to hell.”

“You’re the wild card in all this.” He rubbed his chin and then straightened from the door, walking toward her.

Tory held her ground. “Do you think it has something to do with me and King?”

“Is there a connection between you two?”

“Not beyond this story.”

“I didn’t think so. My intel didn’t mention you.”

His pager went off and he glanced at the screen. “I’ve got to pack up.”

“I’m not done asking questions,” she said, barring his way into the bathroom.

“Patton, I’m on a short clock.”

“Then let me help you. I have a lot of information on King, and something doesn’t add up about his capture.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can be a real pain in the ass.”

He laughed. “I like you, Tory Patton.”

She liked him, too. That was the real problem. She couldn’t afford the kind of distraction that Ben provided. He pressed closer to her and she stood her ground. But when she tipped her head back to meet his gaze, he lowered his mouth to hers.

She closed her eyes, forgetting about the story and the complications this could bring. Forgetting about Perry and the fact that she was in a serious relationship. It was only the tension of feeling that she was going to die. The danger of being on this island where everything kept changing. If she’d learned anything from her time in the 24/7 world of television news, she’d learned that nothing lasted forever.

And you were only given opportunities once in a lifetime.

A loud explosion rocked the floor and she barely kept her balance. She cried out and Ben’s strong grip helped keep her upright. Immediately the distinctive beeping of Ben’s pager began again and he pulled back and glanced at the message screen again. This time he left her to go to the phone. He had a short conversation. Tory used the time to call Jay and alert him that they might be moving soon.

“What’s going on?” she asked when Ben hung up.

“Someone tried to kill Tom King.” Ben’s voice was low pitched, his words spoken without emotion.

“Is he okay?” Tory asked. It didn’t seem fair that he should survive a brutal ambush and torture in prison only to die once he was supposedly safe.

“Yes. I’m getting him out of here tonight,” Ben said.

“You mean your team, right?”

“Yes. We’re taking him to meet a chopper at an unused airstrip on the outskirts of town.”

“Won’t that be dangerous?” she asked. From what she’d observed of Puerto Isla since she’d arrived here, once you left Paraiso the natives weren’t exactly friendly.

“Who’s the expert here?” he asked, sounding pissed off.

She went to his side and put her hand on his arm. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t get offended. Are you an expert?”

“I knew you couldn’t keep from asking questions.”

“Stop evading them. I’m not going to turn your life into an exposé. I do understand that if you are what I’m beginning to believe you are, then your public image is sacrosanct.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“What are you?”

He sighed, then seemed to come to a decision. “I’m part of an elite fighting force known as LASER. Lost Airmen’s Service. We rescue military personnel who have been captured.”

“And your playboy lifestyle enables you to travel around the world without suspicion.”

“Except when I’m encountering my little sister’s friends.”

She knew precious little about him as a man. He’d always seemed so frivolous and not worth her time. But now that she’d seen the keen intelligence gleaming in his eyes, seen him in action in dangerous circumstances and in intimate ones…she wanted to know more.

“I know you’re in a hurry. What should I do?”

“Get your gear together.”

Tory gathered her stuff and was ready when Ben opened the door leading into the hall. He pulled his gun from his holster and swept the area before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the room. She twisted out of his grasp. He didn’t even break stride.

“I’ll have Robert take you back to your hotel,” he said, leading her down the hall to the room where she’d interviewed Tom earlier.

“That’s okay. Jay’s downstairs waiting for me.”

“Who’s Jay?”

“My cameraman.”

For a moment she felt a twinge of embarrassment as he opened the door and five guys looked up. Tom King smiled at her. Robert gave her a frown and the others appeared mildly curious. One of the men had a wounded arm and another guy—Tory assumed he was a medic—was bandaging him up.

“What happened?”

“Someone fired a rocket-propelled grenade into the three rooms we rented on this floor.”

“How did they know where we were?” Ben asked.

Robert looked straight at Tory. “I’m not sure. But Ms. Patton and her cameraman went up and down the elevator several times.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the location was secretive.”

“I should have told you,” Ben said. “This one’s on my shoulders.”

As Tory listened to Ben, she was surprised to realize that he wasn’t just part of a military group, but the leader of one. The men’s attitudes as they listened and spoke with Ben showed that they respected him. Tory filed away this new piece of information.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Ben said.

Tory nodded and eased her way out of the room. She stayed in the hallway. She called Jay and told him to move the Jeep around to the back. “Be ready to move. Did you see any more police?”

“No, but Shannon showed up right before you called. She knows something’s going on here.”

“Okay, I’m waiting outside the hotel room to see if I can get any more information. I might need the hidden camera again.”

“I’ll get it ready for you. And Tory?”

“Yes, Jay?”

“Be careful.”

The door opened behind her. “I’ve got to go.”

She disconnected the call. Jay’s concern touched her. She knew she could count on him and his friendship.

“What are you still doing here?” Ben asked.

“Let me go with you, Ben.”

“No. This isn’t something fit for network news. We’re talking life and death here.”

“I won’t endanger you or King. I’m an Athena grad. You know they train us how to survive.”

“I don’t care how much training you’ve had. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Tory….”

“Give me a break, Ben. If that’s your only objection, stuff it.”

“Dammit, woman. I take care of my own.”

“I’m not yours.”

He swore under his breath and turned away from her.

She knew she’d pushed him, but she didn’t like men telling her what to do. She wasn’t some eighteen-year-old kid who’d never faced a challenge in her life. She’d been trained to use her wits in tough situations. The entire affair with Tom King was right up her alley. Tory viewed it the same way she would a courier assignment for AA.gov.

“I think I can be of assistance or I wouldn’t have suggested this.”

Ben leaned his head against the wall and she sensed he was running through his options. She stayed silent.

“You can come with us to the airstrip, but that’s it. King needs to be debriefed before he talks to any more reporters.”

“Okay.”

Tory shrugged into her backpack and followed the men. No one was waiting for the elevator, but Ben bypassed the car for the stairs. Robert had done the same thing. She knew it was to avoid walking into a trap.

If she hadn’t seen him in action before, she probably would be staring open-mouthed at him now. It was such a change from the man she’d known since she was a fourteen-year-old girl. This guy hardly resembled Alex’s brother as she’d always known him.

The group moved quickly down the stairs to the lobby. Tory saw Jay standing off to one side. He had the tapes and her laptop, and they’d meet in Miami. He met her eyes and she nodded to him to follow the team of U.S. soldiers. A group of Puerto Isla’s police was at the front desk. Probably to investigate the explosion.

“Robert, you take the decoy team straight through the lobby and out the front door. We’ll rendezvous in Miami. King and I will go out the back. You—” he pointed to Tory “—follow me.”

And Tory followed Ben and Tom out the back door and into the tropical night.

Chapter 8

They left the hotel via a back entrance through the kitchen. Tory was glad she hadn’t eaten any meals at the hotel when she saw the state of the kitchen.

“No wonder I have heartburn,” Tom said.

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were scarfing down the food.”

“Hey, it had been a long time between meals,” Tom said.

Tory realized that though the men had never met before this mission they shared a camaraderie that she didn’t understand. There was an excited air of energy around both of them. They were a walking army with all the weaponry they had on their persons.

They were similarly dressed in green jungle camouflage. Tory wore a pair of khaki pants and a black T-shirt. Her hiking boots were top quality, and she had a feeling they’d have a chance to prove their durability before she got back home.

“Tory, get between Tom and me. I’ll go first. When I signal you, come on.”

“Okay,” she said.

“What, no questions?” he asked, with that wise-ass grin of his.

Tom might have been half starved, but he still moved with the ease of a trained tiger.

She wanted to talk to Tom in more detail about his mission. Could he have witnessed something that he wasn’t aware of? Why was someone trying to kill a man who’d been in prison for the past six months?

Both men were armed with standard military-issue handguns. Ben hadn’t offered her a piece and she was glad. She knew she didn’t have enough skill to kill with one. But she did have her knife. Quickly she removed it from her backpack along with the ankle sheath. She lifted her pant leg and fastened it on. Finally Ben got a signal on his wireless earpiece. “We’re moving out.”

She waited for Ben to move first. He slipped out the back door. Tory waited for him to signal her. Tom stood close behind her, covering Ben from the doorway.

She recognized that Tom didn’t like taking orders. He took them, but he was used to being in command. It was an interesting observation and she tucked it away for later. She hoped he’d agree to a follow-up interview once they were back in the States.

Seconds later Ben signaled her. Tory moved into the shadows as soundlessly as she could. Skills she’d mastered when she’d been at Athena came to the fore. Once again, she called on Rainy’s presence and felt a little better because her friend was in her head with her.

The smell of rotting trash mixed with the warm sea breeze. She remembered her lessons and slowed her breathing.

She moved cautiously across the alley and then stood behind Ben as he surveyed the open area. Tom joined them.

The LASER team had two Jeeps. One was parked two blocks from the hotel in an abandoned garage. The three of them were to make their way to that vehicle.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Tom said.

“Yeah, but what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tory, go to ground behind that trash can.”

She didn’t argue, just slipped away from the men and crouched behind the large trash container. She took her knife from the sheath at her ankle and waited. Tom covered Ben as he stepped into the mouth of the alley. Ben surveyed the area and then motioned for them to come forward.

Before Tory could move from her spot all hell broke loose. Ben and Tom were facing four rough-looking men with submachine guns and nasty attitudes.

Tory shrank back against the wall as a flashlight played over the alley. They were saying something to Ben, but Tory couldn’t make out the words. The men took the guns from both Tom and Ben and forced them to their knees. Tory knew she’d have only a second to make her move. When the leader raised his gun and pointed it at Ben’s head, she drew back her arm and let her blade fly with deadly accuracy.

Ben and Tom both attacked when the man fell. Tory ran down the alleyway. Her hands were trembling, but she focused on the job at hand. She raced at another man and hit him with a surprise roundhouse kick to the neck. He staggered and she brought her other leg around in a hook kick. She caught him behind the knees, and he fell to the ground.

She gave him a short punch to the jaw. His head snapped back. And then she finished him with a side chop to the neck. She put her foot on the small of his back, unsure what to do with him now that he was unconscious.

“Catch,” Ben said.

She glanced up in time to see a pair of plastic handcuffs coming at her. She grabbed them and bound his wrists. She stood up and clenched her fingers together. She needed her knife back.

Ben grabbed the guy she’d taken down under the shoulders and dragged him back in the alley where Tom had taken the other two. The fourth man was dead. She started toward him only to stop.

“I’ve got it, Tory. Get over there with Tom.”

Now that the moment of danger had passed, she felt a fine trembling start deep inside. She’d never been in a situation quite like this before. Sure, the women’s prison had been scary when she’d gone undercover there. And Scarface and Jose had been a shock. But she’d known deep inside in both cases that she wasn’t going to die.

Ben retrieved her knife and moved the dead body out of the open area and into the shadows. Tory was shaking so hard now that she wasn’t sure she could continue on with this. Maybe she should go back to her hotel room. But at the same time, a part of her knew that if she hadn’t been there, both Ben and Tom would be dead.

“Athena women can do anything.” Rainy had said that to Tory more than once when Tory had called for advice from her mentor.

Tom held his M-9 in a steady grip. He had one of the submachine guns slung over his shoulder along with an extra ammunition clip. Tory bent down and picked up one of the other guns. It was beginning to look as if they’d need an arsenal to get off the island in one piece.

Tom patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. Tory couldn’t even mutter her thanks to him. Oh, my God, she thought, I’m going to be sick. She swallowed several times and then realized she was breathing too quickly. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the fallen man. She’d taken a life. Another person’s life. Something she’d never been prepared to do.

Ben joined them, squeezed her hand and then handed her the knife. The blade had been cleaned. She bent and replaced it in the sheath at her ankle.

“There weren’t that many exits out of the hotel. They were probably watching them all,” Tom said.

“Nice job, Patton,” Ben said, his eagle eyes on her.

She straightened, took a deep breath. She had to show him that she could stay with them. “I am an Athena grad, Ben. We can take care of ourselves.” Apart from the fact that she was this close to puking. She hoped she’d kept the tremors out of her voice. She knew he was looking for a reason to leave her behind.

“Good thing,” Tom said.

Ben stooped and picked up the remaining man’s gun and searched the bodies for extra ammunition.

“What the hell does Tom know that they are willing to kill for?” Tory asked.

“Search me,” Tom said with a grimace.

“I think they already did that,” Ben said. He turned to her. “Thanks for saving our asses.”

“No problem.”

“Let’s move out,” Tom said. “Obviously someone already knows the decoy isn’t me and they’re determined not to let us get away.”

“In a minute,” Ben said. He turned to Tory. “You okay?”

She nodded. She couldn’t talk anymore. She just couldn’t do it. She needed to gather her thoughts and figure out how to keep both men from guessing what was going on with her.

“Ever killed a man before?” Ben asked.

She shook her head.

“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, rubbing his big hands up and down her back. The chills started to recede, and in a minute she stopped shaking and pushed herself away from him.

He gave her the once-over and then nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Should we be seen with all these weapons?”

“I’m not walking into another situation like this one.”

Tom nodded his agreement. “Can you handle that gun?”

“I fired one for a piece I did on illegal guns on the street. Street gangs in L.A. A lot of them used guns like this one.”

Dawn was breaking over the horizon. The beach was a few streets over, and the sidewalks were lined with palm trees and tropical plants. The dichotomy of the tropical-paradise foliage and the life-threatening situation made her want to laugh. She knew it was nerves and forced herself to breathe deeply.

Ben took the lead again, and this time she noticed he didn’t seem reluctant to have her along. She still felt shaky inside and hoped they could get off the island without further incident. But she knew if they didn’t, she’d do what needed to be done.

“Wait here.”

The garage was run-down like most of the buildings on the outskirts of Paraiso, but the windows were still in place and at some time in the not so distant past someone had whitewashed the walls. Ben disappeared inside.

Tom stood ready, tension in every line of his body. Tory mirrored his readiness, determined to be prepared for whatever came next.

“Well, hell,” Ben said, his voice carrying over to them. Tom pushed past her and entered the car bay. The hood of the Jeep was up, and the engine lay in pieces on the floor around the vehicle.

“Either of you know how to reassemble an engine?” Ben asked. He crouched next to the engine parts and picked up two of them.

“I don’t,” Tom said.

“Me, either, but I can call and get someone at the network to talk us through it,” Tory said.

Ben pushed to his feet and pulled his Colt .45 from the holster and checked the magazine. “Forget it. It’s time to drop back to Plan B. We’ll go on foot. Tom, can you walk about fifteen miles?” Ben asked.

The older man paused in his search of the back seat of the Jeep. He was loading a standard-issue backpack with the rations and water that had been stored there just in case. “Yes.”

“Good, let’s move out. We need to get out of the city and into the jungle area before people start moving around.”

They said little as they worked their way through the city streets that were just now waking up. Tory was aware of an energy buzzing through her veins that felt not unlike the kind of high reporting usually gave her.

Tory knew that something was changing deep inside her. For the first time in her life she was out of her element. It was an odd feeling, and she didn’t like it. Because she never could tolerate being out of control.

The interior of Puerto Isla was a dense jungle terrain that she knew, from a trip to Brazil the previous summer, made the Amazon rain forest feel like a nice day at the spa. Tory was drenched in sweat before noon. Ben moved as if he was accustomed to the damp heat. A dark sweat stain appeared between his shoulder blades. She stared at his back as she walked, her mind alive with images of him from last night.

His black pants pulled tight across his backside with each step he took. His arm lifted high to slash hanging vines out of their path with a machete he’d produced from his pack.

“Anyone need a break?” Ben asked over his shoulder. They’d been walking for about two hours. Ben had estimated they would reach the airport the following day. The jungle growth was dense and thick, slowing their progress.

He noticed where her gaze was and quirked one eyebrow. She shrugged at him. What could she say? The man was worth staring at and she suspected he knew it.

“I’m fine,” Tom said.

“Me, too,” Tory said, taking a sip from her water bottle. Despite being so sweaty, she was enjoying herself.

“Aren’t you a little old for active command, Tom?” Tory asked. The question had been bugging her. He was forty-five, and she knew today’s military was trying to be more politically correct, but young tough guys were usually who they wanted on the front lines.

“Yeah, I’m a mustang.”

“A tough wild horse?”

Ben laughed. “It’s a navy term for a guy who was enlisted and then later became an officer.”

“They should teach a course on military language.”

“You should be familiar with some of it. Didn’t they teach you about the military at Athena Academy?” Ben asked.

“I knew I was going to be a reporter early on. So some of those classes I didn’t pay attention in.”

“What made you decide to be a reporter?” Tom asked. He tipped his face up toward the sun. Tory wondered if she would be able to survive what he had. Months locked away from human contact, fresh air and sunshine.

“Barbara Walters. I mean, she was the only woman on television when I was growing up and she always got the best interviews. She had a lot of respect in a male-dominated field.”

“Makes sense. But why not go into government work? Athena trains for that, too,” Ben said. He tipped his water bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. She watched his Adam’s apple bob.

That was what Alex had done. Used her Athena training as a jumping-off point for her career in the FBI. But not all of Tory’s friends from those days had chosen the military or government work.

“I don’t know. My brother is in the DEA. I needed to be different. I like to be the best at whatever I do.”

“I know what you mean. My dad was a marine so I chose the navy,” Tom said. When he smiled you could really see the man he was beyond the scars and bandages.

“What about you, Ben? Why are you still in the military?”

“Because there’s still a job to be done.”

“Patriotism?”

He shrugged and refused to answer.

She knew that was it. Ben Forsythe, scion of the upper crust, was doing a job that few men from any walk of life would risk their lives to do because he believed in freedom and his country. He should have been jaded. Hell, he probably was jaded, but he still did his job.

They continued walking and Tory thought about what her mom had said before she left. About her always having to win.

Tom held his hand up and Ben drew his gun. “Get down.”

Tory hadn’t heard anything, but she ducked into the thick foliage surrounding the rough path that Ben had cut. Soon the sound of a helicopter filled the air. Tory held her breath, then realized she was being ridiculous. No one would be able to hear her breathing over the noise.

Ben took her elbow and pulled her deeper into the brush. Tom moved in front of Ben and led the way. She ran through the bush, vines scraping against her face and tearing at her clothing until Ben stopped. She slammed into his back. He grabbed her and steadied her.

Then Tom nodded and they moved out again at a run. Tory’s lungs were burning, her thighs hurt and she wished she’d left her backpack at the hotel in Paraiso. But she didn’t complain. The chopper was quartering the area over them. And she knew that they needed to get as far from the path that Ben had cut to ease their way through the jungle. From the air it probably looked like a big old X marking the spot.

Tory kept Ben in her sights and didn’t think of anything other than following him. The ground beneath her inclined and she realized they were slowly making their way up one of the foothills of the mountains that lined the interior of the island.

Ben stopped again. Tory tried to control her breathing but couldn’t help drawing in deep breaths. “It sounds like they’ve landed.”

Tom lead the way farther into the bush, taking them up the side of the mountain. There was an outcropping and an opening that was partially concealed by the overgrown vegetation. And Tory, who had always been a sunshine girl, wasn’t sure she could go in. But she had no choice.

“Please tell me we aren’t going in there.”

“What, no story on spelunking in your past?”

“I’ll consider this research,” she said and followed both men into the darkness.

Chapter 9

The cave was damp and dank. And Tory was reluctant to go inside. “Are there animals in here?”

“Let’s hope not,” Ben said with one of his half grins. “Stick with Tom. I’m going to do a little recon and cover our tracks.”

Fatigue lined his face, but he was alert as he scanned the dense growth behind her. “Okay. Be careful.”

“Is that caring?” he asked, running one finger down the side of her face.

“I’m only thinking of Alex and the fact that I don’t want to have to drag your body out of here.”

“I promise you that won’t happen.” He used his knuckle under her chin to tip her head back and steal a quick kiss.

Why did he keep doing that? She rubbed her lips as he walked away, reminding herself that they weren’t going to be sharing any more kisses and the next time she was alone with Ben Forsythe she was going to set him straight.

She turned toward Tom. “What are we going to do?”

Tom was standing just inside the mouth of the cave, eyes closed and hands clenched. Sweat ran down the side of his face. There was a breeze where they were, so she suspected it wasn’t the weather that was making him perspire. She hadn’t considered what being back in the dark would do to him.

“Come on. We’ll grab Ben and find somewhere else to hide out,” Tory said, taking his wrist in her hand.

“No.” He refused to budge. Though he was under his fighting weight, he held his ground.

Tory slipped her fingers through his. She led him a little way into the cave. She removed the submachine gun from his shoulders and set it on the floor between them. She did the same with her weapon, but laid it across her lap in case she needed to use it.

She held his hand with hers and started talking. It was what her mom had always done when Tory was little and scared. And one time when Tory had been crying because it seemed her brother and his friends were never scared of anything, her mom had told her that they were just as scared but didn’t know how to show it.

“Tell me about your family, Tom. You said you wanted to kiss your wife. What’s her name?” she asked. She’d done little research on the King family. But she wanted to hear about them through Tom’s words. And she sensed that Tom needed to talk. To have something other than a closed-off dark space to think about. She knew from their interview how important his family was to him.

“Ellen. She’s an attorney.” His voice was thin and raspy. Lifeless and flat and it hurt Tory to hear it.

“How’d you meet?” she asked, sitting a little closer to him so he’d know he wasn’t alone.

“In Hawaii on leave. I turned around in a bar and spilled my drink down the front of her dress.”

“Not the best first impression. How’d you work it out?”

“She’s a softy despite being one of the toughest lawyers in Virginia. She can’t resist a charming man.”

“One in particular, right? Do you have any children?”

“Just a son,” he said. “Tyler. He was fourteen when I left. Damn. I’ve missed so much.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I am. Is your son like you?”

“In what way?” Tom asked. His eyes still closed.

“Looks?”

“He’s got Ellen’s eyes and features but my hair coloring and build. He plays baseball and damned if he’s not good at it.”

“What do you two do together?” she asked. Tory was prepared to keep the questions coming all night if she had to. But she hoped that Ben returned soon. Tom’s grip on her hand was solid and strong—borderline painful.

“Build things. We made a fort in the backyard when he was eight. We made Ellen a gazebo for Christmas.”

“I can’t build anything. I bought a kit to make a dollhouse for my niece and finally I tossed the wood in the fireplace and bought her one that was already assembled.”

He was quiet for a minute and she noticed his breathing was starting to even out. His grip on her hand loosened. But Tory didn’t let go. Not yet. She wanted to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine now.”

“You always were, Tom.”

He opened his eyes. They narrowed as he surveyed the interior of the cave. “We’re too close to the entrance.”

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Tory said, trying not to apologize. She was out of her element and she knew it.

“You did good, girl.”

Tom stood and she knew he was operating on sheer guts and force of will at the moment. He led her deeper into the cave, where total darkness surrounded them. “Can we use our glow sticks?”

Tom snapped his on and they found a smooth area of stone where they set up camp. Tom took rations from his pack and Tory ate mechanically. The entire time she kept her eyes on Tom, ready to offer him comfort again if he needed it.

He ate quickly then stood and checked his handgun and slipped the submachine gun back over his shoulders. “I’m going to find Ben and relieve him.”

Tory watched him leave and sat there in the dark, wondering if she was going to get off the island alive. There was something dangerous at work against them.

The new government was supposed to be friendly with the United States. Why, then, were they being hunted?

Tory dug her notepad from her backpack and jotted down some things that were bothering her. The glow stick provided adequate light to write. Someone was going to a lot of trouble to stop them from leaving the island. Why?

She had two theories. The first was that American hostages were gold, especially one who was on network television and fairly well-known. She operated under the theory that they didn’t know Ben was a Forsythe, but if they did, then that raised the stakes. He had a certain celebrity in the media so he might be recognized. Maybe she shouldn’t rule him out.

The second was tied to King’s mission. There were too many things that didn’t add up there. The ambush for one thing—SEAL missions were extremely secretive. Almost no one knew where the platoons were going until they got there.

She heard a rustling noise at the front of the cave. She picked up the submachine gun and held it loosely in her arms. Then she put the gun down. It was probably Ben or Tom returning.

She had no real skill with that weapon and didn’t want to accidentally harm either man. And if the person was a real threat to her, the knife worked better in situations where silence was called for. She took it from the sheath and tried to block the image of the man she’d killed that afternoon.

As soundlessly as possible she made her way toward the noise and felt someone pass right in front of her. She aimed a side kick at the back of his knees and sensed where he fell. But he made no noise. No cursing or anything. It was eerie in the dark.

A hand grabbed her ankle and tugged her off balance. Her assailant controlled her fall, rolling until she was pressed full length underneath him on the cold rock floor of the cave.

She inhaled deeply. The scent of his skin was familiar, and she knew it was Ben.

“Ben Forsythe. It’s childish to sneak up on someone.”

“Tom said you were in the back of the cave. What are you doing up here?”

“Making sure you weren’t a rodent.”

He chuckled and got to his feet. He pulled her up beside him. “Lead us back to the area where you and Tom set up camp.”

“Is Tom on watch?”

“Yeah. I’ll relieve him in a couple of hours.”

“No, you won’t. I will.”

“Tory…”

“What? Don’t give me any of that outdated macho crap. I think I proved today that I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s not macho crap. It’s just that you haven’t had the kind of specialized training that Tom and I have had.”

“I think I can manage.”

“We can argue later. I’m hungry.”

They came to a stop at the small camp that Tory had set up when Tom had left. Tory snapped on another glow stick and sat down.

She picked up her notepad and settled down on her backpack. The floor of the cave was damp and uncomfortable. Ben took off his khaki shirt and folded it as padding before he sat down.

The T-shirt he wore fit like a second skin, and she forced her gaze away from him as he rummaged around for food and ate. She handed him a water bottle and watched as he took long swallows from it.

“I’d kill for a beer,” he said at last.

“Me, too,” she said. Anything to give this entire episode some normal tone. This was the kind of adventure that came along once in a lifetime. It was so different from her everyday life.

“Come sit by me. What are you working on?” he asked.

She tilted her head back. “Figuring out why someone keeps trying to kill us.”

“Come to any conclusions?” he asked.

“I’ve got two theories but I need your help,” she said.

Ben roughly shoved his hands through his hair and tipped his head back. His eyes were tightly closed and after a few deep breaths, he turned that electric gaze of his on her.

This mission had probably turned into more than he’d planned on, as well. And she was certain that that brief kiss earlier had been more than just some odd salute to his playboy image. Was Ben affected by her nearness?

“Okay, shoot.”

She glanced down at her notes, and suddenly Perry filled her mind. She missed him. He was always a good sounding board and was adept at playing devil’s advocate and showing her new patterns that she hadn’t seen before. She missed the quiet way that he was always there for her.

At the same time, sitting here next to Ben, she realized it wasn’t Perry whose arms she wanted around her. It wasn’t Perry whom she wanted to comfort her.

“First, it’s possible that someone recognized you or me and assumes we’d make good hostages. Second, Shannon Conner, from the ABS network has been following me and trying to steal my story. She may have tipped off the local law enforcement with a bogus story about me being a drug runner. Third, Juan Perez may have decided to get serious about proving he’d changed his mind about letting me interview Tom.”

“That first one has merit, at least for you. I took care not to be seen on the island.”

“Yeah, right. I saw you three or four times.”

“By sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

“Are you saying the press doesn’t have a right to go where the story is?”

“Are you looking for a fight?” He tipped her face toward his.

“Maybe.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It distracts me from remembering that guy I killed. And from the fact that we might not make it off the island.” She didn’t want to feel things. Emotions had always scared her because she couldn’t control them.

“The second one is viable, as well. But Shannon Conner really didn’t have time to set up a trap. And Perez wasn’t in Paraiso last night.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. He left for the U.S. on an afternoon commercial flight, which doesn’t mean that he didn’t leave orders for you to be kept away from Tom.”

He’d given her more information than she’d realized he had. She stared at him, trying to unravel everything in her tired mind.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She wasn’t going to tell him that she liked the kind intelligence she saw in his eyes.

“Any other theories?” Ben asked.

“Tom’s original mission. I might be wrong, but aren’t those things usually pretty secretive?”

“You’re not wrong. They are highly secretive,” he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She wondered how he was able to keep going. She was tired beyond belief and would kill for a cup of tea and a back rub.

“How could the platoon be ambushed? Am I just buying into propaganda when I believe that our guys are elite and almost unstoppable?” she asked.

“No, it’s not just advertising. The SEALs are highly trained and they know how to get in and out with a very high success rate. But someone could have noticed them when they came on the island and set up the ambush then.”

“Would the drug runners and Santiago’s government have had time to set up their own men as the hostages?” she asked.

He pulled his legs up and leaned his arms on them. He was studying her so intently, it was impossible for her not to be very aware of him. She carefully looked away.

“I’m not sure. What other questions do you have?” he asked.

She pretended she was sitting across from him in the UBC studios doing an in-depth interview. No time for sexual awareness. “Would it be possible for someone to have slipped up and revealed where the platoon was going?”

“Not likely,” he said. “That kind of slipup doesn’t really happen. But King’s mission seems to be the root of whatever’s going on here. I wonder what they are trying to hide and who’s trying to hide it.”

Those were questions she’d like to have asked Perez. But she knew he wasn’t going to return any calls from her for a while. She suspected the CIA had been involved in setting up Del Torro’s new government. But had they been involved in overthrowing Santiago? And where did King fit into that mess?

Del Torro’s government had firmly insisted that all coca-leaf ranchers cease farming and eradicate the plant. She suspected Del Torro was having a hard time enforcing the new policy. It went against centuries of beliefs and practices. She’d seen similar governments go down in flames when the locals fought back against U.S. policy.

“The new government has been playing nice with the U.S., so it doesn’t make sense that they’d send their militia after us,” Ben said.

“Which leaves the drug runners or coca-leaf ranchers. Do they have choppers?” she asked. She suspected they had planes and probably a good supply of submachine guns like the ones they’d taken from the bandits that had confronted them when they’d left the hotel. But choppers were harder to come by.

“They might. The ranchers are wealthy men. Tom would know better.”

“Did you have a chance to speak to Perez or Del Torro?” Tory asked him.

“No. Officially I’m not even on the island.”

“What if you die here?”

He shrugged.

“Seriously, Ben. What would Alex and your grandfather be told if you didn’t make it back?” Ben and Alex’s grandfather Charles Forsythe had once run the CIA. He’d also helped found Athena Academy.

“Nothing. A fatal accident would be staged in Miami. That’s where I’m supposed to be.”

“Wouldn’t you want them to know that you weren’t just a playboy?”

He shrugged, but she sensed that he’d made his peace with that type of fate. “What good would it do? I’m not doing this for glory.”

She didn’t like the thought of his dying somewhere with no one being the wiser. It seemed wrong. “If you die, I’m telling Alex.”

He tipped her chin up and gave her a steady look that was steely in its determination. “No, you’re not. There’s a reason why I’m covert.”

“It doesn’t seem right. I don’t understand—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “I’ll explain more later.”

She forced her thoughts away from the Forsythe family and back to the problem at hand.

“How long are we staying here?” she asked.

She stuffed her pad and paper away. It was chilly tonight and she rubbed her arms, wrapping them around her waist. She wasn’t really good at sitting around and waiting.

“Until the chopper leaves or midnight—whichever comes first,” Ben said. He stood and shook out his shirt, tossing it to her. She slid her arms into it. His scent clung to the shirt as did his warmth, and she struggled against closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

“Do you have a plane waiting at the airstrip?” she asked when she saw him gazing at her.

“Yes.”

“Let’s hope it’s in better shape than your vehicle was.”

“Let’s hope,” he said with a grin. He gathered the guns and started checking the safeties and ammunition. Methodically he worked through their small arsenal. When he was finished, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asked when she realized he wasn’t going to move any more.

“Might as well. Since you don’t seem interested in passing the time any other way.”

“What a guy thing to say.”

“I am a guy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve noticed you noticing.”

Once they got back to civilization he’d probably not even look twice at her. And she still had a commitment to Perry that she wasn’t ready to end. “Did you like it?”

“Yes. You?”

She wasn’t sure what he wanted to know. “I haven’t noticed you noticing me.”

“Well, I do.”

“Like it?”

“Hell, yeah,” he said. “Come here, Tory.”

“No. I’m not even sure I really trust you, Ben.”

“What’s not to trust?” he asked, standing and walking slowly toward her.

She refused to back away from him. “Everything. You’re a chameleon and you change to suit your environment. How can I be sure this isn’t just another act?”

“How can I be sure this isn’t about your exclusive interview?”

“I guess we can’t trust each other,” she said slowly.

“You make me crazy.”

He tugged her off balance and into his arms. Lowering his head slowly, he gave her plenty of time to back away. But she didn’t. She liked the feel of his arms around her. Lifting her hands, she cupped his jaw. Then he kissed her.

It was a slow and deeply carnal kiss that stripped away all the superficial reasons that she’d been storing up in her head to say no to him. She forgot about Perry waiting in New York. And Jay, who’d been flirting with her forever. She was afraid of Ben and what he made her feel because he challenged her.

And he had secrets that she suspected she’d never be able to understand. She lifted her hands, framing his face and trying to take control of the embrace. But he tilted his head to the side and forced hers back.

His tongue made languid sweeps into her mouth, and his fingers on her jaw stroked up and down. His hands slid down underneath his shirt and her T-shirt. He scraped his fingernail along the edge of her bra, and she shivered.

He lifted his head and stared down at her while they both struggled to breathe.

Ben stiffened and pushed her to the side, reaching for his side arm. “What?”

“Shh…someone’s coming,” Ben said. He lifted his gun and pointed it toward the dark opening of the cave as a figure moved toward them.

Chapter 10

“Put that gun away, stud,” said Tom King as he entered the area. Ben flicked on the safety of his gun. Tory shifted farther away from Ben. His hands lingered at her waist, sliding down her leg as she stood up.

“The chopper is in the air again. This time quartering the area with a searchlight. We need to get moving.”

Ben nodded and pushed to his feet. His eyes were narrowed in what she was coming to think of as his work mode. “Get your stuff together, Tory.”

“I’m ready.” Picking up her black backpack by the straps, she waited for her orders.

“Think fast,” Ben said.

She glanced up just in time to catch the gear he tossed to her. Night-vision goggles.

Tom gathered his stuff and put on his own NVGs. Ben handed her the submachine gun again. She doubted she’d use it. Tom and Ben had much more skill. But she didn’t want to be a liability on this team, and being the only one without a gun could make her that.

Ben handed the second gun to Tom. He slung it over his shoulder. Tory’s fingers itched for her camera, but it was too late to really capture what she’d just seen. Two men who had in a moment been transformed into warriors.

As Ben led the way out of the cave into the inky darkness of the night, Tory saw the story unfolding in her head. Scarred and battle-hardened men who fought for their country while most of those they fought for lived their lives unaware.

They spoke little as they walked through the jungle. They made quick time, hiding in the thick brush twice when a searchlight passed over them. For the most part their journey was uneventful.

“This is more like it,” Tom said. “There’s nothing like night maneuvers.”

Ben and Tom talked about the different missions they’d been on. Not in details but in generalities. Talking about the men and the mishaps. The curious part of Tory that always wanted to know what everyone was thinking was in heaven.

She was half a pace behind the men and she listened to their low-voiced conversation. It gave her new insight into Ben. She heard the confidence in his voice when he talked about something that was more than a job to him.

It scared her to realize she was already beginning to care about Ben. Scared her because it could make her weak.

Weak. She let the word bounce around in her mind. Her father had always praised her for being strong. As strong as the boys. At school she’d been praised for being smart and the top in all her classes. At work she’d been praised for her daring. No one ever looked at Tory and saw what she felt every morning.

Weakness and fear that today everyone would see straight through the facade she usually wore and realize she was a fraud. That despite the hard work, she was just skating through life. Carefully keeping from having any personal relationships that were too demanding or too close.

Her closest friends were from her Athena Academy days. Her lover was on assignment away from her more often than not. Her family lived in a different state. And she knew that she liked it that way. That the distance preserved something deep inside her.

Gradually the jungle grew lighter, and finally they were able to remove their goggles. Tom was telling an amusing tale of his first mission when he’d been so eager to be out in the field that he’d stepped out of a vehicle and into a pothole, breaking his ankle. “Something always goes wrong on a mission.”

“What went wrong when you came down here?” Tory asked. She’d tried to get Tom to tell her on camera, but he’d refused, saying he hadn’t been debriefed yet.

Tom held back a low-lying branch for Tory. “I don’t know. Everything was smooth as silk. We landed early and surrounded the compound. We radioed back to HQ that we were in position and ready to move.”

“Then what happened?”

“They asked us to hold.”

“Is that odd?”

“Not really. Sometimes satellite footage reveals things that we can’t see on the ground.”

“So you were in a holding pattern?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. Finally I got the go-ahead and radioed the platoon.”

“That’s when things went to hell?”

“Yes. The only detail I remember that was unexpected was a helicopter taking off about fifteen minutes before we were given the go.”

“Did you radio in about it?”

“Yes. They said there were no other choppers in the area. Believe me, I’ve had the time to think about it and nothing adds up.”

Ben brought their group to a halt at the chain-link fence surrounding the airport runways. Tom opened his pack and started digging through it. Ben was doing the same thing.

“I wish I’d more time to talk to the locals. Maybe I’ll stay on the island when you guys leave,” Tory said.

“No, you will not,” Ben said without looking up. He took wire clippers from his bag and began working on the fence. “We aren’t sure who is the target of that search.”

“My money’s on Tom,” Tory said.

“You a gambler?” Tom asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Then don’t put your money on me. Del Torro’s government set me free.”

“But someone tried to kill you twice in one night. And Ben overheard them talking about taking you back into custody,” Tory reminded him.

“We were all in that hotel,” Tom said.

Ben stood to continue cutting the fence. Tory stood alongside him.

“Okay.”

He nodded. Tom peeled the fence open, and Tory stepped through first. Ben and Tom followed. In a crouching run, they made their way across the open field and hid behind one of the hangars.

“Which plane is ours?” Tory asked.

Ben pulled a small light from his pocket and flashed it twice. An answering flicker came from a small Piper Cub. Tom led the way to the plane, handgun drawn, eyes alert.

Ben followed behind them. Tory felt a new kind of tension settle over her. The pilot opened the door as they approached the plane.

Before they could climb inside, a bullet sped past them.

Tory flattened herself on the ground and reached for the submachine gun. Ben and Tom were already firing. She glanced at the plane and saw that the pilot was crumpled in the doorway. Please, let me remember my CPR training. She’d never taken the time to renew her training. She remembered something about making sure the airway was clear and starting rescue breathing.

She crawled to him and searched for a pulse. She couldn’t find one in his neck. She grabbed his wrist. Please, God, don’t let him be dead. But he was. The shot had hit him in the head. Dammit.

Bullets continued to be exchanged around her. She reached up and closed the pilot’s eyes. Tory looked at Ben and Tom to see if either of them was going to come over. But they were busy and Tory made her decision. She stood and climbed over the young pilot. Once on board she pulled him back into the plane.

As she leaned over, another bullet came close enough to stir her hair, embedding itself in the metal hull of the aircraft. Tory jumped over the prone man. She tugged him toward the back of the small aircraft and made her way to the cockpit.

Tom and Ben both continued firing in the direction of the assailant, covering each other. Was there more than one gunman or not? Whoever was firing was making judicious use of his bullets. Tory figured the person must be a trained sniper because only the fact that Tom, Tory and Ben weren’t presenting clear targets seemed to keep them from being shot.

Tory climbed into the pilot’s seat and looked at the instrument panel. She’d taken flying classes at Athena Academy, but it had been years since she’d flown a plane. And then she’d always had an instructor with her.

But she could do this. She glanced around the cockpit and found the button to start the engines. She shrugged out of her backpack so that she’d have more mobility.

Tom came to his feet and fired two more rounds in the direction of their enemy and ran for the plane while Ben covered him. Ben waited until Tom was firing again and retreated to the plane.

Tom went to check on the pilot. Ben jumped in but kept the door open, continuing to fire.

“Take off,” he ordered.

Tory steered them out of the hangar toward the runway. The sniper opened fire on the plane and Ben kept firing, holding him back. Tory slowly increased the thrust until the plane started to lift off. The sniper left the cover of the surrounding bush to pursue them.

Ben got off one shot and the sniper went down. The bullet hit the sniper in the chest, and Tory watched as he stumbled and fell. Only then did she notice the long, gold-blond ponytail.

The sniper was a woman. Tory didn’t know why she was surprised. But she was. It was always easier for her to believe that the bad guy was a guy.

Tory concentrated on getting the plane in the air. The aircraft banked sharply when they were in the air, and she heard Ben curse.

“Sorry.”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw both Tom and Ben lifting the pilot into a seat. Tom took the remaining seat in the back and fastened his seat belt.

Ben joined her in the cockpit. He was dirty and sweating, and there was a scrape on his jaw that was bleeding. He had two days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his expression was so fierce that she knew he’d frighten even the strongest of assailants. He was pissed off and still fighting the adrenaline from their near miss.

He holstered his gun and clenched his hands at his sides. “You’re one hell of a lady.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. But I can’t land this thing. I barely remembered enough to get it off the ground. The pilot’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Ben took the co pilot’s seat and took the controls. “You did one hell of a job out there.”

“Ah, it was nothing. Athena women can do anything.”

Tory let go and glanced over her shoulder. Tom had his head back and his eyes closed. There were dark circles under his eyes and a new bandage on his left arm. “Is Tom okay?”

“He took a shot in the arm. The same one that was sprained when we broke him out of the prison.” Ben was concentrating on reading the instruments. “Is there a flight plan over there?”

Tory routed around in the papers on the dash until she found the flight plan. Now that they were in the air she set the autopilot. “Want me to navigate?”

He nodded. “Let me look at it for a minute.”

She handed it to him and their fingers brushed. She shivered at little at the warmth. She’d come close to losing him. Too close, and it unnerved her.

“Are you okay?” she asked when he looked up at her.

“Fine,” he said. She reached for her water bottle and dampened the edge of her T-shirt, then leaned over and wiped the blood off his face.

His breath was warm against her skin.

Ben handed her the flight plan and Tory concentrated on navigating. But inside she was trembling. She wasn’t used to being shot at. She wasn’t used to adrenaline running through her body. She certainly wasn’t used to having people shot and killed in front of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. No way was she going to admit she was seconds away from breaking down. She took one deep breath and then another.

“Your hands are shaking,” he said, taking the map from her. He held her hand in his grip. His thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

“I’m not usually a target.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be glad to get back to the real world.”

“Me, too.”

Twenty-four hours later Tory was in Miami International Airport, waiting for her commercial flight to Manhattan. She hadn’t seen Ben or Tom since they’d parted company at the military base a mere four hours ago.

She’d stopped at the local affiliate station and sent her boss, Tyson Bedders, a few clips from the interview so they could start running promo spots. He was saving the opening slot on the evening news for her story. She told him her footage might be rough, but hopefully she’d have time in the edit bay to work on the piece.

Her flight to New York was a direct one and she knew she’d be cutting it close to the wire, but that was okay. This was the kind of excitement she thrived on. Not getting shot at or trekking through the jungle.

It felt so weird to be wearing new clothing and sitting in an air-conditioned airport terminal after all she’d just experienced. She couldn’t wait to get home.

Yet at the same time she was a little nervous about the conversation she needed to have with Perry. Though she and Ben probably wouldn’t see each other again, she knew it was time to end things with her producer and lover.

She had avoided calling him because she knew he’d be able to read in her voice that something wasn’t right. And she didn’t want to have that conversation while he was in one city and she in another. But the past few days had made a few things crystal clear to her, and one of them was that her relationship with Perry was a shield she used.

She hadn’t seen or heard anything from Shannon Conner, which was suspicious. Tory hoped nothing had happened to Shannon, but breathed a sigh of relief that the other woman wasn’t around.

Tory knew there would be hell to pay if her family found out she’d been in Florida and hadn’t contacted any of them. She dialed Derrick’s number. Her sister-in-law, Marie, answered. Tory liked Marie. She’d been a grade-school teacher before marrying Tory’s DEA brother. Now Marie stayed at home raising their twin boys and younger daughter, all of whom showed every sign of following in their hellion father’s footsteps.

“Hey, it’s Tory. I’m on a layover at the airport.” Tory heard nothing but quiet in the background. Since it was a Monday morning, her nephews and niece were probably at school. The boys, Harry and Joe, were nine, and little Angela was six. They were full of energy and were as curious as Tory ever was. She adored being their aunt and spoiling them.

“How long do you have?” Marie asked. “I can drive down and have a cup of coffee with you.”

“I don’t have enough time—just an hour.”

“Timed it perfectly, huh? Well, Derrick’s at work so you won’t have to talk to him,” Marie said with a laugh.

“Actually I wanted to ask him some questions about the coca-leaf farmers in Puerto Isla.”

“I can have him call you when he gets home.”

“Good idea. Give those rascal nephews and little angel niece of mine a kiss for me. Bye.”

Tory hung up and put her phone away. She pulled the Times from her carry-on bag and scanned the headlines. Not too much going on. A few rumblings about the next presidential campaign and a small article about Puerto Isla and how they were trying to entice businesses there.

Good luck. Businesses would take one look at that place and back away fast. Unless something could be done with the drug lords who, as far as Tory had observed, were still a problem there.

She folded up the Times and took out the Miami Herald. On the society page, she saw Ben’s picture. It had been taken at yet another charity event the day before. He again had a lovely blonde on each arm and was grinning at the camera. Tory was a little surprised. Okay, frankly perplexed. How the heck could Ben have been there when he’d definitely been on that plane with her yesterday?

“Hey.”

Tory glanced up from under her lashes. Ben Forsythe was leaning against one of the poles in the waiting area.

She wasn’t the only one who’d had time to change. Ben had shaved and now wore an Italian silk suit. His hair was perfectly styled, and he had on that sexy but vague grin of his.

Tory raised one eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I just finished judging a beauty contest for charity. You know how it is.”

“Ah, the life of the playboy. Actually I don’t know how it is.”

“It’s a tough job but someone has to do it.”

He sat down next to her and leaned closer. “You look tired.”

She didn’t smile at him, but she wanted to. “I am. You don’t.”

“That’s because I’m not. I finally had a good night’s sleep.”

“You did?” She’d tossed and turned, thinking about him and Perry and the sniper. Also, pieces of the puzzle surrounding Tom King were starting to come together. She suspected that the chopper King had reported taking off before their attack was key to what had gone wrong on Puerto Isla.

“Yes, I dreamed of you.”

“I think I’m going to be sick. That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He leaned back against the seat back and glanced down at the paper in her lap. “Nice photo.”

“Not bad.”

“How did…?”

“What?”

“Play the innocent all you want. I know—”

He covered her lips with his fingers. “You don’t have to say it. I know what you think of my lifestyle.”

She nodded. She’d almost blurted out the truth of his whereabouts. “I really am overtired. Not thinking the way I should be.”

“I know.”

The flight to Manhattan was announced, and Tory wasn’t surprised that Ben had the seat next to hers. Once they were seated, Ben lifted the armrest from between them and nudged her head onto his shoulder.

“Don’t coddle me, Ben.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But even tough-ass Athena grads need to sleep sometime.”

She closed her eyes to tune him out. She warned herself that Ben Forsythe was exactly the type of trouble she didn’t need right now. But his shoulder under her cheek was firm and hard. And it comforted her as she finally drifted into sleep.

Chapter 11

Tory’s phone rang as she got in the cab at the airport. She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was the trunk number for her brother at work.

“Hey, Derrick.” She’d lost Ben in the cab line and she knew that was probably a good thing. Her life was too complicated right now to have to deal with another man in it.

“Hey, yourself. Marie said you needed to talk to me?” he asked. Derrick was five years older than Tory and had always been very protective and bossy.

“I have a few questions about Puerto Isla and the DEA. There’s something fishy with that new government.”

“Fishy how?”

“Well, they invited me down there and then refused to let me see my interview subject.”

“There have been some pretty steady rumors of some shady deals between the new regime and some U.S. government officials.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say, but the rumors went pretty high.”

“To the U.S. drug czar?” she asked. The U.S. drug czar was the man appointed by the U.S. president to coordinate all aspects of federal drug programs and spending.

“I wasn’t able to confirm anything. Keep this close to the chest. The people I spoke to about this were definitely not happy to have questions surface.”

“Asking questions is what I do,” she said.

“Be careful, Tory. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

“Derrick, you worry too much.” She dismissed his concern. He hadn’t wanted her to go undercover inside a women’s prison. Yet that story had been the one to bring her to the network’s attention.

“You’re heading into dangerous waters. Let it drop.”

“I’ll take your words under consideration,” she said.

“And do whatever the hell you want,” he said.

“If there is a connection between the drug czar and Del Torro, Puerto Isla’s new leader, I can’t let the story drop.”

“Be careful,” he said again and hung up.

Tory leaned back in her seat and realized that each question she got an answer to generated more questions. The cab stopped in front of the studio and she got out, ready to concentrate on editing the King interview.

Tory rubbed the back of her neck and replaced the phone in the cradle. Her exclusive interview with Tom King was a smashing success. She’d had a few congratulatory calls from colleagues, as well as one from her mother.

“Got a minute?”

She glanced up to see Tyson standing in the doorway. The tall African American man was a dominant force at UBC and in the news world. She liked him as a man, respected him for his integrity and his willingness to go out on a limb for his reporters.

“Sure thing, boss man.”

He smiled and entered her office, taking a seat in one of the two guest chairs in front of her desk.

“We were all very impressed with the King interview.”

“Thanks. I thought it turned out well. He agreed to a follow-up in a few days’ time.”

“Do you want to do an uplink this time?”

Tory thought about it for a minute. An uplink would save time, as she’d be able to stay in Manhattan and concentrate on new stories and catch up with the Cassandras on the Athena investigation into Rainy’s death and possible child. But she wanted to talk to King in person. Interview subjects were more open when you sat next to them. “No. There are a few things that aren’t adding up. Tom was going to look into them at the base.”

“What kinds of things?” Bedders asked. He crossed his legs and leaned forward.

“I’m not sure. I talked to a DEA agent who said there were persistent rumors of money changing hands on Puerto Isla in exchange for DEA and FBI agents looking the other way at certain coca farmers.”

“Someone here in the U.S.”

“Yes. From what my source told me, the rumors went pretty high.”

“How high?”

Tory wondered if she should tell Tyson. He might kill the story before she had a chance to get it off the ground. “Drug czar or higher. My source said that when he asked questions he got shut down in a way that indicated someone very high up knew something they didn’t want us to find out.”

Tyson leaned back in his chair. “Are you sure you want to go after this?”

“Definitely. Men died, Tyson. Good men who were, if this proves to be true, led to their deaths to cover for a very greedy person.”

“Okay. Go to Virginia and follow up with King. Then go to D.C. and shake some cages. I’ll get you a temporary office at the D.C. station so you can file stories from there.”

“I really appreciate your backing on this, Tyson.”

“Make us proud, Tory.”

“I intend to.”

“Good. Be thinking about what you want for your next contract.”

Tory tried not to smile at her boss when he said that. But she couldn’t help it. Hard work and perseverance were finally paying off. Her contract would be up for renegotiation in six months’ time. “I will.”

“Have you considered the weekly newsmagazine offer?”

“I’m still thinking about it. I want to be free to pursue stories like this one. Not trapped behind the anchor desk.”

“Bring your wish list to the negotiating table.”

Tyson left without saying anything else. Tory leaned back in her chair. Hot damn. Unless she was very mistaken, it sounded as if she was going to be able to write her own ticket at the network.

This called for a celebration. Her first thought was of Ben, but she didn’t really have the right to call him. Besides, she was still involved with Perry. She reached for the phone, wanting to share her good news with Perry. At the last second she decided to surprise him.

She called their favorite Italian restaurant, which was just a block from Perry’s apartment, and then went downstairs to get a cab. Twenty minutes later she let herself into Perry’s apartment with the key he’d given her.

“Perry, I’ve got good news. And I’m ready to celebrate.”

She noticed the wine bottle open on the coffee table and the two half-empty glasses. Setting the food on the counter, she walked farther into the apartment.

“Perry?”

He appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, pants unfastened, hair disheveled and lipstick on his neck. Son of a bitch.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Tory asked.

Perry rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t move toward her. Any guilt she’d harbored about the one kiss she’d shared with Ben evaporated. She swallowed hard against emotions she hadn’t thought she’d felt for Perry. Only now, knowing he’d been with another woman, could she face the fact that he’d meant something important to her.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said at last. He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He looked every one of his forty-five years at the moment. His lean body showed few signs of age, but his face made up for it.

“Obviously.”

Her mother had always drilled into her that a lady didn’t embarrass herself or others in awkward situations, but she knew Mom hadn’t meant in situations like this.

“Perry?” a familiar feminine voice called from the bedroom. Seconds later, Shannon Conner walked up behind Perry and wrapped one of her arms around his waist.

Betrayal ripped through Tory, weakening her knees. She started toward them and both of them backed up. Tory froze. What did they think she was going to do, kick Shannon’s ass? Though in her gut she knew it’d feel good, she wasn’t going to. Neither Shannon nor Perry was worth it.

She shook her head and turned to walk out of the apartment. The need to escape was powerful. She stopped thinking and forced her legs to take one step after the other.

Perry grabbed her arm before she got down the hallway. He smelled strongly of sex and another woman’s perfume. Not just any other woman’s. Shannon’s. The one person on the planet who held a grudge against Tory.

“Wait, Tory. I can explain.”

Perry’s grip on her arm wasn’t that strong. Tory shrugged away from him. “I don’t care.”

“Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

She wasn’t taking the blame for this. Perry was old enough to keep his pants zipped if he wanted to. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment lust-beyond-control thing. “You asked me to move in with you, Perry. Do you remember that?”

“And you refused,” he said.

“Good thing. It would be crowded in your bed.”

He cursed under his breath. “Can we please not do this in the hallway?”

“I really don’t care what your neighbors think.”

“The network might,” he said.

He was right. This was Perry her mentor, not Perry her lover. She knew that as a public persona she had to be untouchable in public. She couldn’t even run to the grocery store without getting dressed and putting on makeup. She followed him back into his apartment. Shannon was wearing Perry’s shirt and going through Tory’s purse.

Tory pushed past Perry and grabbed her purse. Shannon held on to the purse, and Tory brought her left hand down on Shannon’s arm with a ridge-hand stroke. Not hard enough to break anything other than Shannon’s grip.

Shannon’s arm dropped to her side.

“What were you doing, Shannon? Searching my purse for some story that you couldn’t find on your own?”

“I don’t need to find them with Perry feeding them to me.”

Tory turned to Perry. He had his arms crossed over his chest, but in his eyes she saw guilt.

“I’m leaving.”

“Shannon, leave us alone for a minute?” Perry asked.

Shannon left the room. Tory stood in the middle watching Perry. The expression on his face was easy to read. He was sorting through the lies and deciding which ones she might believe.

“How long has this been going on? When did she get back from Puerto Isla?” she asked at last. Because a few things were starting to make sense. Like how Shannon kept showing up at the same place Tory did. Why Shannon kept going after the same stories that Tory was on.

“Since you went to Britain last summer. She returned home from Puerto Isla yesterday. She didn’t get a story on the island.”

Right before Rainy’s death. She stared at him for a moment, unable to believe that he’d betrayed her so thoroughly. Because the Athena piece Shannon had done had been based on a few things that the Cassandras had discovered. “You told Shannon what I discussed with you.”

“Like what?”

“The Athena stuff. The stuff about Rainy.”

“Maybe.”

Liar. He had. She could see it in his eyes. “Maybe? Why? She twisted the facts, Perry. You know that, right?”

“She’s not the same kind of reporter you are.”

“I know. I won’t do a story unless the facts are based in truth.”

“I don’t want to discuss ethics with you.”

“Obviously. Your girlfriend was just going through my purse.”

“Ah, hell, Tory. You were drifting away from me. You didn’t need me at work or at home. I…I needed a woman who did need me.”

All this because she’d wounded his male ego? “You could have said something.”

“No, I couldn’t have. Nothing gets in your way where your career is concerned.”

He was right. “Whatever. I brought dinner, you two enjoy it.”

Tory walked out again before he could say anything else. She took the stairs down and hurried past the doorman. The streets weren’t busy this time of night, scarcely a car or a person was there. She was alone. She stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, then tipped her head back and looked up at the stars.

My life is screwed up. Rainy, help me. Why can’t I stop competing long enough to settle down?

No answers came to her from the stars, and for once talking to her friend didn’t help. Perry had been a complication and now he was gone. She could accept the newsmagazine position without worrying about how to bring him along with her. Not that he’d been holding her back, but she’d not wanted to move on without him.

She felt alone despite her many friends and colleagues and her wonderful family in Florida. She didn’t have someone else nearby to share the events of her life or to celebrate with, because she’d let almost no one in.

She hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. Well, at least now she knew where Shannon kept getting all her scoops. That was one less thing to worry about. She’d make sure that Perry was kept out of the loop where her assignments were concerned.

When she pulled her wallet out to pay the cab, a slip of paper fell into her lap. Tory picked it up, thinking it was the receipt from the Italian place.

But it wasn’t. “Stop asking questions,” the note said.

The handwriting was kind of sloppy. Shannon had slipped over the edge, Tory decided. Especially if she thought this note was going to scare her.

Tory took a long hot shower and climbed into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. So she got back out and fixed herself a cup of tea before turning on her computer.

She was a machine, she reminded herself. A journalistic, female machine that got the stories and the answers that no one else could. Slumping forward on her desk, she felt like a broken one.

She’d never done depression well. Her naturally sunny personality always insisted on making her see the bright side.

It had been time to move on from Perry. She wasn’t really heartbroken, because she’d never really cared that deeply for him. He’d actually done her a favor.

She just didn’t like the way things had ended. She’d had a perfect little speech that she’d planned to give Perry. Something to make him feel better about their parting.

She didn’t like losing, and this time she’d definitely not been the winner. But it went deeper than that. How could she have been in a relationship with someone who would betray her so deeply?

Snap out of it.

The words were so forceful she thought that someone had spoken, but no one was in the room with her.

She checked her e-mail and saw one waiting from Lee Chou. She opened the message and skimmed it quickly. He’d found a fertility clinic that had had a break-in around the same time as Rainy’s supposed appendectomy.

She skimmed further down the e-mail. The missing and damaged items included donor sperm. One donor whose sperm was listed as unrecovered was…Thomas King. The same Thomas King she’d just helped rescue? Tory began writing on the pad by the computer. She’d ask Tom when she spoke to him.

That was a bizarre connection. And he’d been married at the time, so why would he have donated sperm?

She picked up the phone and calculated the time difference to where Josie lived. It was still a decent hour.

Josie answered on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s Tory.”

“Hey. I saw your story on the news tonight. Nice job.”

“Thanks. The brass liked it, too. I think I’m going to get a big promotion come contract time.”

“You deserve it. So why are you calling me?”

“Well…I just heard back from one of my sources at the FBI. There was a break-in at a fertility clinic around the time those surrogate ads that Darcy found ran. And this is the weird part. Thomas King had donated or stored sperm there. His specimen was one of those listed as missing or destroyed.”

“Your Thomas King?”

“I’m not sure. But that’s an odd coincidence. I’m wondering if I’m missing something here.”

“If it is the same man, then we know that he’s highly intelligent and skilled.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Is it a stretch to think this is connected to Rainy? The timing of the burglary is about right.”

“I don’t know. Have you talked to any of the other Cassandras?”

“Not yet.” Tory wasn’t sure she could talk to Alex right now. Knowing about Ben’s secret life and not being able to share it with her friend would be difficult. “I think I’ll put it all in an e-mail and send it to you guys.”

“Good idea.”

“Josie, I need one more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“King mentioned that they arrived on Puerto Isla, they were ordered to wait before going in. Do you have access to any surveillance information from that mission?”

“I couldn’t share that with you even if I did.”

“I just want to know why they were delayed.”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I have a DEA source that suggested someone big—U.S.-drug-czar big—may have been taking a kickback from the Puerto Isla government.”

“So, you think the U.S. government set up King and his entire platoon?”

“I’m not sure yet. But all of the information I’ve gathered points to a connection between the SEAL ambush and drugs.”

“I’ll look into it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I was hoping for.”

Tory disconnected the call. She sipped her tea, letting the information she had stew in her head. She had a gut feeling that King’s sperm had been the target of the clinic burglary. And that he had no idea his sperm may have been stolen. But did that have anything to do with the events on Puerto Isla?

In theory it seemed pretty far-fetched. The fertility clinic break-in had happened more than twenty years ago. And the players in this game would have all been doing different things with their lives.

Her gut said the DEA angle was the key in Puerto Isla, and she was going to call her brother back in the morning and pump him one more time for more information.

She did an Internet search to see who the drug czar had been when the SEAL team was sent to Puerto Isla. Paul Terrence. Interesting. He’d managed James Whitlow’s campaign for the presidency. She’d call in the morning and see if she could get an appointment with him.

She finished off her tea and leaned back in her chair. Her mind buzzed with possibilities. Some of them were really far-fetched.

One of the first things Tory had learned when it came to unraveling secrets was that you had to start with every plausible scenario.

She wrote down a number one on the yellow pad. Tom King was ambushed because his sperm was illegally used to fertilize Rainy’s eggs and the people who did this didn’t want him to recognize his kids.

Two. King’s sperm had nothing to do with the Puerto Isla events and King and his team saw or heard something that they didn’t realize was important.

Three. The person behind the stolen sperm and the DEA connection were the same.

She crossed off number three. That was too strange to contemplate. She rubbed her eyes. She was tired and not thinking straight. But she felt as if the answer was right in front of her.

Chapter 12

Tory’s cell phone rang on the way to LaGuardia to catch her flight to Norfolk, Virginia. The cab was making slow progress on this chilly Thursday morning in November. The cabbie was listening to talk radio. “Chris Pearson was in South Dade County this week fund-raising for President Whitlow’s reelection campaign next year.”

Tory’s mind was fixated on Pearson. She’d seen him in Puerto Isla at the presidential palace, just before the start of her troubles.

Tory tuned out the rest of the newscast. It was one week until Thanksgiving. Tory was afraid the caller might be her mother asking if she was coming home for the holiday. She didn’t want to leave this story long enough to visit her family for the holiday and she knew her mom would argue about it. But the number wasn’t a familiar one.

“Tory.”

“It’s Marie.”

Her sister-in-law sounded tired and upset—as if she’d been crying.

“Where are you calling from?” Tory asked. She had her sister-in-law’s cell, home and work numbers programmed into her phone.

“The hospital. Derrick was shot four times last night. Two other members of his team are dead.”

“Oh, my God. Is he okay? Do I need to fly down?” What the hell had happened?

“Yes. He’s in surgery and should be out soon.”

“Are Mom and Dad there yet?”

“They’re on their way.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Tory disconnected and called her boss, informing him of the situation with her brother. Tyson insisted she go to Miami, saying the follow-up with King could wait. Tory was glad, because if she’d had to choose between work and family, family would win.

She was able to get a stand-by flight that left at almost the same time her flight to D.C. had been scheduled to leave. She rented a car at Miami International and drove quickly to the hospital where Derrick was being treated.

She was directed to the critical-care unit and took the elevator to the proper floor. The first person she saw when she stepped out of the car was her sister-in-law. Tory walked straight to Marie and gave her a hug. Seeing Marie made Tory start crying. The entire flight she’d refused to think about Derrick, her big bear of a brother, being injured.

“How is he?”

“One of the bullets nicked his lung, and it collapsed, but it’s reinflated. Dad just went to try to get an update. Your mom took the kids to her house.”

“Is he still in surgery?” Tory asked. She wrapped her arm around Marie and moved them to the vinyl-covered seats that lined the wall.

“No, he got out about twenty minutes ago. But we haven’t been able to see him.”

Marie held tightly to Tory’s hand, and though Tory made her living with words, she couldn’t find any to comfort Marie. Her own heart was heavy, her mind swirling with a million different scenarios. She refused to settle too long on any of them.

Her dad, William “Buster” Patton, came around the corner a few minutes later. Tory ran to him and he held her close. He was a big bear of a man and his hug engulfed her. She closed her eyes and prayed for his strength. He pulled back and scrutinized her through his dark brown eyes.

“Glad you made it, kiddo.”

“What’s the news?”

“He’s recovering and we can go in to see him in a few minutes.”

“Thank God. He’s out of the woods?”

Marie went in first to visit with Derrick, then Tory’s dad did. Tory stood in the doorway. A wave of helplessness washed over her. Derrick looked vulnerable in that ICU bed, and he’d never looked that way before.

Finally Tory had a chance to talk to her brother. She carefully hugged him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “How are you?”

“Well, I’ve been better,” he said with some effort, a shadow of the wry grin she was used to seeing on his face.

“I’ll say. And you thought my job was dangerous.”

“Stop asking questions about Puerto Isla.”

“Why?”

“I got an anonymous warning in the locker room before we went out on the raid.”

She held his wrist, feeling around until his pulse beat against her finger, reassuring her that her big brother was okay. “Then you got shot. Derrick, I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to poke around in this.”

He turned his hand in her grip and held it lightly. “You’re not responsible for this. But I don’t want to be visiting you in ICU next. So stop.”

Could Derrick’s accident be her fault? She knew that the person she was searching for had been willing to kill an entire platoon of SEALs. She doubted he’d hesitate to take out a DEA operative. “Don’t ask any more questions for me.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not letting go of this story. But I’ll make sure that I don’t contact the family until it’s over.”

“Just be careful, Tory.”

Tory would be doubly careful now. She hugged her brother one last time and left his room. Her dad and Marie were waiting for her. “How long will he be in ICU?”

“We’re not sure. The doctor said they might move him to a regular room tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to stay and help with the kids?” she asked Marie.

“No, your mom is handling that.”

Tory said goodbye to them and drove to her parents’ house. She visited with her mother for the afternoon, and booked herself on flight the next morning to Virginia. She called Jay and asked him to meet her in Norfolk. She had a very personal reason to get to the bottom of this story.

The airport was busy with early-morning commuters. Tory let the people flow around her. For the first time the stakes of pursuing a story were raised. Her brother had almost died after asking questions for her. She battled with her own sense of self-preservation for about a second. Before she realized that someone was scared, and scared people always had something to hide.

She hurried to her gate and took a seat in the lounge area. She opened her laptop and started making notes. She pulled out her yellow pad from two nights ago and looked again at her list of three scenarios.

She needed a second opinion. She needed a different point of view and someone to bounce ideas off of. But she wasn’t going to risk any of her friends or family.

She should call Josie and the other Cassandras and warn them to be careful. Although they might take offense. All of them knew how to be discreet. That was another thing that Rainy and Athena Academy had taught them. Her heart lurched, and for a minute she allowed the anger that had lingered at Rainy’s untimely death to flood her.

She needed her friend’s advice. But Rainy was gone. Tory was on her own despite having five Athena friends. She didn’t want to risk anyone else getting hurt because of a story she was pursuing.

On her own.

Her heartbeat sped up and that weird elixir of fear, excitement and anticipation buzzed in her veins. She shivered and closed her eyes, visualizing the end result. Visualizing her story coming together.

“Miss Patton?”

Tory glanced up. A young man with one earring in his left ear and a tattoo on his neck stood there. His hair was spiked and his eyes lined with thick black eyeliner.

“Yes?”

“Here,” he said, thrusting a piece of paper at her. He walked out of the lounge.

Tory opened the note and immediately saw the American-eagle insignia that was AA.gov’s trademark. The note was brief and asked her to go the rest room to receive a package to deliver to the naval air station in Norfolk.

Tory tucked the note into the pocket of her blazer. Though she hadn’t sent a note to the courier group to tell them her plans, she wasn’t surprised to be contacted. The group was highly connected.

Tory put away her laptop and notes and left the lounge. The bathroom facility wasn’t busy when she entered, and she glanced around for her contact. A woman in a dark blue suit came up next to Tory at the mirror.

Tory pulled her bright red tube of lipstick out of her purse. The woman next to her had an identical tube. Tory set her purse on the counter and leaned closer to the mirror. She saw the woman’s hand flash briefly and deep into Tory’s purse. A moment later, the woman turned and left.

Tory saw the small brown envelope sitting on top of her wallet. She dropped the lipstick into her purse and zipped it shut before leaving the bathroom.

A short while later, Tory was on the plane on her way to Thomas King and, hopefully, the answers to some of the more bizarre questions surrounding this story.

Jay was waiting for her at the rental-car counter at the airport in Norfolk. He’d come from D.C., where he’d been covering the latest Washington tug-of-war. President James Whitlow’s recommendation for the empty Supreme Court seat was being met with a lot of opposition.

But then, most of Whitlow’s presidency had been filled with strife. Even his campaign had fallen under intense public scrutiny. Tory had covered some of the fall-out from that. He’d had a lot of contributions to his campaign from the business sector.

“I was beginning to think I should go ahead without you.”

“Funny, Jay. You might be a talented cameraman, but you don’t know the questions to ask.”

“I’m sure I could wing it.”

“It takes talent and experience to do a good interview.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Then why are yours always well received?”

She punched his arm and took the keys from him. “Wise-ass.”

They made their way to the rental, a truck with four-wheel drive. “Can you handle this truck?”

“Hell, yes. I grew up on a ranch in Florida. I learned to drive on a truck.”

“Is there anything you don’t know how to do?” he asked.

There were a few things. But she was careful to never let anyone notice them. She was of the school of never let anyone see you sweat. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

Tory noticed a couple of other reporters from rival networks at the airport. She knew Thomas King was on everyone’s radar. But Shannon, thank God, wasn’t there. Tory still felt a simmering anger toward the other woman. Shannon had a vendetta against her. First going after Perry, then Athena.

Tory forced thoughts of Shannon to the back of her mind but she was still angry and would like nothing better than to expose Shannon for the hack she was. But that would have to wait.

It was dusk by the time they headed toward the King household. Tory called her parents while they were driving and learned her brother was doing well.

Tory parked in the Kings’ driveway and she and Tory got out of the truck. It was cold out, and she tugged on her leather gloves. She reviewed her notes. “Ready?”

Jay nodded and they approached the brick house with its neatly landscaped yard. A basketball hoop hung over the driveway of the three-car garage, and a ball rested in the shrubs. Two bikes stood by the front yard.

Tom opened the door for them. He looked one hundred percent healthier than the last time Tory had seen him. He’d asked to keep his reunion with his wife private, but had agreed to give UBC and Tory this interview on the Kings’ home turf.

“Hello, Tom. Are you enjoying being back in the States?”

He nodded and stepped back. Tonight he looked like any other guy in suburban America. He wore a pair of chinos and a plain black sweater. Most of his visible wounds had healed. “Come in.”

“Do you remember Jay? He’s going to be shooting us again.”

The men shook hands. The hallway of the King home was adorned with navy plaques and pictures of the small family of three at different holidays. “We’ll let Jay mike you.”

Tory glanced up to see a very attractive woman coming down the stairs. She was tall, at least five-seven, and curvy. She had a warm smile and thick blond hair that fell in waves to her shoulders. “This is my wife, Ellen.”

Tory stepped forward and shook Ellen’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for letting us come to your home. Where can we set up for the interview?”

Ellen led the way to a formal living room. It reminded Tory of the room in her parents’ house where no one was allowed to wear their shoes, drink coffee or eat. While Jay set up the equipment and miked Ellen, Tory turned to Tom. “Can I speak to you alone?”

“Sure,” Tom said. They stepped back into the foyer. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame.

Tory took a deep breath. She’d asked some tough questions in her years as a reporter and she didn’t want to just blurt this one out. “I have an odd question for you. Did you ever visit a fertility clinic?”

He seemed surprised. He ran his hand through his thick blond hair. Then he took her arm and led her away from the opening leading to the living room. “As a matter of fact, yes. That was back when Ellen and I were newly married, before we had Tyler. Because of the nature of my job, there was always a possibility that I might not make it back or would come back in bad shape. And Ellen and I wanted kids.”

“I understand.” Her brother had done the same thing before Marie had given birth to the boys. Then they’d asked to have the sperm destroyed. Men who laid their lives on the line every day had to consider things that most didn’t. “Are you familiar with the Athena Academy?”

“Yes. I didn’t mention it when we were on the island, but I taught a course there for a semester.”

“How long ago?”

“It was during the first year that the school actually opened. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been researching some odd things pertaining to Rainy Miller. Lorraine. She would have been Rainy Carrington when you were there.”

“I remember her. She was one of my strongest students.”

“Rainy was recently killed,” Tory said. Tears burned the back of her eyes. Suddenly she felt the loss more powerfully than she had since she’d first gotten the call. She wrapped her arms around her waist and took a deep breath.

“Bear with me, because this is going to sound a little strange. An autopsy was performed, and it revealed some scarring on Rainy’s ovaries. We believe her eggs were mined, way back when she was an Athena student. In the process of our investigation, we found out that your sperm had been stored at a fertility clinic in Arizona that was burgled around the same time.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“My group of friends from Athena. Rainy was our group leader for our first year at Athena.”

“What does this have to do with my sperm? We were contacted about the break-in. The authorities were certain that sperm wasn’t the object of the break-in. Samples were destroyed randomly as the burglars went through the office.”

“We don’t know. But we are continuing to look into it. What were you teaching at Athena?”

“Special-ops techniques.”

“When I was at Athena we had a Green Beret.” Athena had close ties to the military and each year they rotated in different experts from all the military branches.

“Is everything okay, Tom?” Ellen called from the living room.

She and Tom went back into the living room to get ready for the interview. Tory put aside the information Tom had given her. She couldn’t wait to let everyone know what she’d found out. But the new information only led to more questions.

Ellen and Tom sat on a brocade-covered love seat. On the end table next to them were their wedding picture and a picture of Tom and Tyler, their son. Tory took a deep breath and started asking questions.

“Tom, what was the first thing you did when you got home?” she asked. The camera was trained on Tom and Ellen, so Tory didn’t have to worry about how she appeared. She kept her notepad in her hand so she could take notes, as well.

Tom put his arm around his wife. “Hugged my wife and son.”

“How has life changed for you since you’ve been back?” Tory asked. She could see that the couple was happy to be back together. “Ellen, how does it feel to have your husband come back from the dead?”

“Wonderful and unreal sometimes. I don’t want to let him out of my sight for a second because…I’m afraid I may have dreamed that he’s alive.”

Tom put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her close to his chest, whispering something in his wife’s ear. She smiled up at him and then shifted back to her own seat. Tory noticed the Kings still held hands.

“What’s life like now, Tom?”

“I’m still adjusting to being out of prison and having a normal routine again.”

“Will you be going back on active duty?”

Tom glanced at Ellen, then back at Tory. “As soon as I’m cleared by my doctor.”

“Ellen, how do you feel about that?” Tory asked. From her body language Tory knew that Ellen wasn’t too happy to have her husband risking his life again.

“I’m very proud of my husband and his service to his country.”

“We all are. But isn’t there a part of you that wishes he’d stay home?”

“There’s always a part of me that worries for him and for the risks he takes. But he wouldn’t be the man I love if he didn’t take them.” She tipped her head toward Tom. He squeezed her closer to him with his arm, and for a minute Tory felt a pang of longing.

Tory was reminded of Ben. And she knew that deep inside in the vulnerable place that she didn’t want to acknowledge she had, she felt the same way.

“I think we can all understand that. Tom, we didn’t really have a chance to discuss your captivity in our first interview. Would you mind telling me a little about that time?” She’d asked him about it when they’d been trying to get out of Puerto Isla, but not on camera.

“What do you want to know?” Tom asked. He lifted his arm away from Ellen and sat up straighter.

“Were you questioned?”

“I was questioned repeatedly about what I saw on the island.”

His eyes were hard as glass, and all of the love and affection he’d displayed just moments earlier toward his wife were carefully concealed now. She realized she was glimpsing the warrior she’d met on the island. “And how did they react to your answers?”

“They didn’t believe anything I said. Each day they asked the same questions again and again.”

“What questions did they ask?”

“What was I doing there? When did I arrive on the island? Where had I gone? How had I found the camp? Those types of questions.”

She sensed he was ready to end this line of questioning. Especially in front of Ellen. She resolved to finish the interview as quickly as possible. “Who held you captive?”

“The Puerto Isla government, under Diego Santiago.”

“Once he was kicked out of power by Alejandro Del Torro’s rebel group, were you freed?”

“No. I didn’t know of the change in government until I was rescued.”

“By who?”

“Another SEAL team.”

“How?”

“I can’t really say much, but they were able to get me off the island.”

“Ellen, how did you feel when you first learned your husband had come back from the dead?” Tory asked.

Ellen reached for her husband’s hand and held it in both of hers. “I cried. At first I didn’t believe it.”

“When did you finally accept your husband was alive?”

She never took her eyes off of Tory, but Tory noted that Ellen’s hands tightened around her husband’s. “When I held him in my arms.”

“Thank you both for speaking to me.”

“You’re welcome, Tory.”

Tory nodded and then turned to face the camera. The interview was concluded and would run tomorrow night as part of UBC’s weekly newsmagazine, but she needed to wrap up from here. “The Kings will be in Washington, D.C., later this month for a celebratory dinner honoring United States Navy Commander Thomas King. I’m Tory Patton, UBC News, reporting from Little Creek, Virginia.”

They turned off the mikes and Tory turned back to the couple. “Do you mind if Jay shoots some cutaways of your house?”

“No. Not at all. I’ll show him around,” Ellen said.

Jay and Ellen left the room. Tory took off her mike and put her notepad back in her purse. She wanted Tom to relax. She needed some answers from him. Answers to questions she didn’t intend to ask on air. At least not yet.

“Tom, is it possible that your platoon was set up?”

He shrugged and leaned back against the couch. “How?”

“I have a source in the DEA that I asked about the Puerto Isla situation, and he suggested that perhaps someone from the U.S. government was on the island when you were there.”

“It’s possible. As you know, the DEA and FBI are very active in Central America, working to ensure the eradication of the coca leaf.”

“But they aren’t always successful.” Tory knew this from the struggles the U.S. was encountering in many South and Central American nations, including Bolivia.

“No, they aren’t. I’m really not sure.”

“Did you see anything on the satellite photos while you were ordered to wait?” she asked.

“Our satellite equipment blinked out, and we had to wait to put it back to move.”

“I have a theory. Will you tell me if it makes sense to you?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s say that someone from our government was down there meeting secretly with the drug lords and didn’t know your team was coming in.”

“It could be possible, but our orders come from pretty high up. So this shadow government man would have to have been connected but not with the military. And then when we reported that we were moving in, someone would have had to realize we were there.”

“Could that have happened?”

“It’s possible, but why?”

“I’m not sure. Who is the American ambassador to Puerto Isla? He’d know which government officials were present when your team went in.”

“It’s David Addler.”

“Did the prison guards ask you about him and his office?”

“No. Addler, his team and all U.S. personnel were evacuated from Puerto Isla after my team was killed.”

“I’m going to contact Addler.”

“Good luck, Tory. And if you find out anything about the other matter, the clinic break-in, will you keep me advised?”

“Yes. I’m going to pass your number on to the other Cassandras. There are six of us. Josie Lockworth, Darcy Steele, Alex Forsythe—she doesn’t know that her brother, Ben, is anything but a playboy by the way—Samantha St. John and Kayla Ryan.”

“Copy me on the e-mail so I can have their contact information.”

“I will. And if you think of anything else about Puerto Isla, please let me know.”

Jay shot Ellen, Tom and their son, Tyler, sitting at the kitchen table drinking soda and coffee. He also got Tom and Tyler playing video games and Ellen watching them both. Then he shot Tory asking her questions with the camera on her.

Satisfied with all the shots they’d gotten, they packed up to leave. Jay got everything in the rental truck while Tory said goodbye to Tom. She was halfway to the rental vehicle when something whizzed by her head, stirring her chin-length hair.

She dropped to the ground as she realized that it was a bullet and someone was firing at her.

Chapter 13

Tory tucked her body and rolled into the covering brush. Branches caught at her wool coat, and she lost her cashmere scarf. Scanning the area to the west of the house, she tried to find the sniper. But she couldn’t see anything. It was too dark.

Lying as still as possible, she waited about a minute before deciding to chance moving toward the vehicle. Where was Jay? Had he been hit?

She crawled on her belly toward the car, staying in the shadows. She heard the distant sound of an engine starting.

She jumped to her feet and ran to the rental. Jay already had the truck running. She slid into the passenger seat.

“Jesus. Was it my imagination or was someone shooting at us?” Jay said.

“We were definitely being shot at.” Tory took her cell phone from her bag and dialed King’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Someone just shot at Jay and I as we left your house.”

“Are you in danger?”

“We’re both in the truck and I just heard an engine start. I believe our assailant got away. Should I call the police?”

“Let me take care of that. Be careful, Tory.”

She rang off with Tom. And turned to Jay. He’d reached over the seat and pulled a flask out of his camera bag. He took a deep swig and then offered her the flask.

“No, thanks. Did you hear that engine start? Let’s see if we can find them.”

Jay drove west, in the direction that Tory indicated she’d heard the car start. “The shooter was using a silencer.”

Jay nodded. He gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands. She wondered if he had the shakes as she did. She was sick and tired of being shot at. It was unnerving to think someone was out there looking for them. The shots were too well placed for Tory to doubt that someone was warning them. But who?

“A bullet nicked the back of the truck when I was stowing the equipment.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Pissed, but otherwise fine.”

They caught a brief glance of some taillights before the car turned onto the divided highway and blended with the traffic. Tory’s pulse was racing and her heart hammered inside her head.

“This is getting to be routine,” Tory said. She was ticked off and more than a little worried. The stakes were higher than she’d believed possible. She might have stopped digging if someone hadn’t kept trying to kill her, but now she wouldn’t.

“What is?” Jay asked.

“Getting shot at.” She wondered if Ben ever got used to it. And if he did, what tips could he offer her.

“I had no idea that journalism was so dangerous.”

Tory knew it could be. There were many times when she’d heard of reporters being pulled off cases or, when they refused to give up, killed. “I think Veronica Guerin proved that point.”

“She did. But you’re not investigating a drug ring.”

“I think I am, Jay.” Tory rubbed the back of her neck. The note in her purse might not have been from Shannon. It could have been from the AA.gov woman. In fact, Tory remembered bumping into someone at the airport. Maybe someone had been warning her since she’d been back in the States. “This is the second warning I’ve had in as many days.”

“What was the first one?” he asked, glancing from the road at her. His features were craggy in the low light from the dashboard.

She didn’t want to give Jay too much information. Her gut said that danger was lurking and she didn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to Jay. “There was a note in my purse that said to stop my investigation.”

“So you’ve seen this person?”

“Maybe. I didn’t realize I’d received a warning. And it could have happened at any time.”

“Why do you think the shots were a warning?” Jay asked.

“Because we’re both still alive. That shooter didn’t miss by mistake.”

“How can you be sure?” he asked.

“I can’t be, Jay. But my gut tells me I’m right.”

“Should we file a police report?”

“Tom said he’d take care of that.”

“Where to, boss lady?”

“The airport. I want to get this story back to New York and edit it. Them I’m going to D.C.”

“Do you need a cameraman?” he asked as he maneuvered the truck from the small country highway onto the interstate heading toward the airport.

“I think I’d better go alone. I’ll take the camera purse with me.”

Tory sank back into the seat while Jay drove quietly back to the airport. She still had her courier package to deliver. Dammit, she’d forgotten about that.

“Jay, pull into that convenience store up ahead.”

“We don’t need gas.”

“I need to stop.”

Jay pulled to a stop and Tory got out. She hurried into the store and the rest-room facility, which was one of those big one-person rooms. She called AA.gov.

“This is Tory Patton. I need to speak to Agent M.”

“One moment, Patton.”

She held the line. In the mirror over the bathroom sink she saw her own reflection. She looked tired and rumpled. She detected a faint trace of fear in her eyes and stared hard at herself until the fear was replaced by determination. She brushed the leaves and twigs off her clothing.

“This is Agent M.”

“I’m not going to be able to make my drop in Norfolk.”

“We don’t have you down to deliver anything.”

“I picked up a package at LaGuardia this morning.”

“What’s in it?”

Tory pulled the brown envelope from her purse and opened it.

First your brother, then you. Stop now before someone dies.

Shuddering, Tory almost dropped her phone. “A note. It’s for me.”

“What does it say?”

Tory shook her head. “Nothing important. A warning pertaining to the story I’m working on. Don’t use me as a courier for a while.”

“Why not?”

“I think I’ve been compromised. And I think the organization has been, too. They knew our signals and codes. The drop was conducted in the bathroom and my orders were on AA.gov stationary.”

“Did you destroy the first contact note?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to bring the note you still have to our offices in D.C.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tory left the bathroom more determined to get her story than ever. She knew that she couldn’t take the chance of involving anyone else in her investigation. The more clues she got, the more complicated and dangerous this story became.

Tory arrived in D.C. on Monday morning. She’d filed her follow-up story on Thomas King. She’d also let the Cassandras know that King had taught at Athena. The connection was almost coincidental, but Tory had a feeling that there was more there than she was seeing.

She was tired and cold. So damned cold. Growing up in Florida didn’t acclimatize one to November in the Northeast. She ordered a pot of tea from room service just before lunchtime and went over her notes.

One of the secretaries at the network had worked all day to get Tory an appointment with David Addler, former U.S. ambassador to Puerto Isla. She was scheduled to talk to him at four o’clock this afternoon.

Addler had gone into semiretirement since he’d left Puerto Isla. His term had ended just after King’s platoon had been killed. Since that time Addler had been working as a freelance consultant for ABS, Shannon Conner’s network, giving some perspective on political situations in Central America.

Tory jotted down a few questions for Addler. She really wanted to talk to Paul Terrence, the U.S. drug czar, but so far his office had refused to make an appointment for her. Now that she was in D.C., she had no problem camping out at his home or office until he caved in.

Someone knocked on the door and Tory went to answer it, expecting her tea from room service. But when she checked through the peephole, she saw Ben Forsythe standing there.

She opened the door and stepped back. He entered the room and quickly closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Ben.”

“Tory, what the hell is going on?”

She calmed her rapid heartbeat. She hadn’t been thinking about Ben and lust and the screwed-up mess her personal life was until he’d barged right back into it. “I’m not sure. What are you talking about?”

He gave her a look that she was sure sent young recruits scurrying to do his bidding. “You getting shot at in Virginia.”

“How do you know about that?” She’d talked to Tom twice since then, as well as to the local police. She and Jay had taken the rental vehicle to the police station. So far they had no leads on whoever had shot at them. To be on the safe side, Tom had taken his family on a vacation to Hawaii.

“I know everything.”

“Everything?” she asked with a slight grin. “Bennington Forsythe, playboy, secret agent and now…possessor of the second sight.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I don’t want you taking chances with your life.”

Why? She wanted to know but wasn’t going to ask. She didn’t need the kind of complications this man could bring to her life. She liked everyone to fit in the nice, neat little corners she assigned them. Her family and the Cassandras fell into an emotional place, her job and courier work into an exciting place. Men always fell into the “nice to have around for a while but not the long haul” place.

“I’m not. I’m following a story. If there’s a risk involved I’m willing to chance it.”

“I’m not.”

“Ben…don’t do this. We agreed—”

“Bullshit. I didn’t agree to anything. And dammit, I’m not asking for anything other than a little caution from you.”

“I’d be happy to comply, but I have no idea what to be cautious about. I’m still connecting the dots.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, watching her with that enigmatic blue gaze of his. No one had ever rushed to her side when she’d been in trouble before. Her dad had always told her to shake it off, her friends all knew she’d pull through and yet here was Ben. She knew she shouldn’t be, but all the same she was touched that he’d come to D.C.

“Tell me what you have so far.”

He didn’t ask; he just naturally took command. But this was her story and she wasn’t surrendering her information easily. Derrick’s injuries were related to the questions he’d asked for her. She didn’t mind risking herself. But putting Ben at risk…she wasn’t prepared to do that.

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“I have a high security clearance. If the government trusts me, can’t you?”

“That’s a corny line and I think you got it from Top Gun.”

“I know it’s one of your favorite movies. And if it worked for Cruise it should work for me.”

“How do you know I like that movie?”

“Alex mentioned it the last time we were at our grandfather’s house. It was on TV late at night, and we were hunkered down in the den eating salty popcorn.”

“With your grandfather?”

“Don’t let the old man’s image fool you. Underneath that retired-CIA-director facade, he’s still just a grandfather.”

She knew that Charles Forsythe was responsible for how both Alex and Ben turned out. She wondered if the shrewd old man realized that Ben was more than a globe-trotting playboy. Probably.

She pulled back and leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest. Ben stared at her, one eyebrow arched in question. She had the feeling he’d wait all day if that was what it took.

Finally she sighed. She didn’t like being reminded that Ben had a close-knit family. She shouldn’t have allowed him to become involved in this story. “I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“I’ve got news for you, Tory. If you’re at risk, I’m not leaving you alone.”

She wasn’t ready to have a man in her face like this. Ben disturbed her on many different levels, and the scary part was that sometimes, deep in the night when she was all alone, she liked it.

“One of my sources was shot after asking some questions for me.”

“Your brother, Derrick, right?”

“How did you…?” She trailed off. He did know everything. “Yes, my brother. I don’t want you in danger, either.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.”

She didn’t want him just warned. She wanted him safe. And Ben wasn’t the kind of man she could tell to stay put. He’d been trained probably since childhood to right wrongs and seek justice. “Ben…”

“Tory…”

“You are so damned stubborn.”

“Yeah, it’s one of my more appealing qualities.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will. In the meantime, what’s going on with this story?”

She crossed the room to the padded armchair. “King’s team definitely witnessed something or saw someone they shouldn’t have. I have a friend trying to get the satellite surveillance photos from that night. From what Tom remembered, I think the hostages were already dead before the team got there.”

“It fits what I’ve been told.”

“What else do you know?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re done.”

“I’ve spent the afternoon on the phone and on the Internet, tracking down information. So far, I know that Ambassador Dave Addler was still on the island along with another high-ranking official—I’ve haven’t found out who yet. I also know that Addler retired really quickly after the SEAL incident.”

“Have you spoken to Addler?”

“Not yet. I’m going to see him later today. He might be able to tell me more about the hostage situation.”

“I can fill you in on some details there. The hostages were part of Doctors without Borders. Three men, one woman. They’d been on the island for about nine months when they were captured by a group of anti-American drug runners and coca ranchers.”

“Did they demand anything for the hostages?”

“Yes. That the U.S. continue to provide financial aid to the government and back down on its total eradication of the coca-leaf policy.”

She processed that. “Why kill the SEAL team, then?”

“I don’t have that information. I asked a few questions when we got back and was told to forget about it and move on.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been asking myself that very same thing.”

Tory and Ben had split up when they left her hotel room. He’d offered to let her stay at his apartment in Crystal City, Virginia. Tory wanted to so badly but in the end she’d said no. Ben distracted her and she needed to think clearly to pull this story together. Besides, she didn’t want to risk the two of them being seen in public together.

She took the Metro Redline to Georgetown and walked the few blocks from the station to Addler’s residence. The sun was shining this afternoon, and though the high was only fifty degrees, Tory was comfortable in her overcoat. She adjusted the purse camera, pausing to turn it on outside the former ambassador’s residence.

The housekeeper answered the door and directed her down a short hallway to Addler’s den. Addler was in his sixties but fit and trim. His hair was gray but not thinning. He held a cigar loosely in one hand. He stood when she entered the room.

He wore a pair of khaki chinos and a button-down Oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled back. She noticed he had a black tattoo on his forearm. She wondered if he’d gotten it in Vietnam. Her dad had one from back then.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Addler. Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

“No problem, Ms. Patton. Please call me Dave.”

“And I’m Tory.”

Addler resumed his seat and gestured for Tory to sit in one of the leather armchairs. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I’m trying to do some background on a more in-depth story I’m working on about Puerto Isla. I had a chance to talk to several locals while I was on the island and I’d like to get a different perspective of what was going on when Tom King and his team went in to rescue the Doctors without Borders hostages.”

“Well, it was very chaotic. I’ve heard the island is a lot better now that Del Torro is in charge. Fighting between the government and the people was erratic. Santiago kept most of them under control with his militia. But then Juan Perez and Del Torro banded together. Once they started getting organized, it was the beginning of the end for Santiago.”

“But Del Torro’s government has even stronger ties with our country than the old government, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair and took a drag on his cigar. He pivoted in his chair and looked out the window.

Tory had a feeling that he was looking at Puerto Isla in his mind. “Why is that?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her and then spun back to face her. He set his cigar in a crystal ashtray and leaned forward, elbows resting on the top of his mahogany desk. “I can’t really say. I’m no longer the ambassador there.”

“No, you’re not. But you are very familiar with Central America.” Tory wasn’t sure what to ask to get him to open up. What she really wanted to know was if Paul Terrence had ever visited the country. But she didn’t want to ask such a blatant question.

“I can only say that someone wants us to believe that things have changed on Puerto Isla.”

“Haven’t they?” she asked.

Addler shrugged. “Was that all you wanted to know?”

“No. Who called in the SEALs?”

“I did.”

“Would you walk me through the taking of the hostages, and your office’s involvement?”

“We were notified of the hostages almost immediately. We verified they’d been taken and I asked for military assistance in retrieving them.”

“Who from the military did you talk to?”

“General McKinley.”

“What happened then?”

“I was put in contact with King. I gave him the coordinates and I didn’t hear anything more about the team until I learned they’d all been killed.”

“Did you know King had been taken prisoner?”

“No. I believed they had all been killed.”

Tory jotted a few notes on her notepad. Though she was recording the interview on her secret camera, she wanted a written account of the interview, as well.

“How long were you in Puerto Isla?”

“For two years.”

“During that time were there any other incidents like this one?”

“Only one. It took place when I first arrived on the island.”

“American hostages?”

“Yes. But they were rescued.”

“Who were they?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Interesting. “Did you have any visits from American officials while you were there?”

“Of course.”

“I know the coca-leaf topic was a hot one—was anyone ever sent down to discuss it with the government?”

“No. After the SEAL incident and the killing of the hostages, the U.S. pulled completely out until the new government was put in place.”

“Would you be willing to do an interview with me on air?” she asked. She knew it was a long shot. She wasn’t even sure Tyson would let her speak to him on air without prior approval. As far as protocol went, she was supposed to talk to Tyson or one of the producers before she scheduled an on-air interview. But she thought it was better to ask.

“I think my contract with ABS precludes that. I’m already scheduled to do one with Shannon Conner.”

She smiled. She definitely wasn’t doing any interviews that could be compared with Shannon’s. Tory planned to move beyond her rival in such a way that the two women would never be mentioned together again. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Not at all. I hope I helped.”

Not really, she thought. But then, he knew he hadn’t given her any answers. Was he hiding something? Her gut said he was. But she’d have to go away and come at this from a different angle.

Chapter 14

Tory returned to her hotel room in the Capitol district. She had a million things running through her head. She needed a break. She knew she was missing something vital and elemental to dissipating the cloud that hung over this story. Everyone she’d talked to had another piece of the puzzle and no matter how she twisted and turned them they wouldn’t fit together.

What was the crux of the matter? Drugs definitely played a part, and a government official—possibly Paul Terrence or Dave Addler. And then there was the Puerto Isla government, and their odd tap dance involving the SEAL platoon and then the freedom of Thomas King.

She typed up her notes and reviewed the interview with Addler. He was an interesting man. Her instincts said he wasn’t telling her the full truth. She did an Internet search on him and found out he’d spent his entire career in South and Central America.

Tory recalled an interview she’d seen when the Addlers had returned to the States. Perry had produced the piece for veteran newscaster Cal Jones. He had to know more than he was willing to tell her. David Addler’s wife, Charlotte, had not liked living in Puerto Isla.

Mrs. Addler was a beautiful woman but she’d been worn down by her time on the island. Tory replayed the interview in her head. She’d been in the editing room when Perry had put the piece together. They’d had a hard time finding shots of Mrs. Addler that worked. Her interview had been lackluster.

Tory grabbed the phone and placed a call to the Addler residence.

“May I speak to Charlotte Addler, please?”

“Who is calling?”

“Perry Jacobs’s office from UBC. We’re doing a follow-up to our previous interview.” She’d just been in the house, so she didn’t want the housekeeper to realize who she was.

“Hold, please.”

Tory waited.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Addler is traveling. May I take a message?”

“When do you expect her return?”

“I’d be happy to relay a message to her.”

“With whom am I speaking?”

“The housekeeper, Mrs. Tolleron.”

“Did you work for the Addlers when they were on Puerto Isla?”

“No. Is that all?”

“Yes.” Tory disconnected the call. It wasn’t the lead she’d hoped for.

Tory rubbed the back of her neck. She was getting nowhere. She stood up and stretched. Then she fell backward onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to quiet all the questions spinning around in her mind but she couldn’t.

She reached for the camera purse and pulled the small unit toward her. Rolling over onto her stomach, she sprawled on the king-size bed in the middle of her suite and sorted her notes into piles. She watched the tape of Addler one more time and spotted a picture on the wall over his desk that she hadn’t noticed when she’d been in his den.

It was a photo of Dave and Chris Pearson. Tory froze the frame and squinted at the small screen. They were on a boat in a marina. The coastline looked familiar to Tory. She’d been to that marina with her brother and his family a few years ago. Was it Miami or Boca?

She jotted down the time code. Later when she went to the studio, she’d check the tape in one of the edit bays. She could zoom in and out and maybe find what she was looking for.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it, hoping it was Terrence’s office calling about an interview.

“Hey, it’s Josie.”

Tory couldn’t help but smile. After the long day she’d had, it was nice to finally hear a friendly voice on the phone. “Hey. Did you get my e-mail on Tom King?”

“Yes. If he taught at Athena, and the fertility clinic where his sperm was stored was broken into around the time of Rainy’s supposed appendectomy—that’s too much for coincidence.”

“I agree. We need to make sure that Shannon doesn’t get this information. God knows what kind of bizarro story she’d do.” Tory didn’t want to tell her friends that the Athena story leak to Shannon had been her doing. She felt as if she’d brought a viper into their home and hadn’t recognized it for too long.

She wanted revenge against Perry, but a part of her could understand why he’d gone after Shannon. She’d analyzed his action and recognized it as a bid for Tory’s attention and love. The two things she’d never really been able to give him.

“She wouldn’t have to make much up. Egg mining and stolen sperm—it sounds like a movie of the week on the sci-fi channel.”

“I know. What were you calling about?” Tory asked. Not that she didn’t like chatting with Josie but she knew that her friend didn’t have excess time.

“I traced your surveillance photos, and something weird was going on down there. Someone came in just as I’d located them. I wasn’t able to really analyze the photo and when I went back later it was gone.”

“Did you see anything?”

“Yes. A Chinook helicopter took off just as King’s team was raiding the camp.”

“Wouldn’t they have heard it?”

“Not necessarily. I’m betting they were doing airto-ground backup. The chopper was about ten miles from the base camp.”

“My theory is that someone high up was there doing something illegal. What do you think?”

“It’s possible. But can you prove anything?”

“Not yet. But I know if I ask the right person the right question I won’t have to.”

“Who is the right person?”

“I’m not sure. Not yet. You got anything else for me?”

“No. Listen, I heard about Derrick. You okay?”

“Yes. He’s recovering,” Tory said. She knew she had to warn Josie. “He asked some questions for me, Josie. So watch your back.”

“I will. Keep in touch and be careful,” Josie said before she hung up.

A knock sounded at the door, and Tory climbed to her feet. “Who is it?”

“Not room service,” Ben said.

Tory opened the door. He strode into the room, seeming to fill the large space with his intensity. “Have I got a lead for you.”

“Why are you helping me now?”

“Because I don’t like the fact that I can’t get any answers and something’s not adding up. There’s only one reporter I trust to cover this story.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Shivering in the dark and cold on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Tory scanned the crowd for Ruben Jimenez, a former Chinook helicopter pilot who had left the service. Military men weren’t allowed to talk to the press, and Tory realized how risky this was for Ruben and Ben both. Even though Ruben was retired. Ben was waiting a few blocks away in the car he’d rented. He’d wanted to come, but Tory had insisted that he stay behind.

She’d never needed a man to do her job in the past and she didn’t want to start needing Ben now. She clicked on her purse camera.

“Miss Patton?”

Tory turned toward the shadows on the right of the monument and saw a man in his midtwenties. He wore dark jeans, a leather bomber jacket zipped to the throat and a scarf around his neck. His dark hair was close cropped, and his face held a maturity and seriousness that set him apart from his peers.

“Yes. Ruben?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

He stood stiffly, almost at attention. He scanned the light crowd of people milling up and down the monument stairs. On this chilly November evening not too many were brave enough to actually come out and linger.

“No problem, ma’am. What do you want to know?” he asked. A slight Southern accent tinged his words. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

“You were a helicopter pilot who flew in Puerto Isla?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you remember what happened during the SEAL mission?” she asked.

He nodded. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned down toward her. Speaking softly but clearly. “I was on a routine surveillance mission out in a remote location.”

He smelled of Old Spice, nicotine and coffee. Tory was wearing heels so she was at least five foot five right now, but he still towered over her. “Do you know who the official was?”

“General Joseph McKinley from army intelligence.”

“Did you fly him often?”

“Once a month we took him into the interior. Mostly we were on surveillance, providing air cover for the DEA and CIA guys on the ground who were raiding the ranches.”

Interesting. She added this detail to the facts swirling inside her head. “Was this the first time other officials were on your chopper?”

“Yes.”

“What happened? Did you get fired on?” Tory wasn’t sure she wanted to believe that the government would knowingly send an entire platoon of SEALs to their death and then leave King to be tortured and starved for six months.

“No. I put down a distance from the camp. I let McKinley and his companion off.”

“Then what happened?”

“They left and returned a little over an hour later.”

“What did the men discuss on the way back?”

“Nothing. I took them back to the city and returned to my base camp.”

“When did you leave?”

“Almost immediately. That was my last flight in Puerto Isla. I left the army to come back home and work with my dad.”

Tory remembered some basic military information from her time at Athena, but it had been more than a few years. And this situation wasn’t a normal military operation. Maybe Ben would be able to lend his military expertise to what she’d found out.

Tory tried to assimilate everything he’d said. Unless she was really off the mark, it sounded as if someone in military intelligence was involved.

“Thanks for speaking to me, Ruben.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Ruben walked away. Tory waited a few seconds before heading back toward Ben and the waiting car.

She slid into the car and Ben glanced over at her. “Did you find out anything new?”

“Does he work for you?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just curious.”

“If he worked for me, he wouldn’t be allowed to talk to you.”

“Did you know that army intelligence was making trips to the interior of Puerto Isla on a regular basis?”

“No. But I have been asking a few questions back at base.”

“And?”

“And Ruben’s name turned up.”

“I’m really getting angry about this entire mess. Every question I ask leads to more questions. Do you think Addler would know more about this?”

“The embassy and the military work closely together, but I’m not sure what Addler would know.”

“I wonder if he’ll talk to me again. I want to shake him up.”

“Should I drive you there?”

“Ben, I’m a journalist, not an enforcer.”

“I’ll be your enforcer, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe. And you’ve got to do something about those cornball lines.”

“It’s part of my charm.” And he was charming. She realized she was seeing the real Ben, not the suave man who moved through the sophisticated circles of the upper crust. He wasn’t wooing her or playing any games with her. And that warmed her deep inside.

Tory warned herself not to fall for it. Ben might be pursuing her with all the intensity of a heat-seeking missile, but he’d lose interest in her soon enough. He was used to the cream of the crop. “Is that how you woo heiresses and heads of state?”

“No. That’s all an act that I learned at my mother’s knee.”

“So what’s this?” She gestured to the two of them.

He reached across the space and took her hand in his. “This is the real Ben. Not many people get to see him.”

“I’m honored,” she said. And deep inside she was.

The light changed and Ben lifted his head. In his eyes she saw the same questions she was battling when it came to this attraction between them. She ran her finger over her bottom lip, not sure what to say. God, the one time she really needed to have words, she didn’t.

She fell back as she always did on her career. This story was turning into more than her big break at the UBC. She felt it in her bones. She was uncovering a conspiracy here that was bigger than anyone would believe. The organization of this many different groups.

That meant someone high up, where orders were given that wouldn’t be questioned. With the military that meant a high-level officer. But Addler wasn’t military and he wasn’t talking. So Tory added the diplomatic corps to the mix. And Derrick had been shut down at the DEA.

“Would you drop me off at the network? I want to run these names through our database and see what comes up. And I need to look at a piece of film I shot earlier.”

He sighed but let her change the subject. “I’ll help you.”

“I work better on my own.” Which was, strictly speaking, the truth. But she knew she wanted distance from Ben.

“Suit yourself,” he said. He was silent the rest of the drive to the studio, and Tory had the insane impulse to apologize.

“I didn’t interfere on Puerto Isla when you were giving directions.”

Ben pulled the car into a vacant parking lot and put it in Park. He twisted in the seat to face her, one arm resting on the back of the seat, the other bent on the steering wheel. In the shadowed interior of the car, his features were hawklike. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t survive a battle with him. He was a warrior now. Not the suave, sophisticated playboy who was at home in Savile Row suits. This was the military expert who’d gotten Tom King off Puerto Isla alive.

A shiver of pure excitement ran down her spine. Going toe-to-toe with him like this…she craved it.

“Like hell you didn’t. And I was smart enough to use you and your Athena Academy skills. Even the Amazons teamed up with males once in a while.”

“I don’t think I’m an Amazon.” But she liked that he thought she was. Ben wasn’t like other guys she’d been involved with in the past. He came from a family of wealth, privilege and intelligence. She wasn’t like the women he socialized with, but she could go toe-to-toe with him on matters like this one.

“I do. And I respect you for that, Tory. I’m not trying to crowd you, but I have as much at stake here as you do.”

“How do you figure?” she asked.

“Someone betrayed a special-ops team—I need to avenge that.”

“Turning vigilante on me?”

“Not on your life. But we take care of our own problems at LASER.”

“What if this isn’t a LASER problem?”

“If it concerns any branch of the military, it is. Now, can I come in? Or do you want me to pick you up later?”

“I need you to keep this quiet—can you do that? Let me get the facts and do the story before you go off half-cocked looking for justice.”

“First of all, I never go off half-cocked. And second, it depends on what we find. If no one else will be put in danger, I can wait.”

“Park in the garage.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The network studios weren’t that busy. Tory and Ben signed in at the security desk and made their way through the darkened maze of cubicles to the back wall and the one that Tory was using.

“Why don’t you use one of the other computers and start searching for information from a year ago forward?” Tory powered up the computer on her desk.

“Why only a year?” Ben asked. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. The blue Oxford shirt he wore under his sport coat that made his eyes even bluer than normal.

“How far back do you think this goes?” she asked after a second. Stop drooling, girl. You’re here to do a job, not lust after Ben.

He shrugged and tipped his head to the side. “I’m not sure, but I’m betting for more than a year.”

“Okay, five years?” she suggested. She didn’t care when he searched as long as he left her alone so she could get to work. Concentrating on Puerto Isla, drug lords and Tom King instead of remembering how it felt to have Ben’s big, strong body close to hers.

“Sounds good.”

“Did Ruben tell you about McKinely?” she asked, after a minute. She suspected Ruben worked with Ben.

“Yes.”

“Does Ruben know who else was with him?”

“Not by name.”

“Why didn’t you just give me that information?” She didn’t know for sure if Ben was working with her or making sure she didn’t uncover something that would hurt the image of the military and the U.S. government. And his comments in the car made her wonder whom he’d choose if push came to shove—her or his country.

“Because you notice things that I don’t.”

“I didn’t this time.”

“Sure, you did. I wouldn’t have connected it to Addler.”

“I spoke to Addler this afternoon, and the man was definitely not telling me all he knows.”

“That must have ticked you off.”

“Ha ha. I don’t get ticked off. I just get more curious. I’m not sure Addler’s involved with whatever’s going on, but he does know more about the hostage incident.”

“I’ll work him from my end and see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Anything for you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Sure, I do.”

“You scare me.”

“I know better, Athena girl. Nothing scares you.”

He left her alone in the office. Tory turned back to the screen. How little Ben understood about her. Everything scared her. She was afraid she’d endanger someone else with her questions.

Afraid she’d jump into something with Ben that she wasn’t ready for.

Chapter 15

Ben pulled into the parking garage at her hotel three hours later. Tory stared at him across the darkened expanse of the front seat. Excitement buzzed through her veins.

She’d called McKinley’s office, and she had been informed that McKinley had no comment to the press—especially about Tom King and the SEAL platoon on Puerto Isla. She’d been directed to the army public-affairs office.

“No one in McKinley’s office will talk to me,” she said to Ben.

“Are you asking me to help out?” he asked.

“Do I really have to ask? You’ve been butting in since we met on Puerto Isla.”

“I thought I was helping.”

She sighed. “You have been.”

Ben watched her for a minute, then took out his cell phone and made a series of calls. Tory didn’t listen in on his conversations. She knew there were some things in Ben’s life she was better off not knowing. He’d invited her to join him at a political dinner the next evening with Washington, D.C., insiders who he’d said would probably be able to shed some light on her investigation. Formal dress, lousy food but slow dancing, he’d said. And she was contemplating it.

Idiot, she thought. Once she was seen in public with Ben she could forget about keeping her relationship private. She’d have to call Alex before Alex called her. She didn’t want to talk to Alex about Ben. And she didn’t want to even contemplate running into Veronica, Ben and Alex’s mother. From what she’d heard through Alex, Veronica was a barracuda when it came to the waters of the social dating game. And Tory wasn’t sure she was the kind of woman Veronica would want in Ben’s life.

“I’m going to meet a McKinley aide for coffee tomorrow morning. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“You’re welcome. I love it when you ask me for things.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Want to come up for a drink?” she asked. They’d been together the better part of the day, and he’d been on her mind.

“Maybe.”

She wasn’t in the mood to play games. She opened her door and got out of the car. She was out of her element with him. Give her a reluctant interviewee and she was golden, but one-on-one with this man…she didn’t know how to react. Mostly because he never reacted the way he should.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked.

Tory stood there with the car door open talking into the car. “Up to my room.”

“We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

“No, Ben. We were in the middle of some kind of game. I’m not really interested in playing.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He was tired. She was, too. And though she’d never admit it, she’d be happy to just lie in Ben’s arms for a few hours.

“We need to talk before I come back to your room,” he said at last.

“I asked you in for a drink,” she said, knowing she’d offered more. “We can go to the bar.”

“I want to come up to your room. God, Tory, I want you.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she asked.

“I think this is more than a few nights of sex here and there.”

She wanted it to be more. But with Ben she was afraid to risk caring. He wasn’t a guy like Perry who worked in her industry or had any other normal job. Ben did something few men would and he risked his life daily.

“Let’s go to the bar. I’m buying.”

Ben took her hand and laced their fingers together. Shivers moved up her arm, spreading throughout her body. Once they were in the elevator, she pushed him back against the wall and leaned up against him.

“I don’t really want to talk.”

She cut off his reply with her mouth against his. He moaned deep in his throat. Sensing victory, she thrust her tongue past his teeth and tasted him. God, he tasted good.

She tunneled her fingers through his thick hair and held his head still. She ravaged his mouth, taking what she wanted without asking.

The door opened and she stepped back. Ben watched her for a moment. When she led him off the elevator across the plush lobby of the hotel to the elevators leading to the guest rooms, he came with her.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” he said.

“I promise you won’t.”

He gave her a half smile that made her heartbeat speed up. “There’s regret and then there’s regret.”

“Don’t,” she said, covering his lips with her gloved fingers. “Please don’t make this into more than…”

“Something physical?”

“Yes.”

“Go on up. I need to make a purchase.”

She nodded. “Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t be.”

She watched him walk away. The elevator car arrived and Tory stepped on. It stopped on the eighth floor and a tall, thin man got on. Tory fixed her on-air smile on her face.

He smiled back at her and the doors to the car closed. Tory glanced down through the glass elevators at the lobby.

He crowded close to her in the car, and Tory tried to back away, but he pulled her back against his body, holding a knife to her throat.

She lifted her foot to kick him, but he tightened his hand on her windpipe and stars danced in front of her eyes. “Be still.”

His voice was gruff and barely a whisper. Tory stopped struggling. Her mind shifted through possibilities. She could pretend to faint and pull him off balance then attack him.

She closed her eyes to focus on what she’d do. In her head she visualized the man she’d seen.

“Leave the Puerto Isla matter alone. This is your last warning.”

The elevator car stopped again. The man released her and walked off the elevator. Tory started after him, but the doors closed before she could get off the car.

Tory wasn’t in her room five minutes before there was a knock on the door. She approached the door, cautiously aware that someone could fire through it and kill her.

“It’s Ben.”

She checked the peephole and then opened the door. His coat was torn, his eye was starting to turn black and his nose was bloodied. “What happened to you?”

“Got in a little tussle with some friends of yours,” he said with a cocky grin that said he’d gotten the best of his opponent.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Tory pulled him into the room and closed the door. This was getting out of hand. She needed to finish this story so that she could get back to living a normal life. So that the people who she came in contact with were no longer in danger.

“Go sit down. I had a warning also.”

She wet one of the washcloths with cold water and brought another one with her. She wrapped some ice in the dry cloth. “Hold this on the back of your neck.”

He looked skeptical. “My nose is bleeding, Tory.”

She forced his hand against the back of his neck. “I know. But this works. My brother used to get nosebleeds when we were kids. Mom always put ice on the back of his neck.”

He tilted his head to one side. “I don’t know anything about your family, but your mom sounds a whole lot different from mine.”

“I think it’s safe to say she is. She’s a ranch wife, so she’s very practical and down-to-earth.”

“Are you close?”

Tory thought about it for a minute. She talked to her mom practically every day. “Yes, we are. She’s just wise and supportive. And she doesn’t nag or say ‘I told you so.’”

“Like my grandfather.”

“How does he feel about you ‘wasting your life’?”

“He understands.”

“How could he? He was the director of the CIA, Ben. The man has to want you to do more with your life.” Tory couldn’t imagine having to live up to a man like Charles Forsythe. He was bigger than life. A millionaire many times over, but also a man of integrity and honor.

“Trust me, Tory. He’s not upset with me.”

“Why not?” she asked. She was probably right to suspect that his grandfather knew the truth about Ben.

“Let it go,” he said.

“I can’t. You got the journalist in me stirred up.” She thought about Alex and Ben’s dad, who’d died when they were young. Alex didn’t often speak of her father, but Tory pulled the memory of a long-ago chat. Alex’s dad had died overseas on a business trip. Overseas in a dangerous area, Tory remembered, because they’d been studying hot spots around the world and how the State Department decided which countries to warn American citizens against traveling to. “Does it have something to do with your dad?”

Ben stiffened. “How the hell did you do that?”

She smiled. She was good at connecting the dots. “Let’s see. He ran an import-export business and died on a business trip in…Turkey?”

“Yes.”

“He was CIA like your grandfather, right?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”

“Didn’t your grandfather tell you?”

“We’ve never talked about it. But there’s a plaque on the wall at the CIA headquarters for a fallen operative and the date matches when Dad…”

Tory hugged him tight to her. It seemed the Forsythe men had a history of fighting for their country though no one else would ever know.

She didn’t want to talk about families. She didn’t want to give herself or him the illusion that what they had would last longer than it took to air this story.

“What about your family? Any secrets hidden there?”

“Nope. I grew up on a ranch in Florida. My brother and I roamed all over like we owned the world.”

“Are you close to your brother?” he asked, dropping her hand.

“Yes, Derrick and I are very close. But that’s because of my folks—mostly my mom. She’s always calling us and making us call each other.”

“Sounds…nice.” Ben closed his eyes.

Tory dabbed a little more at his nose. She didn’t want to hurt him. And his face looked pretty bad. “You could be closer to Alex if you came clean. She’s trustworthy, you know.”

“I know. But she’s not a very good liar.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“It could be for my cover. Right now Alex plays a big part in that. She’s so exasperated with the man I am supposedly that no one thinks to look beyond that image.”

“I never did,” Tory admitted. But having seen the real man now, she knew she’d never be fooled by his apathetic man-about-town image again.

“And you’re no dummy.”

“Wow, watch out with all those compliments—you might turn my head.”

He ran one finger down the side of her face. She tipped her head into his hand. “It’d take more than words to turn your head.”

“You think so?” She wasn’t sure what it took. Her relationship skills weren’t that great. For a minute she was reminded of Perry’s betrayal and she felt that maybe she wasn’t as smart about people as she’d always imagined she was.

“I know so. You’re a tough character, Tory Patton.”

“Ha. Not hardly.”

“You intimidate everyone you meet. I think you know it and like it.”

She thought about what he’d said. Ben was more insightful than she had given him credit for being. “Maybe I do. But I’m short so I have a lot to make up for.”

She cleaned his nose and applied pressure to stem the bleeding. Ben wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her down on his lap. He tossed the ice-filled washcloth into the ice bucket. And pushed her hand off his face.

“Who delivered your warning?”

“A guy with a knife on the elevator.”

“I had two thugs with brass knuckles. I’m supposed to warn you that if you don’t stop asking questions they’re going to kill you.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Don’t be.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

“Are you going to heed their advice?”

“Hell, no. If I knew who they were, I wouldn’t have to ask any more questions.”

“Are you sure you want to pursue this? It’s getting dangerous.”

Tory thought about it for a minute, but in her mind nothing had really changed. This story wasn’t just about her career anymore. It was about truth and honor. Two things that she had feeling the person behind her threats knew nothing about. “I’m not giving up.”

“What is in that water at Athena Academy?” he asked in an exasperated tone.

Ben had a chip on his shoulder about Athena. Why? “The same thing that’s in the water you drank. Would you give up?”

“That’s different. I’m a trained operative.”

“So am I.”

“I know it. Listen, I’ve got to get out of here. I want to check in with Ruben and make sure he wasn’t followed.”

“Okay. Call after you talk with McKinley’s aide. I finally got an appointment with Terrence for tomorrow.” She’d gotten confirmation earlier when they were at the network.

“Terrence?”

“Paul Terrence. He is the current U.S. drug czar.”

“Be careful, Tory.”

“Hey, I always am.”

Ben walked out the door. Tory put the night chain on and went to bed, trying not to be sorry that the night had ended this way instead of as she’d planned. Making notes and pursuing her story was enough to keep her busy tonight. She didn’t miss the man who’d just left her. Not one little bit.

Tory woke at 6:00 a.m. when her phone rang. She stretched her arm for the receiver. She’d ordered a wake-up call after Ben left. Today she was going to get some answers. No matter who she had to hound to find them.

“Hello,” she said.

“Tory Patton?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Don’t worry about that. I have some information for you. Some of Whitlow’s campaign funding came from the Puerto Isla coca-leaf farmers.”

“What?”

“Track it down and see for yourself.”

“Who is this?”

“An interested third party.”

“Can we meet and discuss this?”

“No.”

The caller hung up. Tory rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She got out of bed and got dressed. Campaign contributions could be the missing puzzle piece to explain why it had taken so long to rescue Tom. If Whitlow was taking a kick-back from Puerto Isla, then he probably had promised to keep the DEA and military out of the country. But was it Whitlow who’d taken the money and made the deal, or someone close to him? Did the president of the United States have knowledge about those events? It left a lot of information in the that gray area between what was right and wrong.

She called Ben on the cell number he’d left her, but only got his voice mail. “It’s Tory, call me.”

She dressed with care, making sure that every hair was on-air perfect. She’d brought an entire suitcase of power suits with her. You couldn’t come to D.C. and not dress appropriately. This place had been founded on tradition, and flouting that tradition wouldn’t open the doors she needed to have opened.

She wasn’t sure what to make of her early-morning wake-up call. Still trying to determine if it was just a crackpot with an agenda against Whitlow, Tory got out of her cab at Paul Terrence’s office at ten minutes to nine.

A woman in her early twenties arrived next. She didn’t invite Tory to wait inside. Tory didn’t mind. Her wool overcoat was a good one, and she scarcely noticed the chilly November air.

Security was tight at the building, which was what had taken so long for her to get the interview. Everyone who entered the building had to be cleared.

A black sedan pulled up twenty minutes later. A couple of U.S. marshals got out of the car and escorted Terrence into the building. Tory waited until he was inside before she herself entered.

Paul Terrence didn’t really look like his press photo from the Internet. He wasn’t as tall as she’d expected him to be. He’d probably been an attractive man at some point, but he’d started putting on weight around the middle and his hair was thinning.

She entered the building and gave her name at the security desk. She was searched and sent up for her appointment.

She arrived in the office of the National Drug Control Policy and had to wait another fifteen minutes before Terrence was ready to see her.

She was escorted to his office by his personal assistant. Terrence’s office had an American flag in one corner. The decor was very masculine, all dark woods and big chairs.

“Hello, Mr. Terrence. I’m Tory Patton with UBC.”

“Good morning, Ms. Patton. Please have a seat, and call me Paul.”

“Thank you, sir. Call me Tory,” she said. Most people would be comfortable in the guest chair, but Tory was petite and felt as if she were being swallowed by it.

She perched on the end of her chair, ready to ask her questions. The wall held the usual assortment of framed pictures, a Harvard degree and a few awards. Tory skimmed her gaze over the pictures, not really observing, but preserving them in her mind.

“Can I offer you some coffee?”

“No, thanks. Since you are pressed for time I’d rather get to it and ask you some questions.”

“Of course. How can I help you?”

“How familiar are you with the hostage situation on Puerto Isla earlier this year in which Tom King and his SEAL team were ambushed?”

“Just what I’ve heard you report. Very nice work, by the way.”

Flattery, how nice. Too bad she wasn’t buying it. She knew she shouldn’t be in this office asking questions.

She’d been warned, her brother had been shot and the person whom she’d made nervous wasn’t in the mood to play games. Terrence might or might not have knowledge of the illegal campaign contributions. But whoever did might get wind of this interview and then she’d be in hot water…again.

She wasn’t sure which questions she should be asking. “Is the coca-leaf eradication process moving more smoothly there now that Alejandro Del Torro has taken office?”

“I believe so. I think you should speak to our public-affairs office. We put out a press release just last week on Puerto Isla. But I believe the program has been successful. We’re hoping to mirror the operation and results we had in Peru.”

“Have you been to Puerto Isla?”

“No.”

“Has anyone from your office?”

“What are you getting at, Ms. Patton?”

“Nothing,” she said. She realized she might have overstepped her boundaries by coming here. Had she made a mistake?

“I heard some disturbing rumors when I was on the island last week about Del Torro being involved in coca-leaf farming.”

“We’re aware of that. If he doesn’t stay in line with our policies, we’ll be forced to stop all financial aid to Puerto Isla. You’ve been there, so you know firsthand how desperately they need our government’s help.”

“Yes, I do. Why is our government backing Del Torro if he’s in the coca-leaf business?”

“He’s the lesser of two evils.”

Terrence’s phone rang and he reached for the handset. He listened for a minute and then lifted his gaze to Tory. “If that’s all…? I have a call I need to take.”

“Of course. Thanks for your time.”

Tory left his office and was escorted back to the elevators, and she knew she was watched until she left the building. What had Terrence told her? Nothing, she thought. The same as Addler the day before.

She lifted her arm to hail a taxi. She gave them the address for the UBC studios in D.C. She wanted to check out McKinley, Terrence, Addler, Whitlow, Del Torro and Pearson and see if there was a connection anywhere.

She also needed to go through Whitlow’s campaign contributions and see where the money came from.

Chapter 16

Tory spent the rest of the day on the Internet and talking to contacts. Whitlow’s campaign funding was a spreadsheet that was a mile long and had more entries than she could keep straight. So far she hadn’t found a connection to Puerto Isla.

It was almost lunchtime on Tuesday and she still hadn’t heard from Ben. She wasn’t going to worry about him. He could take care of himself. Telling herself that didn’t stop the bad feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.

The phone rang and she answered it. “UBC, Tory Patton speaking.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mom. How’s Derrick?”

Tory could hear the radio playing in the background. She pictured her mom standing in the kitchen of their big ranch house probably making sandwiches for lunch. “Much better. He’s out of the hospital. Dad went to pick up his family and bring them to the house for Thanksgiving. Will you be able to break away and join us?”

Since it was Tuesday and her story was finally coming together, Tory doubted it. “I don’t think so.”

Her mom made that sound that always indicated she was disappointed in Tory. “Mom, I’ve got enough guilt going on about what happened to Derrick. Please don’t make me feel guilty about not coming for Thanksgiving. I promise I’ll take two weeks off at Christmas and come home.”

“Sweetie, making you feel guilty is my job. And if you ever get married, nagging you about giving me grandchildren will be my chief focus.”

She laughed. God, she missed her family. She’d love to be on her way to the airport and then on her way home. Feeling her parents’ love and support. But the tingling feeling in her gut warned that time was of the essence and leaving now might mean missing out on an important detail. And if someone was gunning for her, she didn’t want to be anywhere near her family.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“For what?”

“Just being you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. If you need us you know where we are.”

“I’ll call on turkey day.”

Her mom hung up and Tory leaned back in her chair. She reached for her cup of tea and found that it had grown cold. She went to the break room to get another cup. The television, which was tuned to UBC’s all-day news station flashed a photo of the Potomac River. The news ticker at the bottom said an unidentified man’s body had been pulled from the river that morning.

The footage was grainy and not close enough to identify anything about the body. Tory prayed it wasn’t Ben. Why would it be? But the warnings she’d been given lately lingered in her mind.

Tory went down the hall to the newsroom. Marsha Cranston, a forty-five-year-old with the kind of news experience Tory hoped to have at her age, sat behind her big desk. Marsha monitored all news wires, as well as the other networks to see what they were running. “Did they identify that John Doe they pulled out of the Potomac yet?”

“Our sources haven’t, but apparently ABS has.”

“Who was it?” Tory asked, heart in her throat.

“I don’t know. Shannon Conner is doing a report on it right now.”

Tory leaned over the desk, and Marsha handed her a pair of earphones. “A former army helicopter pilot’s body was pulled from the Potomac River early this morning. Ruben Jimenez left the military earlier this year after serving in Central America. I’ll have an exclusive interview with Ruben’s father and fiancée on tonight’s evening news. This is Shannon Conner, broadcasting live from Washington, D.C.”

Tory handed the earphones back to Marsha. Her stomach felt tight and bile rose in the back of her throat. Had she caused Ruben’s death? Of course she had. It was too much to be just a coincidence.

She knew she needed to figure out the clues in this damned story before anyone else died. She was glad she’d decided not to go home for Thanksgiving.

Her phone was ringing when she entered her office. Tory stared at it for a minute, afraid to pick up. But she’d never been a quitter and she was pissed off. Whoever was behind this mess was going down. “Patton here.”

“It’s Ben. I’ve got some bad news.”

“Is it about Ruben?” she asked. Oh, thank God he was okay. She didn’t dwell on it. Didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about the feelings that had flooded her when she’d first heard his voice. He was just a guy she knew. There was no emotional connection between them.

But the frantic beating of her heart said otherwise.

“You know?” he asked, his normally deep voice even more gruff than usual.

“I just saw it on TV.” She thought about Ruben as she’d last seen him and said a prayer for his soul. Not sure if Rainy could really hear or not, she asked her old friend to watch out for this man who’d helped her at the cost of his life.

“Don’t leave the network until I come and pick you up.”

“I don’t want a bodyguard.” Tory knew the only way to get this story done was to stay alone. To keep anyone else from getting involved. She didn’t know how she’d find answers on her own, but she’d do it. She wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s life.

“Too damned bad. I’m taking you to Middleburg until after the Thanksgiving weekend. We can work from there.”

“I don’t want to go to Forsythe Farms.”

“I’m not asking, Tory,” he said, and there was a steely tone in his voice she’d never heard before.

Tory wanted to go with Ben. She needed to think, and to do that she needed to feel safe. And D.C. didn’t feel safe anymore. “What am I going to tell Alex?”

“That we ran into each other in D.C. and I invited you down for the holiday.”

“I don’t want to put your family in danger, Ben.”

“You won’t. No one will follow us and even if they do, there’s enough security around that place to keep out the National Guard.”

She reluctantly agreed and made arrangements to meet Ben in less than an hour’s time in the lobby of the network. Tory sent an e-mail to Tyson Bedders advising him of the progress she’d made and telling him she’d be available via her cell phone.

Ruben Jimenez’s face kept flashing through her mind. She was responsible for his death. Granted, he’d decided to talk to her, but she’d known that danger was stalking her.

“Ready?” Ben asked from her doorway.

“Yes. I need to go by the hotel and pick up my suitcase.”

“I already did.”

“Should I say thanks?”

“I should think so.”

She smiled at Ben, happier to see him than she’d ever admit. His lightness relieved part of the burden in her heart.

Forsythe Farms was nestled in the middle of Virginia horse country. Tory leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes as Ben drove. She still wasn’t sure coming home with Ben on Thanksgiving was such a great idea.

Maybe because it felt right in her soul. That secret place she’d hidden and protected so well in other relationships. But with Ben she seemed to have no barrier. She suspected it was because of the circumstances of their meeting.

She warned herself not to place too much importance on this. And he was sticking around due to some kind of…what? She knew he didn’t feel brotherly toward her.

“You’re quiet. Should I be scared?” Ben asked as they drove west on I-495.

She turned her head on the seat rest to look at him. They’d left D.C. in the middle of the afternoon. Traffic had been heavy, but Ben had maneuvered his way through it with his usual skill.

“No.”

He drove in silence as they turned onto Route 50. Tory watched the dappled sunlight filter through the trees and felt some of the tension lingering in her gut ease. This was a great day to be alive. She reached across the expanse of the two seats and settled her hand on Ben’s thigh.

Thankfully he said nothing, only lowered his big, warm hand on top of hers. The facts of the story she was investigating ran through her head with dizzying speed, and she knew that if she could just let everything settle down for a day she’d be able to put it together.

“Who will be at your grandfather’s for the holiday?” she asked at last. She suspected Alex would be there. But she wasn’t sure if the Forsythes had a big dinner party.

“Just the family. Grandfather, my mother, Alex and her new beau, Justin Cohen.”

“I haven’t met him yet.” Alex had met Justin while seeking answers about Rainy’s death.

Justin had been looking for answers, too—about why his sister had died twenty years ago after agreeing to be a surrogate mother. Around the same time they suspected that Rainy’s eggs had been mined and Thomas King’s sperm had been stolen. They had no proof, but all the Cassandras believed Justin’s sister had probably carried Rainy’s child. Hospital records said the baby had died, too, but they were all beginning to wonder.

“I have. He’s a good guy. Just the right kind of man for Alex. He works for the FBI, too.”

Like all the Cassandras, Alex was doing all she could to figure out what was going on with Rainy’s eggs and who had killed Rainy.

“What will we tell Alex?” Tory asked. Years as a television journalist, and she blurted that question out as if she were a rookie.

“About what?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow at her.

Was she acting like a idiot about Ben? Was she making a mountain out of a molehill?

“Tory?”

She shrugged. “About…us.”

A mile or so passed before Ben responded. “Nothing. She’s my little sister, not my keeper.”

“She’s also one of my best friends.” Which was what really bothered her. Normally Tory would have called Alex the minute she’d arrived in D.C. Instead she’d been wary of talking to her old friend. Afraid she’d somehow reveal Ben’s secret.

“Don’t sweat the details, Tory. Everyone will think I charmed you.” His tone was light and she knew he was trying to reassure her.

She decided to let him for now. She’d been friends with Alex too long to let anything come between them. “I’ve seen your version of charm—we should both be sweating.”

He lifted her hand from his thigh and kissed the back of it, then smiled and drove on, seemingly unaffected.

He executed a series of turns that brought them to Forsythe Farms. Ben made the turn into the drive and stopped at the security gate. He got a remote and pressed a series of numbers into it. The gate slid open and he drove through.

He waited for the gate to close again before continuing on to the house. She’d never thought about the security precautions that must be implicit in being Charles Forsythe’s grandchildren. “Was it restrictive?”

“Was what?”

“Growing up with this kind of security.”

“No. Actually I think these circumstances are partially responsible for the way I live.”

“How?”

“Grandfather made life so normal and yet at the same time taught us safety skills. It just feels right to live two lives—to blend two very different lifestyles.”

He shrugged and she knew she’d get him to say no more. But she understood exactly what he meant. Another piece of the puzzle that was Bennington Forsythe slipped into place.

Ben pulled to a stop in the circular drive. Alex’s Lexus SUV was parked in the driveway, and Tory’s hands began to sweat.

Her reaction was ridiculous. She knew Alex wouldn’t be bothered that Tory was dating her brother. “Are we dating?”

“Trying to figure out what to tell Alex?”

“Yes.”

Ben leaned across the seat and cupped her jaw. “Tell her you enchanted me.”

“I thought your other persona didn’t have corny lines.”

“That’s not corny. It’s romantic.”

“Are you going to sit in the car all day or are you coming inside?” Charles Forsythe asked as he opened Ben’s car door.

The Forsythes were very warm and welcoming. Of course, Tory knew the family through Alex. And their grandfather Charles had been one of the founders of Athena Academy. Alex had greeted her enthusiastically when she and Ben had walked into the house, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk.

Alex looked happy with Justin Cohen. More than happy. Her eyes glowed with an inner warmth that Tory had never seen in her friend before.

Justin’s intensity reminded her of Ben. Another powerful male presence. They were all in the dinner room eating a light supper. Charles sat at the head of the table, Alex on his left and Ben on his right. Tory sat next to Ben, and Justin next to Alex. Veronica was at the far end.

Tory and Ben still wore the clothes they’d traveled in. Tory had on a pair of camel-colored trousers and a black sweater. Veronica was going to a party in D.C. later on so she was dressed for an evening out. Alex, as always, looked classy.

“How was Miami, Ben?” Alex asked when they’d all settled at the table to eat dinner.

Tory tipped her head to glance at Ben. She remembered their meeting on Puerto Isla and knew that if she and Ben remained a couple she’d never be able to share that story with anyone. Ben winked at her in that sly way of his.

“Fun. You can’t beat the warm weather and suntanned beauties on Florida’s Gold Coast. I stayed with some friends of yours, Mother.”

“The Bentons. Did you get on well with Amanda? She’d make an excellent daughter-in-law,” Veronica said, without sparing a glance for Tory.

Ben squeezed her leg under the table. “Now, Mother, you know I never kiss and tell…but I think you’d be disappointed with Amanda.”

“I doubt that,” Veronica said. Tory knew from Alex that Veronica wanted her offspring married and married well.

“How did you two hook up?” Alex asked.

Tory could only stare at her friend. She knew that Ben wasn’t supposed to have been on Puerto Isla, so she wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced at Ben.

“We met in the Miami airport. I was my usual charming self and she couldn’t resist me.”

“Ha. Have you heard the corny lines he uses? I’m beginning to think Bennington Forsythe, legendary lover, is a child’s bedtime story.”

There was a moment of silence and Tory rubbed the back of her neck. Maybe she shouldn’t have said something that might lead the others to investigate Ben’s supposed jet-setting.

“Do you see the abuse I have to put up with?” Ben asked. Wearing jeans and a Nordic sweater, he didn’t look like his playboy image. And here with his family he was at ease. She noticed he was careful to not let any subject get too weighty and hardly five minutes went by without Ben making some kind of joke or teasing comment.

“Big bro, you always have thought you were too slick for your own good.”

“Hey, what’d I do to deserve this abuse? Grandpa, help me out here.”

“You did it to yourself, my boy.” Charles wore a pleased expression. Tory sensed he was happy to have both his grandchildren back under his roof.

Dinner continued with lots of ribbing. Even Veronica was teased by both of her children about a man who was interested in her. Tory enjoyed seeing this side of both Alex and Ben.

Dinner ended and Veronica left to go to the party. Alex and Justin went for a walk and Tory found herself alone with two enigmas. She saw a lot of Charles in Ben.

“Can we speak in your study?” Ben asked his grandfather.

“Go ahead. I have to make a call and I’ll join you.”

Tory followed Ben down the hall and into the bookshelf-lined room. Tory walked in and stood for a moment to absorb the old-world elegance of the room.

“I think you should tell my grandfather what you have, Tory. He’ll be able to add some insight.”

Tory bit her lip, undecided. She didn’t want Ben or Charles taking over the Puerto Isla matter. She’d wanted to figure it out on her own. God, she was whining, she thought. Charles Forsythe had been in the Washington intelligence community for a long time. Tory would be a fool not to ask him for some advice.

The door opened and Charles walked into the room. Tory and Ben were still standing a foot apart watching each other. Tory nodded to Ben.

“Anyone want a drink?” Charles asked.

“I’ll take a Scotch,” Ben said.

“I’ll have something sweet.”

Charles fixed them both drinks, as well as one for himself. Tory took a sip of her liquor and found it to be amaretto. She knew the drink was one of Alex’s favorites. She closed her eyes and forgot for a minute that she was in Ben’s family home. She concentrated on the fact that this was also the home of one of her Athena sisters. She remembered how, when they’d all first arrived at Athena, they’d been too competitive with each other to accomplish anything.

Rainy had tricked them into putting their differences aside. Individually they were all powerful women, but together…together they were awesome.

Tory knew that Rainy was reminding her that sometimes she had to ask for help to find the answers she was seeking.

“I could use your advice,” Tory said. Ben took her arm and seated her on the leather love seat.

“What kind of advice?” Charles asked, sitting down on one of the winged green leather armchairs.

“Tory’s chasing a story that keeps getting more complicated. I’m working the military angle and she’s doing the political thing, but we’re missing something. And you dabble in both, so…”

“What have you got?”

Tory recapped everything she’d learned from Tom King, Ruben Jimenez, Dave Addler and Paul Terrence. “Ben spoke to General McKinley’s aide. He made several trips to the interior of Puerto Isla, and on the night the SEAL team went in to rescue the hostages, McKinley and another U.S. official were on the island and had just left the scene. And I got an anonymous tip on the phone advising me to check into Whitlow’s campaign contributions. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I have a huge printout of everyone who contributed to his campaign, but I feel like I’m following the chaos theory and searching for the top quark.”

“What did McKinley’s aide say?” Charles asked Ben.

“Just that McKinley was aware that Tory was asking questions and that I should advise her to stop.”

“How did they put us together?” Tory asked.

“They knew I was in D.C. with you. They are also aware that you and Alex are friends from Athena.”

“Does this involve Athena Academy?” Charles asked.

“No. Not that I’ve been able to tell. Though King, Ben and I are all connected to the school.”

“Addler, Terrence, Whitlow and McKinley,” Charles murmured, sitting back in his chair. Tory ran the names through her head, as well.

The men had nothing in common. Or did they?

In her mind she replayed her interviews with Addler and Terrence. Their offices had been similar. As had the pictures on the wall.

She’d seen pictures of both men on a fishing boat with Chris Pearson, Whitlow’s campaign manager.

Chapter 17

“Mr. Forsythe, do you know Chris Pearson?” Tory asked. Thankfully her photographic memory was pulling details about the man that she normally wouldn’t have recalled. She’d seen his face on Fortune magazine last summer and she remembered reading an article on him in the Wall Street Journal just the past week.

Ben froze and glanced at her as if she’d just said something that she wasn’t supposed to know. With his eyes narrowed he looked like a predator. Tory shivered and scooted a few inches away from him on the love seat. He did nothing to stop her.

“Yes, I’ve met the man. Why?”

Ben continued to watch her. She wondered if she’d made a mistake in trusting him. He was a dangerous man. She knew that she’d seen him in action. Plus he was capable of lying to those he loved and doing it convincingly.

Charles watched her, waiting for a response. “I think he might be the link.”

“The link between the men?”

“Yes. Well, Jimenez is linked to McKinley because he was the pilot. And McKinley and Addler were both in Puerto Isla at the same time.”

“Terrence and McKinley would have some contact with each other through the Pentagon. But why did you bring up Pearson?”

“I saw him in the presidential palace when I first got to Puerto Isla. After that my contact, Juan Perez, denied me access to King. I was thinking of my early-morning caller and his tip that drug money was linked to Whitlow’s campaign. There were pictures in both Addler’s and Terrence’s office of each of them on a fishing boat with Pearson.”

“That’s weak, Tory,” Ben said at last.

Tory knew it was weak and that she was stretching. Was she chasing something that didn’t exist? Was she so hungry for a breaking story that she’d follow clues that led to nothing?

Charles leaned back, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair. Ben’s grandfather was renowned for being one of the smartest men in the world. He’d been the director of the CIA, and Tory knew it took a certain keen understanding of human nature to have survived as long as he had in that job. Charles nodded slightly at her.

Ben, however, didn’t seem as supportive of her ideas. He shifted forward in his seat. “I don’t think we should pursue this line of reasoning.”

“Why not, Ben?” Tory asked.

He said nothing for a minute, and she reminded herself that this man had depths she’d never really be able to explore. A shiver moved down her spine, and she shifted away from his touch.

“I’ve been ordered to discourage you from going in this direction.”

Charles lowered his hands and stared at them both. “Are you on a black-bag operation?”

Ben didn’t respond. Tory had heard the term before. She knew it was some kind of government-okayed killing assignment. Simultaneously she was scared and furious. Scared, because Ben was a trained killer and she’d seen him in action on Puerto Isla. But furious because she must be onto something solid if Ben had been ordered to keep an eye on her. And he’d never confirmed any of it.

Tory stood and moved to the other side of the room. She wanted to punch Ben. Why had he connected her with Jimenez, if he was supposed to keep her from discovering the truth?

“For God’s sake, Tory, I’m not going to kill you.”

Tory said nothing, only watched the man who was the brother of her best friend. The man who’d made her feel safe at a time when there was danger all around. She believed he wouldn’t kill her. Besides, if he’d wanted to, he could have several times on Puerto Isla.

She was ticked off that he’d known all the time. Had he been trying to derail her? She focused only on her investigation and not on Ben.

“Why did you give me Jimenez to interview?”

He wouldn’t look at her.

“To gain my trust, right?”

He shrugged.

Damn the man. She tightened her hands into fists. “I’m right to suspect Pearson of being involved, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Ben said.

Charles steepled his fingers again. Ben sat back and watched his grandfather. Finally Charles lowered his arms. “We need a plan, young lady.”

“I was thinking I’d go to his office and interview him. He was on the news last week. Isn’t he managing Whitlow’s reelection campaign for next year? Maybe I can use that angle.”

“Yes. Do you think he’ll buy it?”

“I don’t know. Ben, how much do they know about me?”

“I’m not sure. This isn’t my usual type of mission. I’m a search-and-retrieve guy. But because of my connection to you through Alex, I was ordered to watch you and see if any names came up. If they did, I was to divert you.”

“How?”

“With my charm,” he said with a sardonic smile. Oh God. Had he been faking all along?

“That’s putting a lot of pressure on your supposed charm.”

“They don’t think so.”

“Was Pearson the only name?”

“No. Addler, Terrence and Whitlow were also on the list.”

Something about the way he said it made her believe there were other names on Ben’s list. “Who else?”

He shrugged.

She understood that he was under orders. Mentally she made plans to go back to D.C. tonight. She couldn’t stay and compromise the Forsythe family. She wasn’t backing down from this story.

She searched her mind and made a connection that should have been made earlier. “Del Torro and Santiago.”

Ben said nothing and his expression gave away little, but she saw his pupils widen and his nostrils flare as if he were sensing danger.

Well, she had the connection now. Money had been donated to Whitlow’s campaign. She had guessed who had given it and why. She also understood why King was better off dead than in prison. If he had seen McKinley and someone else on the island—she was betting on Pearson. He wasn’t a government official, but he had enough clout to influence those who worked for the U.S. government. He could also make deals that sounded as if they were coming from Whitlow.

“Charles, do you know Pearson well enough to get me an interview with him?”

Charles hesitated. “Ben, perhaps you should leave. I don’t want to compromise your mission.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m sticking to Tory’s side.”

“That probably isn’t wise.”

“Too bad. I originally got involved not knowing all the parameters of this mission. Special ops were betrayed, Grandpa. That could have been my team. And Tory is becoming important to me.”

Tory wasn’t sure she liked Ben labeling her as his. But deep inside she felt a little reassured that he had. His gaze met hers and he stared into her eyes with an intensity that made her tremble. An intensity that seemed to say, “You belong to me and I protect my own.”

It didn’t matter that she knew she could protect herself. It didn’t matter that every time she trusted a man he let her down. It didn’t matter that Ben lied to everyone he cared about. In that instant, she knew he had her.

Charles cleared his throat. “I don’t know him well enough to get either of you an appointment. But I believe Veronica socializes with Lydia Pearson.”

Ben glanced at her, and Tory wasn’t sure what to do. She knew he had a stake in the outcome. But she was used to going it alone. And this time she didn’t want him by her side. She couldn’t be sure whether he was going along for justice for special ops or to shut her up if she learned too much.

Charles called Veronica, who was en route to her party. Tory didn’t take her eyes off Ben. He watched her, as well, and she knew that their relationship would be changed by the outcome of their interview with Pearson.

Her career and her personal life once again were on a collision course. She only hoped that this time her judgment was better than it had been with Perry.

Tory stood in front of the window, staring down at the rolling hills of Virginia. The moon played over the landscape, giving it that dreamy sepia tone that she loved. She longed to have her favorite Nikon in hand. When she was behind the lens of a camera she could forget about her problems and just shoot film.

A light snow started to fall, and Tory was entranced by it. She loved to watch the snow. She didn’t get upset by the traffic snarls it inevitably caused or by the wetness it left behind. She’d spent too many Florida winters praying to see it.

She wore a pair of flannel-lined satin pajamas but she still felt chilled. Hugging her arms around herself, she turned away from the window.

She finally had the kind of exclusive story lead she’d always craved, and now she was worried about whether she could do it justice.

Athena Academy training had given each of its graduates that innate knowledge that she could do anything. Take on anyone and come out the winner. But tonight, in Charles Forsythe’s study, she hadn’t really felt that she could take on anything. She’d felt she might have bitten off more than she could chew.

Honestly, though, was it the story or the situation that bothered her? She’d proved herself on Puerto Isla and had more confidence in her survival skills than ever before. No, what worried her was Bennington Forsythe.

She’d retreated upstairs to type up her notes and write the story that was in her head. The story that she knew was going to rock the capital when she broke it wide open. She’d gone back over the campaign finances and still hadn’t found anything concrete to link Del Torro or Santiago, who both were coca-leaf ranchers, to Whitlow.

She knew she was missing something, and hoped that once she talked to Pearson she’d have what she needed to go live with the story.

She was too restless to sleep. She doubted she’d really be able to rest until after this entire story had aired and steps were taken to make sure that no one in Whitlow’s White House could willingly hurt U.S. citizens again. She knew that it was a naive attitude, but she clung to it.

There was a brief knock on the bedroom door. “Who is it?”

“Ben. Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

He opened the door and paused in the darkened entryway. The light from the hall spilled into the room, and Tory stood where she was, observing him. He wore only a pair of black pajama pants that rode low on his hips. His sleek muscles were illuminated and she just stared at him. Physically he was perfection. Honed, toned and ready for action, he was one of America’s fighting elite. And she knew he’d do his job under any circumstances.

“Come to make sure I haven’t leaked any state secrets?”

He cursed under his breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The room was plunged into darkness save for the fall of moonlight in front of the big window.

“Scared?” he asked, in a raspy tone she hadn’t heard from him before.

“Bennington Forsythe, Athena women aren’t scared of mortals.”

“Tory?”

Tory knew it was childish, but she slunk deeper into the shadowy drapes near the window. He walked silently into the room.

After the way he’d scared her earlier, she wanted back a little of her own. She made him come to her, using her own retreat to move him just where she wanted him.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

“One where I’m in control.”

“I love it when you take control.”

“Good.”

He crept closer to her and she stood her ground, watching him move. When he was close enough to touch, she reached out and swept him off his feet with a hook kick behind the knees. He controlled his fall, making sure they both landed on the bed.

Tory braced her hands on his shoulders and straddled his waist. He wasn’t breathing heavily and neither was she. Well, okay, she was a little bit, but only because he was close to her.

She felt his erection through the layers of both of their pajama pants. “Is this what you had in mind?”

She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to let him get to her any more than he already had. She wasn’t going to take him with her to visit Pearson.

She leaned down and nipped his pectoral with her teeth. He moaned deep in his throat, his hips lifting toward hers. She slid down his chest, kissing and nipping.

He caressed her breasts, cupping the full globes in his hands and then lightly scraping her nipple with his nails. He pushed her top up and grabbed her waist, pulling her up his body.

Leaning up, he caught the tip of her nipple between his lips and suckled. She held his head to her body and ground her center against him. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to have him.

She pulled her top off and tossed it on the floor, then reached between them and pushed his pants down his legs. He did the same with hers and in a minute they were pressed body to naked body. His skin was hot to the touch, and everywhere her hands fondled soon grew even warmer.

“Enough,” he said between clenched teeth. “There’s a condom in the pocket of my pants.” Tory reached for his pants and found the condom and quickly covered him with it.

She positioned herself over him and slowly lowered herself down on his length. Ben lay beneath her, coiled and powerful, ready to take command yet letting her have the power. She rode him, swiftly bringing them both to the edge of climax. He grabbed her hips in an iron grasp and thrust upward once and then twice quickly. She shattered and fell over the edge, collapsing on his chest as his shout of completion filled the room.

Alex and Justin were in the sunroom when Tory came downstairs the next morning. Tory hesitated in the doorway, very conscious of the fact that were a lot of things left unsaid between herself and Alex.

“Good morning, Tory,” Justin said. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m going for a walk to clear my head.”

“Want some company?” Alex asked. She got to her feet before Tory could answer.

Tory nodded. Both women got their coats and then walked into the chilly November morning. The snow from the night before blanketed the ground, and as she took in the scenery Tory realized how pure and innocent the world looked. A pleasant silence fell between them.

Then Alex spoke. “Okay, what’s going on with you and my brother?”

Tory shrugged. Alex narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to let this go.”

“I’m not trying to keep you in the dark. I just don’t know what’s going on. I mean, I’m attracted to him, and he’s funny and cute. But there’s also a part of him that I’m not sure of.” Tory knew she couldn’t really say too much about Ben to Alex. She didn’t know about his very serious side. The dangerous LASER operative who had saved her neck on Puerto Isla.

“Men complicate things endlessly.”

“Does Justin do that for you?”

“Sometimes, but there are pluses to having him around.”

“I bet,” Tory said, smiling at her friend.

“He’s also helping with the Rainy investigation.”

“Because of his sister’s death.”

“Yes. Justin won’t rest until he has all the facts.”

“We won’t, either,” Tory said. “Did you have a chance to read the e-mail from Kayla?”

“Yes, what’s up with Betsy?”

Betsy Stone was the nurse at Athena Academy. She’d been avoiding answering any questions about Rainy’s supposed appendectomy.

“I’m not sure. It looks like she has something to hide.”

“I know. I wish I knew where Sam was. Her e-mails are always so vague about her location.” Samantha St. John, their CIA agent friend and the youngest Cassandra, communicated with them via sporadic e-mails.

“Well, she’s on the trail of Rainy’s killer.”

“I wish we could find some concrete proof of what happened. Everything we’ve uncovered makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Me, too. At least Darcy is safe now.”

“Yes. Who would have guessed that Maurice Steele would be such a psycho? I’m glad I was able to help her nail that bastard.”

“I wish I’d been in on it. It’s situations like that one that the Cassandra promise was made for.”

“I think Darcy didn’t really want us to know how bad the situation with Maurice was.”

“We can all be taken in by appearances sometimes.”

“When you are in a situation like that, it’s not always easy to be rational. And she wanted to protect her son at all costs.”

“Well, don’t you forget about the Cassandra promise. If you get in hot water, call for help.”

“I will.”

The women finished their walk and headed back to the house. Tory realized that she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought she was. Maybe the reason that all of her close friends were from her Athena Academy days was due to the fact that she’d made the kind of bonds with them that weren’t easily forged elsewhere.

When they got back to the house, they joined the rest of the family and Justin in Charles’s den. Ben brought everyone up to speed on Tory’s investigation. Tory used Charles’s computer to search one of the many databases she had access to through the network system. Ben towered over her. Leaning against the desk, he watched every detail she came up with, but he was strangely quiet this morning.

Alex and Justin helped out and ran the names of all of Tory’s subjects through the FBI database that they both had access to. Charles and Veronica drifted in and out of the room. Charles said it reminded him of the old days when he’d been active at the CIA. Veronica had worn a tired smile and said only that it reminded her of Alex and Ben’s dad.

Her eyes had gotten teary and Ben had gone from the room with his mother. Alex and Justin followed them out, and soon Tory was alone.

Tory finally found a connection between Del Torro, Whitlow and Pearson. They’d all attended Oxford in England at the same time. “Pay dirt.”

“What did you find?”

Tory glanced up. Ben stood in the doorway, his shoulder nearly spanning the opening. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s fine. She always misses Dad at the holidays.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m okay. What’d you find out?”

Tory didn’t want to let the subject of his father go. But she was pursuing a story, and Ben was reluctant to talk about it. “Whitlow and Pearson were at Oxford with Del Torro.”

“Nice connection, but still weak.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Tory, this package just arrived from your network,” Alex said. She brought in a padded envelope that Tory knew contained the footage she’d requested of Pearson and Whitlow.

“Thanks.”

Ben took the package and opened it up. Tory grabbed her notepad and moved to the love seat. Alex sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her Tory’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tory hugged her friend back. “Me, too.”

Alex left the room and Ben tossed her the remote and then joined her on the love seat. “What are we looking for?”

“I don’t know. I ordered these so that I could see the way he moved and talked and maybe get a feeling for how to approach him.”

The interview footage showed a man who was smooth, suave and urbane. A man who moved through life as if he owned it. She learned he loved his yacht, the Cleo, and entertained both heads of state and celebrities on it.

She wondered if it was the same boat that both Addler and Terrence had fished with him on. She’d gone over the footage she’d shot in Addler’s home, but the name of the boat hadn’t been visible in the picture in Addler’s office.

Veronica had secured an invitation for Ben and Tory to attend a party that evening that the Pearsons would be attending. Tory was more than a little nervous.

“I wish there was some way to tie Del Torro to the campaign.”

“Have you searched the list?”

Tory rolled her eyes. “It was one of the first things I did.”

“Let me see it.”

She tossed him the three-inch-thick sheaf of papers. Ben groaned but started shifting through the sheets. Tory turned the volume up as a Discovery Channel special came on the tape. “Chris Pearson is known for his political influence and entrepreneurial skills, but he also has one of the most extensive collections of Egyptian artifacts in the United States. Today our cameras will be the first to see the collection that he started during a college trip with friends from Oxford.”

The footage shifted from the reporter, Brett Brown, a guy Tory had met a few times, to film of Pearson walking through the hallway of his mansion in Alexandria, Virginia, and into a large collection room. It was filled with sarcophagi and other Egyptian artifacts. Pearson talked about his collection for almost ten minutes.

“You are part of a Society for Egypt.”

“Nothing that formal. My group is just a bunch of friends from my college days who all share an interest in ancient Egypt.”

“What’s your group called?”

“Nothing showy—we’re just the Egyptian Society. We came up with the name when we were at Oxford studying ancient civilizations.”

“Is Governor Whitlow a member?” Brown asked. This interview had been filmed almost six years earlier when Whitlow had been the governor of Illinois.

“Yes, he is.”

Tory froze the frame and glanced at Ben. He stopped fanning the pages of the contributions list. Tory went back to the computer and found the list on there. She found that the Egyptian Society had made numerous contributions to Whitlow’s campaign. Tory did a separate search on Pearson and found he’d contributed money on his own. Del Torro’s name didn’t appear on the list.

“Here’s the lead I was hoping for.”

“It’s still not solid.”

“I’m not going to have to use it for evidence in a court of law. If I play my cards right, Pearson will tell me what I don’t know.”

“What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to let him overhear you and I talking at this party. To make it sound like we know more than we do and then see how he reacts.”

Chapter 18

Tory had been to fancy parties before as a guest and as a reporter covering events, so she had no real reason to be nervous tonight. Veronica Forsythe had picked out Tory’s dress, a sexy black Gaultier gown. The black sheath hugged her tight across the breasts and had a simple black strap over one shoulder. Veronica had warmed up to Tory over the past few days and had taken Tory under her wing. Alex had warned that her mother was eyeing Tory has a potential daughter-in-law, but Ben didn’t seem to mind, so Tory didn’t dwell on it.

The limo pulled to a stop and they all got out of the car. “I’ll be the envy of every man in the room tonight.”

Ben offered his arm to his mother, and the three of them walked up the steps and into the Gallery of Ancient Art, where the party was being held.

“I love this place at the holidays,” Veronica said.

“Mom, you love any place where there’s a party.”

“So does my son,” she said, leaning up and kissing Ben’s cheek.

Tory observed them, realizing that Ben and his mother had a really close bond. She hadn’t expected it, because Alex had told hair-raising tales about her mother’s obsession with keeping up their blue-blood society appearance. But Ben and Veronica both were graced with charm and the ability to put anyone at ease. Tory could easily see why Ben was able to fool the world into believing he was happy as a playboy who lived off his inheritance.

They left their coats at the coat check, and Ben braved the bar to get them all drinks. Soon Veronica saw some friends and left Tory and Ben.

“Have you seen him yet?” Ben asked when they were alone.

“No. It’s crowded in here. We could have some difficulty finding him.”

“Mom said he’s usually on the dance floor at these things. He and his wife took lessons last year and are eager to impress their friends.”

Tory took a sip of her drink and waited for Ben to suggest they go out on the dance floor and look for Pearson. Ben surveyed the crowd and smiled at several people he knew. Placing his hand on the small of Tory’s back, he escorted her to a group of his friends. Tory made small talk until finally her patience gave out. She gave her glass and Ben’s to a passing waiter.

“Shall we dance?” she asked with her on-air smile.

Ben excused them from the group and they walked toward the dance floor. “The man’s supposed to ask, Athena grad.”

“If only he’s astute enough to realize the lady wants to dance.”

Ben gave her a grin that made her melt. He was too sexy for his own good. And damn him, he knew it.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist taking charge.”

She had the feeling he was laughing at her, but it wasn’t a cruel laughter. “You’re too tricky for your own good.”

“Don’t tell my mom.”

Ben led her through the crowd and onto the dance floor. The band was playing standards and as Ben swept her into his arms, “These Foolish Things” by Bryan Ferry came on. Was that all she was going to have of Ben after this story aired and it was time to move on—a collection of memories? She shivered as Ben’s hand rested above her buttocks in the low V of her cocktail dress. His hands were warm and smooth against her back, and he traced an idle pattern there as he moved them through the crowd.

He was an expert dancer. Tory let him completely control her body and searched the crowd for Pearson. They found him at the center of the floor, dancing with his wife.

Ben leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek, stopping next to her ear. “Now what?”

Shivers of longing and desire flooded her.

“Tory?”

She rested her head on his shoulder and whispered against his neck, “Let him see us.”

Ben nodded. He danced them closer to Pearson. Tory glanced at him, trying to be nonchalant, but when their gazes collided Pearson froze. Tory smiled and Ben danced them away from the Pearsons.

Lydia Pearson had the kind of height Tory had long envied. She was at least five foot seven, slender and had the kind of tan that came from a salon. Her sleek blond hair was pulled back, and her strapless gown gave her a look of ageless beauty.

Chris Pearson was dressed in a black dinner jacket. He was only a few inches taller than his wife and had thick blond hair. They moved together well.

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” Tory asked. She’d leaned up on tiptoe to speak into Ben’s ear. Ben tightened his grip on her. For a moment she was completely surrounded by him.

“Yes. There he goes.”

Ben took Tory’s hand and pulled her through the crowd behind Pearson. They paused at the bar so that he didn’t notice them following. He left his wife at their dinner table and headed up the stairs.

“You stay here and keep an eye on Mrs. Pearson. I’ll follow him.” Tory didn’t want Ben to be put at risk of exposing his cover to Pearson or any of his acquaintances.

“Yeah, right,” Ben said, taking her hand he led her up the stairs.

Tory pulled him to a stop in a quiet alcove. “I’m serious about this, Ben. If you go with me, he’ll suspect you’re something more than just a man who lives off his trust fund.”

“Why? I could just be on a polite date with my little sister’s friend. I’m not letting you go alone,” he said with a finality that almost touched her.

“Ben—”

“Don’t say you can protect yourself. I know you can. I have instincts, too, and they won’t let me let you leave on your own.”

“We’re bound to get separated at some point.”

“Take this,” Ben said, pressing a small communication device into her hand.

“What is it?”

“It’s a two-way tracker, cell phone and radio.”

“Wow, I like your gadgets.”

“I know you do,” he said, leaning in for a fierce kiss.

“Here’s how it works.” He pushed a few buttons on the device, and the display screen became active. Two flashing dots, one gray and one green, appeared. Ben handed the phone to Tory and took two steps away from her. She watched the gray dot move.

“So now we’ll each know where the other one is at all times,” she said.

“Yes. If you get into trouble, push the star key and I’ll come running.”

“What if you get into trouble?”

“Tory, it’s me.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Ben attracted trouble like a lawless bandit.

The second floor wasn’t as crowded as the dance floor but it was still a crush. This level was filled with diorama displays of everyday life in ancient times. Tory moved past the most unlifelike figures she’d ever seen. Not only did they not look real, but they also looked a little creepy.

“What now?” Ben asked.

“Let’s split up and work the crowd. I’ll meet you on the other side.”

Ben nodded and moved to the left. Tory worked her way slowly through the right side of the room. She didn’t see Pearson but noticed that Dave Addler was at the party.

“Miss Patton, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Boy, you could tell the man had spent too much time in the diplomatic corps, because he lied with real sincerity.

“You, too. Is your wife with you tonight? I wanted to talk to her about Puerto Isla.”

“No, she’s spending the holidays in France with her family. I’m leaving in the morning to join her. Did you make any headway with the story you were pursuing?”

“It’s coming along nicely.”

He excused himself and Tory moved on. She wasn’t sure about Addler. She wanted to get Ben’s opinion. Ben was waiting at the bar when she finally made it across the room. He handed her an amaretto sour. Tory took a sip but didn’t want to drink tonight, so she set the glass on the bar and asked for some water.

“Anything?” she asked Ben when the bartender had moved away.

“Nothing. You?”

“I ran into Dave Addler. He was friendly.”

“The man’s a diplomat, Tory. That’s really not suspicious behavior.”

“I know. I’m not sure what to make of his involvement. He’s a wild card.”

“What do we do now?”

Tory shrugged. She was out of ideas. If Pearson wasn’t around, they were going to have a hard time letting him eavesdrop and learn that they had proof he’d used drug money to fund Whitlow’s campaign.

“I wish I had a cameraman with me. Then I could just point my microphone and start asking questions.”

Ben gave her a quick hug. “Don’t sound so forlorn.”

“There he is,” Tory said. Pearson was coming closer.

“Where?” Ben asked.

“Don’t look. I think he spotted us.” She took Ben’s hand and pulled him to an area where the crowds were thinner. She stopped to see if Pearson followed them. She leaned up and whispered to Ben. “He’s getting close. Time to put our plan in action.”

Ben wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a spot between the display areas. The lighting was dim. This was the perfect place for lovers to stop for a few quiet moments.

“Do you think he knows you’re on to him?” Ben asked.

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter. I have hard proof that he funneled drug money into Whitlow’s campaign. When I air my story tomorrow, it’ll all be over for him.”

“It’s lucky you saw him on Puerto Isla,” Ben said.

“Yes, it is. I wouldn’t have known to look at Oxford otherwise.”

Tory didn’t have much more than the Oxford connection, and Ben knew it. He put his arm around her waist. “I’ll be glad when this story is over so you’ll have more time for me.”

Though they’d planned a quiet interlude so that Pearson wouldn’t suspect they’d set him up, Tory hadn’t expected the words Ben had just said. “I’m always going to be busy.”

“Maybe I can convince you to free up a little more time.” Ben’s head dipped and he cupped her face in his large hands. His mouth took hers with languid sweeps of his tongue. She lifted her hands to his shoulders then higher, pushing her fingers into his thick hair and holding him to her.

She didn’t know if he was still playing a part or if he really wanted more of her time. She didn’t want to think about Ben and the complications that were implicit in even contemplating a relationship with him. He’d claimed her as his own. He was her lover and her partner in this dangerous game, but at the same time, she still wasn’t confident he’d be around after Christmas.

Tory slipped her arm through Ben’s and they finished walking through the exhibit. Ben leaned down to kiss her. “Do you think he heard us?”

“We’ll have to wait and see what he does.”

“You live an odd life, Miss Patton.”

“You should talk.”

“It was an observation, not an accusation.”

They went back downstairs in time for dinner to be served. Veronica was waiting for them at the table.

“There you two are. Having fun?”

“Always,” Ben said. He held out his mother’s chair and then turned to seat Tory. The other people at their table for eight were all friends of Veronica.

Dinner was a slow affair, and when it was over Ben excused himself. Everyone at the table was engrossed in their conversations, and Veronica leaned close to Tory.

“I think Ben’s serious about you.”

Tory had no idea what to say. “Don’t—”

“Let me finish, dear. I know he seems as if he drifts through life and lets nothing touch him. But he’s fiercely loyal to those he loves and will do everything in his power to keep them safe.”

“I know.”

“I won’t tolerate anyone using him,” Veronica said quietly.

“I’m not. I care for your son.”

Veronica nodded. “Good. I like you, Tory Patton.”

Tory’s cell phone rang and she turned away from Veronica to answer it. “Patton here.”

“Miss Patton, this is Chris Pearson.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I have captured your lover and will kill him unless you surrender the proof you have against me.”

Tory’s heart stopped beating for a second, and blood rushed in her ears. Of all the possible outcomes she’d projected, Ben being captured hadn’t been one of them. She was afraid for Ben and knew she could accomplish nothing if she didn’t stay focused. She pushed her own emotions away and hoped she could keep them bottled until she was able to save Ben. “Where are you?”

“That’s not important. Meet me at midnight on the mall by the carousel.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to sound casual so she didn’t alarm Veronica. And so that Pearson wouldn’t suspect how angry and scared she really was.

“Come alone and bring all the evidence you’ve accumulated.”

“I can’t gather it all that quickly.”

“For Ben’s sake I hope you can.”

Tory’s heart leaped and she realized she’d miscalculated when she’d set up her plan. She’d forgotten to take into account that trapped wolves were willing to do anything to survive.

“I’ve got to go,” she said to Veronica.

“Is everything okay?” Veronica asked.

Tory wasn’t sure how to tell the other woman that thanks to her bluffing Ben had been captured by a crazy man. Though she didn’t really think Pearson was crazy, just desperate.

“Everything’s fine. I got a lead on the story I’ve been working on.”

“I’ll give your regrets to Ben.”

“He’s meeting me out front.”

“You can take the limo if you need to.”

“Thank you, Veronica. But we’ll use a cab.”

“I enjoyed spending the evening with you, Tory. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you with Ben.”

Tory sincerely hoped so, too. “I’ve got to run.”

Tory left without a backward glance. If Ben was harmed because of her, she was going to go ballistic on Chris Pearson. She’d lay waste to more than his reputation in a jury of public opinion. She’d completely ruin the man.

In the lobby Tory reached into her purse and pulled out the phone Ben had given her. The phone gave her the exact coordinates of Ben’s location, and Tory wasted no time leaving the party to rescue him. She retrieved her coat and Ben’s from the coatroom so that Veronica wouldn’t be suspicious.

She and Ben had stowed their luggage in the limo. In the back of the car Tory quickly changed from her party dress into a pair of dark slacks, a sweater and her leather jacket. Ben had no weapons in his suitcase, and all Tory had was her hunting knife. She slipped it into the ankle sheath and climbed out of the car.

Tory hailed a cab and gave him directions, praying the entire time that Ben was still alive.

Chapter 19

Tory had the cab let her off a block from Ben’s coordinates. She was in the Crystal City area near the Pentagon by a row of darkened office buildings. The streets were almost empty. An occasional car drove by, but there were no pedestrians save her on this cold November evening.

Blending with the shadows, she carefully approached Ben’s location. She stood in front of the five-story office building. She checked the time on her watch. It was ten-thirty, almost an hour since Pearson’s call.

There were two cars parked in the adjacent lot, and Tory decided she’d check out the building. If she couldn’t get inside she’d wait until they brought Ben out to meet her and attack then.

Tory went around the back to the loading dock and checked the door. She’d done a story nine months ago on electronic security systems. Eighty percent of all residences and businesses only paid to have the front of the building wired. Tory checked the back door and found that this building fell in that eighty percent.

Tory took a nail file from her purse and a bobby pin from her hair and picked the lock. She stowed the items and stepped inside the building. It was quiet and Tory glanced at the phone display screen one more time. She and Ben should be on top of each other according to this. She searched for the stairwell and found it. Quickly she climbed to the second floor and searched it.

Empty.

The third floor was the same. Empty offices only. But on the fourth floor she heard the murmur of voices as she quietly opened the door from the stairwell.

Was Pearson here with an accomplice? Or was he only talking to Ben? Tory wasted no time, slipping silently toward the voices.

Light spilled from the room. Tory moved closer to the wall, careful to stay to the shadows.

She paused outside the door, then took out her compact and angled it so she could see into the room without revealing herself. There were two men in the room. Pearson faced the doorway; the other man had his back toward her. Tory couldn’t identify him. Where was Ben?

“You’re an idiot. We can’t kill a Forsythe without raising suspicion. The pilot no one cares about, but this guy…”

Pearson stared at the man in front of him. “They have enough evidence to incriminate me.”

“What kind?” the first man asked. His voice was familiar, but Tory couldn’t place it. They were speaking in low tones, almost whispering.

“I don’t know. Forsythe passed out when I hit him. I told Patton to bring it to me,” Pearson said.

Tory didn’t believe that Ben had passed out. It would take more than a punch from Pearson to bring him down. Ben was waiting for the right moment. Tory knew she just had to give it to him and together they could take the two men.

“Do you honestly think she’ll show up alone? She’ll probably be there with her camera crew and show your face on live TV.”

From her limited view of both men in the mirror, she couldn’t see any weapons. But surely if they’d captured Ben they were armed.

“It’s too late. I’m not letting either of them walk away alive.”

“It was too late from the moment King surfaced alive.”

Tory dropped to the floor and peeked into the room. It was a standard office with bookcases on one wall and two leather wing-back chairs with a small coffee table between them.

The only light came from the desk lamp, which left the area around the door not well lit. The office wasn’t that big but it was clearly an executive one. There were some potted plants in one corner and a puddle of darkness in the area around it. Tory crept into the room on her hands and knees. She froze when she realized that Pearson had a gun trained on him. And that the man holding him hostage was Dave Addler.

“Killing me isn’t going to save you, Dave. She knows everything.”

“How can she? We have the only real proof.”

Ben lay bound and gagged next to Pearson’s chair. He opened his eyes and glanced sharply at Tory. She had no idea what he was trying to communicate, but she was very happy to see he was alive. She took the knife from her boot and slid it to Ben across the carpeted floor. He fumbled until he caught the handle and closed his eyes again.

“She knows about Oxford and the contributions through the society.”

“I’ll modify the membership list. And take Alejandro Del Torro’s name off.”

“I don’t think that will work.”

“You haven’t been thinking straight for a while. When are you meeting with Patton?”

“Midnight.”

“What are you planning to do with Forsythe’s body?”

“Drop him in the Potomac. This time with better weights.”

Tory crawled back out of the room and got to her feet. They always said that in life-and-death situations instinct took over. She really wished she’d had been in a dojo in the past few months so her tae kwon do skills weren’t as rusty. She closed her eyes and asked Rainy to help her out.

“I don’t think that’s a good plan,” Tory said from the doorway. Addler fired in her direction, and the bullet went a little wide, hitting the door frame and not her.

She really hated being shot at. She gathered herself and ran toward Addler, hitting his shoulder with a flying side kick.

He stumbled backward, firing at her, but his shot was wide and missed her. Pearson was screaming something but Tory couldn’t make out his words. She focused instead on Addler and getting the gun away from him.

Pearson got to his feet at the same moment that Ben sat up and cut the bonds to his feet. Ben flung the knife at Pearson, catching him in the arm.

Ben battled Pearson, but Tory focused on Addler, who was determined to kill her. Addler fired again. Tory ducked but felt the bullet graze her arm. She attacked Addler again, hitting him hard on the chest. He stumbled backward, falling to his knees but not releasing the gun.

He fired a third time. This time the bullet ripped through Tory’s thigh and she screamed. She lashed out with a front snap kick, catching him under the chin and snapping his head back. She followed it up with a downward heel strike to the nose. Blood splurted everywhere. Tory reached for his gun hand, wrestling the weapon from him.

Ben took the gun from Tory. “I’ve got this.”

Ben was bruised and bloodied. She touched his face, wiping a smear of blood from his lips. “Oh, Ben.”

Tory was painfully aware that filing the story of a lifetime paled next to the fear she’d felt when she thought Ben was dead. Or the emotions that were flooding through her now. Coming so close to losing Ben made her realize how much she wanted him in her life—for good.

Robert O’Neill and several other men she recognized from Puerto Isla as being on Ben’s team entered the room and took control of the situation. Tory wondered how they’d known where to come, but before she could ask spots danced in front of her eyes and she collapsed.

She woke in Ben’s arms. Two paramedics hovered nearby. They had bandaged her arm and her thigh. “I need to get to the studio to cover this story.”

“Tory, let it go.”

“I can’t. This is my exclusive. Am I okay?” she asked the paramedic.

“You’re shocky, so you should take it easy for the next few days,” he said.

“I’m just talking about sitting at a news desk and reading a TelePrompter,” Tory said.

“Yes, but only if you take a week off after that,” the paramedic said.

“She will,” Ben said.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, and forcing herself to her feet, she limped out of the room.

It was almost 9:00 a.m. the next morning when Tory exited of the UBC studios in Washington, D.C. She was exhausted, but knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Tyson Bedders had been over the moon when Tory had talked to him.

They’d aired her live story of political corruption. She’d started with Whitlow, Del Torro and Pearson and how the men had met at Oxford in their college years. Pearson had tried to justify his actions by saying that Alejandro Del Torro had needed U.S. funding to make the lives of the people of Puerto Isla easier. But in the end that hadn’t mattered. King’s team had unknowingly witnessed Pearson on the island, funding the rebel movement that was responsible for the coup that ousted Santiago.

The White House press secretary had quickly issued a statement that James Whitlow had no idea that Pearson had been channeling illegal drug money into his campaign fund. He promised to start his own investigation and rectify the matter.

Pearson and Addler had both been arrested for their connection to the Jimenez murder. Tory and Ben had both witnessed their confession.

Whitlow had also agreed to do an interview with Tory in the coming month. That interview would be used to launch Tory’s new spot on UBC’s biweekly newsmagazine, A Closer Look. Tory had everything she’d ever dreamed of.

Almost.

“Need a ride?”

Ben stood in the entryway to the studios, his heavy overcoat dusted with the light snow that was falling. He looked tired, but otherwise she couldn’t read any emotion on his face. He wasn’t the charming Society Sam at this moment, nor the LASER operative.

“Thanks.”

Ben slipped his arm around her shoulder and led her to his car. He opened the passenger door for her, but before she could climb into the car, he took her in his arms. “Dammit, you scared me last night.”

She held him as tightly as he held her. “You’re not the only one. How does someone with your kind of training get kidnapped?”

“Hey, I had to take a leak.”

Tory closed her eyes and just breathed in the scent of him, thankful that he was still here with her and that she was in his strong arms.

“You saved my ass,” he said.

She slid her hands down his back and cupped his backside. “It’s worth saving.”

She didn’t want to let this get too serious. She didn’t trust what she felt for Ben.

“I’m not kidding, Tory.”

“I know. Every time I close my eyes, I see you lying bound on the floor again and this time you don’t get up.”

He made a rough sound deep in his throat and then lifted her face to his, kissing her deeply and holding her to him with a strength that would have frightened her a few weeks ago. But now it felt right that he should need her as desperately as she desired him.

“Come home with me. Let me make love to you so that I can forget that moment when Addler shot his gun at you and I heard you scream.”

Tory nodded. Ben hustled her into the car and drove them quickly to his apartment. He started kissing her in the elevator, his hands roaming up and down her body, being careful of her gunshot wounds. She did the same to him, understanding that these caresses were for both of them a way of confirming that the other was alive and well.

Ben lifted her into his arms when the elevator stopped on his floor. He had the door open in no time flat. He slammed it closed behind them and walked her into his bedroom before laying her gently on the bed.

He unfastened her bra and tenderly palmed her breasts in both hands. His mouth slid along her neck and caressed her lightly at the base. She shivered, undulating against him. She grabbed his shoulders and encountered his heavy topcoat. She pushed at the fabric, finally forcing it off his shoulders. His hands left her breasts for a minute, and he tossed his coat aside and then ripped off his shirt.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said.

In response she stroked the rippling muscles of his chest, tugging on the light patch of hair and scraping her fingernail over his flat nipples. He groaned her name and lifted her with his hands under her armpits.

“Open your legs.”

She did and he moved between them, still being careful of the bandages. His mouth fastened on one of her nipples, suckling her. She tilted her head back. His hands slid between their bodies, unfastening her pants and then slipping between her skin and her clothing. Delving deeply into the moist center of her body.

He lifted her feet and pushed her pants to the floor. Ben unfastened his own pants and freed his erection. He lifted her again and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He turned to rest her weight on his body. She pulled his head to hers and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth as he entered her.

She moved over him, setting a rhythm that took them both rapidly toward their climaxes. Ben’s hands roamed over her back, and then as she tightened and tried to move faster, he gripped her buttocks and held her still. Then he thrust up into her once, twice and finally a third time, pushing her over the edge. She held tightly to him as she cried his name. He thrust into her one more time before his own shout of completion echoed in the quiet apartment.

One week later, Tory was back in Manhattan. Ben had gotten a call in the middle of the night and left her alone at his place. Finally she had returned to her city, her apartment and her successful career. Ben’s picture had appeared in Britain’s leading paper. He’d had his arm around two ladies and the caption had claimed he was in town to celebrate the holiday season in style.

Tory knew that Ben wasn’t involved with either of the women—probably hadn’t even been there—but she also didn’t know where in the world he was. And she was worried about him.

She’d gone back to checking into Rainy’s death, searching databases for any additional clues about the fertility clinic burglary or anything at all that might be a lead to Rainy’s killer or her child. She and the other Cassandras were in touch constantly, but so far nothing more had been found.

There was some lingering public sentiment that the Athena Academy did more harm than good to the young women who attended the school, and Tory was planning a series of in-depth interviews with current students, as well as alumnae to show just how beneficial the school was.

She’d also been in contact with AA.gov. They’d found the woman who’d leaked information. She was one of Dave Addler’s aides. Apparently once Chris Pearson had mentioned that Tory was on Puerto Isla, Addler had used his diplomatic connections to find out information on Tory.

When her name came up in the AA.gov system, Addler had used it to try to discourage Tory from pursuing the story. They’d taken care of the problem, but weren’t going to be able to use her anymore.

Tory didn’t mind. She’d found enough excitement without being a government courier. She was going to be the next Diane Sawyer.

She’d gone to Florida for two days and visited her parents and her brother and his family. Derrick was recovering nicely and didn’t hold her responsible for his injuries. Pearson had rolled over on Addler big time and had given the investigators the names of every person that Addler had tried to eliminate from the picture, including her brother. Her parents had smothered her in love, and she’d come back to New York refreshed. In fact, the only thing left open in her life was Ben.

Was he going to call her?

A knock sounded on her door. “Come in.”

It was Perry. She was surprised to see him. He’d avoided her since she’d been back in the office.

“Got a minute?”

“Not really. What do you want?”

“To apologize. I realize it’s too little too late, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What’s this really about?” Tory asked.

“Nothing. I cared for you. I don’t want to leave things the way they ended at my apartment.”

“Apology accepted. Please leave.”

He paused in the doorway. “I’d like to produce some of the work you’re doing for A Closer Look.”

Perry was a good producer and in the end she couldn’t hold their failed relationship against him. Though it did hurt that the woman he’d taken up with was Shannon Conner. “I’ll think about it.”

He nodded and then left quietly. Tory folded her arms together and lowered her head to them. She hadn’t loved Perry and wasn’t really mad at him any longer. But what did it say about her that she’d been involved with him for four years? Was she incapable of the kind of depth of feelings that were needed for a real relationship?

She left the office just before five and headed home. She ordered takeout from her favorite Italian place and toasted her new success by herself in her apartment with a bottle of Merlot. She curled up on her sofa and put Top Gun in the DVD player.

The doorbell rang while Maverick and Goose were playing volleyball against Iceman. She paused the movie and went to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Ben.”

She opened the door. He was leaner than the last time she’d seen him, and beard stubble covered his jaw.

“Sorry I didn’t call.”

“That’s okay. I figured you couldn’t.”

“Can I come in?”

She realized she was blocking the door. She stepped back and he entered. He dropped a flight bag on the floor and glanced around her apartment.

“Planning to stay?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

“This is complicated.”

“You have no idea. But dammit, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them. “I know you’re not ready for commitment and I’m willing to let you set the pace for a while. But I’m not letting you go.”

“Good. And maybe I am ready for commitment. With the right guy.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

His smile made her heart beat faster. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa. She made love to him and then pampered her warrior home from the battle.

Their relationship was going to have to be taken slowly because of the dedication and travel that their careers demanded. But when she took him to her bed, Tory knew she’d finally found a man she could have a future with. A man who was her equal and not threatened by her. And an Athena woman would settle for nothing less.

DOUBLE-CROSS

MEREDITH FLETCHER

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Meredith Fletcher for her contribution
to the ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Late August
Munich, Germany

“Your target is at three o’clock, Sam. Coming down the stairs. Can you confirm visual?”

Shifting amid the throng of celebrants gathered around the nearest open wet bar, Samantha St. John turned to her right and looked up the long winding stone staircase that connected the elegant ballroom to the castle’s second floor. Considering the ceiling was almost forty feet high, the staircase had plenty of meandering room. Other heads started to turn in the direction of the staircase as her target descended. Konrad Steiner loved to make an entrance.

“Sam?”

Riley McLane’s warm voice echoed in Sam’s ear as if he was standing right beside her. He’d caught her off guard even though she’d been expecting the audio contact through the micro ear transceiver she wore. She’d been standing idle, making the party scene with small talk for almost two hours without seeing her target or hearing much from Riley. She was good at waiting, but she didn’t like it.

Sam’s partner on-site had met with the target briefly outside and had managed to tag Steiner with an ultraviolet mist that showed up on the thermal-imaging surveillance systems the support team was using through a geosynchronous weather satellite the Central Intelligence Agency had gotten access to. Riley and the support team in Langley, Virginia, back in the United States had followed the man through the castle, once the tag had been made.

Only five feet, three inches tall, Sam had to peer over the crowd of guests around her. The spiked heels she wore gave her a boost. Of course, if she got into a footrace, she was in trouble.

The plan is not to get into trouble, Sam reminded herself. Get in, install the computer program on the target’s computer and get out. Simple and trouble free. Stick with that. No trouble.

Steiner, the party’s host and an international crime figure, although most of the attendees didn’t know that, descended the stairs with a svelte redhead on his arm. She trailed a hand down the wrought-iron banister, the movement as suggestive as her rolling hips. Her proximity staked her claim on the man at her side for every other woman in the ballroom. And perhaps that message was intended for some of the men, as well.

Steiner was in his early fifties, but only the mission background Sam had read on the man gave that away. He took care of himself, and obviously considered his image one of his best attributes. His black hair was expertly groomed and his short-cropped goatee stood out proudly. A cruel smile curved his generous mouth. The dark blue tuxedo he wore fit him like a glove, delineating the broad shoulders and narrow waist.

The man looks like a medieval lord, Sam thought as she watched Steiner. The castle suits him well. But then, he knows that, doesn’t he?

Balloons and festive party decorations covered the walls. The chandelier in the ballroom glittered with a thousand points of light.

The castle outside Munich, Germany, along with the landscaped grounds inside the walls and the forest beyond, was a recent acquisition that Steiner was showing off. He was also showing off the woman at his side, another recent—although more temporary, judging from past behavior—acquisition. His relationships with women tended to be perishable in all senses of the word. Tonight the castle and the woman both were intended to intimidate those Steiner planned to do business with.

His slender companion was less than half his age. She wore a shimmering dark green evening gown that left little to the imagination. She clung to Steiner’s arm, dwarfed by his height. She laughed and talked freely, patting Steiner on the arm.

Steiner paid polite interest to the young woman, but his sharp hazel eyes roved over his guests like those of a hawk swooping toward a nest of field mice. He was a predator going to work, sorting out the strongest and the weakest of his victims in a glance.

Seven men in evening black met Steiner at the bottom of the stairs. All of the men started talking at once, in three different languages. Each of them had a deal he wanted to present. Asia, Africa, Australia and North America were represented in the delegation.

Steiner was, Sam knew, fluent in those languages and a dozen others. Patiently and with diplomacy, Steiner shelved the topics for discussion, saying there would be plenty of time for business after the party. Sam barely heard the exchanges over the noise of the crowd and the roar of the speed metal rock band playing live in the next room.

“Sam, do you copy?” Riley prodded. There was an unusual edge to his voice.

“I’ve got him,” Sam whispered. The miniature sending and receiving unit tucked in her ear picked up her voice easily and filtered out the extraneous noise. The device broadcast on a satellite phone frequency. The signal made the trip to the limousine Sam had arrived in, was encrypted there on hidden Agency hardware, and sent on to her mission controller.

Several of the partygoers used satellite phones to conduct business and keep in touch with their offices while at the castle. Steiner’s security allowed for those signals to come and go and didn’t jam them. That was a weak spot the intelligence division at the Agency had ferreted out to use for their own on-site sat-link communications.

The true trick in penetrating Steiner’s stronghold had been in wangling an invitation to the party. Even the paparazzi hadn’t been able to break into the castle. Steiner’s estate security was top-notch. However, the man did like publicity that he could control. Sam had chosen that as her route into the castle party.

“Bret?” Riley asked.

“Affirmative.” Bret Horn, Sam’s partner on the mission, stood a few feet away. Blond and good-looking, Horn had immediately drawn the attention of several females attending the party. He masked his response with the glass of beer he held while pretending to listen to the two dark-haired women vying for his attention.

“Sam, we’ve identified the target’s room and the computer he uses for his drops,” Riley said. Until Bret had marked Steiner with the ultraviolet spray, they hadn’t been able to ascertain that. “I’ll direct you there when you’re ready.”

“Understood,” Sam said. Immediately, adrenaline spiked through her body, invigorating her. But she kept herself under tight rein. She liked being in control of herself. Some of her friends insisted she was a control freak, never quite able to let herself go.

Sam didn’t agree with that assessment completely, but she understood how others could see her that way. Control was a big part of her life and her career. So many other things in her childhood—her abandonment and who her parents had been—remained mysteries and out of her reach. She’d had to focus on the here and now, not think about parents who had walked away from her or surrogate families that had provided for her but made certain they never got close to the strange child who was something of a genius.

Growing up, Sam had only been a visitor in those homes. Not family. She hadn’t had that until she’d reached the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women. Her friendship with the Cassandras, as she and the others in her orientation group had called themselves, had been deeper than anything she’d ever known, then or since leaving the academy. She didn’t trust the world to offer her anything like that again. She’d trained herself to be complete. Maybe she wasn’t always happy, but she was independent.

“At the first sign of trouble,” Riley stated quietly, “I want the two of you out of there.”

Irritated, Sam said, “Maybe we could concentrate on a successful mission before we throw in the towel.”

“I am concentrating on this mission’s success,” Riley stated sharply. “Getting you out of there alive is the greatest success.” He paused. “Both of you.”

Sam felt guilty at once because she knew Riley wasn’t happy with getting sidelined from the action by his recent injury and didn’t care for the role of mission controller. He wasn’t cut out to be an observer. He was a player. Sending others into danger was hard for him.

Riley had gotten shot on his last mission nearly a month ago. That mission had brought them closer to Steiner, finally giving them enough information to realize what the man was doing. That was also why Riley had been put into place as mission controller.

Sam had served as part of the extraction team that had brought Riley out of downtown Munich, Germany, after his cover had been blown and he’d been wounded. Though he insisted he was now at one hundred percent and ready for fieldwork, Medical hadn’t yet released him.

“I’m just reminding you of the mission parameters.” Riley’s voice took on an edge. “We’re not all or nothing on this take. We’ll have another chance. The target is a big fish, but he’s not going to pull a fade on us. He’s got too much to lose.”

Sam knew that wasn’t entirely true. Konrad Steiner had operated for years without being discovered. The action that had resulted in Riley’s wounding had put the man close to ground for weeks. With all his money in Swiss and Cayman Islands banks, Steiner could slip away in an instant and become someone else.

“You don’t have an extraction team there, Sam,” Riley reminded. “And you’re not exactly the most seasoned agent we could have sent.”

Sam resisted the urge to argue the point. She was good at what she did; that was why she was there.

If Riley knew he’d angered her, he didn’t act like it. He continued in the same commanding tone that grated on her nerves. “Tread lightly,” he ordered. “This is my show. My call.”

Sam grew more irritated. She could be a team player when she needed to be, but she preferred calling her own shots. Because of her size and the way she kept to herself, most people underestimated her. They often thought she was too small, too shy. She didn’t like the fact that Riley seemed to be one of those people.

During her six years with the CIA, Sam had been on several missions. Generally those missions had depended on her linguistic abilities, translating conversations and documents, rather than hands-on work that could get her killed. Only a few missions had actually required her to operate in the field and at such close proximity to a dangerous target.

Steiner made his way through the crowd. He was known as an investor and a deal maker. His interests included developing music groups like the one playing in the next room, pharmaceuticals, transportation and genetic research. If a profit could be turned at an endeavor, Steiner seemed to find a way to become part of the enterprise. Everyone was eager to meet him.

Even me.

Sam knew that at least some of the others would not be so eager to make Steiner’s acquaintance if those people knew how many people the man had compromised over the past fifteen years. That was how Steiner had made so many business acquisitions.

According to the files she’d read, Steiner’s actions had resulted in seventeen suicides, twenty-three murders and eight disappearances. Nine corporations had succumbed to hostile takeovers or been broken up after going bankrupt because of his actions.

And that was only what the CIA intelligence services were successful in confirming. Estimations about the true number of those activities were likely to triple.

“Heads up,” Riley said over the transmitter. “Sam, you’ve caught Steiner’s eye.”

Sam sipped her drink and watched as Steiner worked his way through the crowd toward her. Her heart sped up a little. The response wasn’t out of anxiety, but rather her body getting ready for the unexpected encounter.

“Making contact with Steiner at this juncture isn’t good,” Riley said.

“I know,” Sam replied. “Running away at this point isn’t exactly acceptable behavior.”

“Maybe if you had dressed more conservatively,” Riley growled.

“If I’d dressed conservatively I’d have been more noticeable than I am now,” Sam replied. Every woman there with a figure flaunted it, and there apparently were no women without figures there that night. “And I might not have made it through the metal detectors.”

All of the women at the party wore revealing and tight evening dresses and gowns. Sam honestly felt that she blended quite well with the crowd in an ice-blue, off-the-shoulder number. But her dress shouldn’t have caught the man’s attention.

So what had put Konrad Steiner onto her scent?

Steiner came to a stop in front of Sam and extended his hand. She offered hers in return and suffered through the obligatory hand kissing, which made her skin crawl.

“Ah, Miss Werper, so good to meet you.” Steiner oozed charm. He spoke English with a trace of an accent.

Sam was willing to bet Steiner knew about the accent and kept it on purpose. The man was polished and smooth, and the fact that he knew her, even though they had never been introduced proved that he did his homework.

“I have looked forward to meeting you, Herr Steiner,” Sam responded.

“Call me Konrad. I insist.”

Sam smiled at him. Her senses coiled within her. Steiner’s three personal bodyguards remained a discreet distance away.

“All right, Konrad,” Sam said, smiling again. “Then I insist that you call me Franziska.”

“This is Odile.” Steiner gestured to the young redhead at his side.

Sam told the young woman it was good to meet her, and Odile responded in kind. Both of them knew that neither of them cared.

“I’m told you are a reporter,” Steiner said.

“A writer, actually,” Sam corrected. “I write articles for different publications on a freelance basis.” That fit the cover she was using, and the note of pride embellished it.

“I’m told you are quite good.”

“Yes.” The Agency kept her cover name in the press through ghostwriters.

“I was told you wanted to do a piece on the movie industry I have interests in.”

“I would also like to do an interview with you, if possible.” Sam gestured at the castle. “Having seen this place, I’d like to do a piece on your home, as well.”

Steiner shook his head and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. Someone should have told you that I don’t give interviews.”

“Someone did tell me that,” Sam replied, meeting his gaze. “Someone should have told you that I don’t take no for an answer. I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Steiner laughed. “Touché, Franziska.” He nodded to her. “Perhaps later I’ll allow you an opportunity to change my mind.”

“I look forward to the challenge.” Sam ignored the scathing glance Odile gave her.

“Enjoy the party.” Steiner nodded politely and kept moving through his guests.

“Okay, Sam,” Riley urged. “Let’s go. The sooner you get out of there, the better I’ll feel.”

Sam made brief eye contact with Bret, then threaded through the crowd. The staircase and the upper rooms were open to guests for business meetings as well as private recreation in any form they could have wanted.

As she passed, Sam collected glances from men and from a few women. She reached the top of the stairs without incident.

“Hold up,” Riley ordered.

At the top of the stairs, Sam felt adrenaline rush through her body. The tension in Riley’s voice was unmistakable. She took a position beside the stairs and glanced down over the crowd as if checking the view.

“What?” she whispered.

“I thought I recognized someone there.”

Sam scanned the faces as best as she could from the angle. “You probably did. A lot of those faces have been on magazine covers and CNN.”

Below, rock stars chatted with business moguls while actors mixed with sports figures.

“Not those faces,” Riley growled. “Someone from our line of work. Who do you know at MI-6?”

MI-6 was Great Britain’s external espionage agency, a counterpart of the CIA. Sam scanned the crowd more closely. None of the faces she knew were in view.

“Naming names right now might not be a good idea,” she said. “Their presence here doesn’t have to mean anything. They’ve got just as much interest in our target as we do.”

Silence dragged over the connection.

“I’m going for it,” Sam said. “Hesitation isn’t going to net us anything.”

Riley growled unintelligibly for a moment, then added, “Go.”

Quickly Sam turned and headed down the hallway. Her pulse beat at her temples. She kept her stride full and determined, listening to the soft tick of the mental clock inside her head, counting down and eradicating her safety zone. She was in no-man’s-land. There was no turning back now. She was off the hook and operating on the fly. Success and failure rode on the roll of the dice.

If she was caught, she had no doubt that she’d be executed immediately.

Chapter 2

Riley McLane paced the raised section of the small, compact control room floor in the Langley, Virginia, CIA HQ. More than anything, he wanted to be inside Konrad Steiner’s castle-away-from-home. In Riley’s opinion, Sam simply wasn’t experienced enough to know what she was getting into.

She’s a linguist, damn it, he thought. Not a trained field operative.

High-definition plasma monitors lined the wall in front of him. Six operatives sat at workstations that held monitors on smaller scales. Some of those monitors matched the views presented on the wall across the room. All of them came from the button-cams on-site and the sat-link.

The button-cams were miniaturized video sending units no bigger than a shirt button. Adhesive backs allowed their use almost anywhere. The confusion of the party atmosphere, as well as the electronic toys brought by the partygoers and those supplied by Steiner, had provided Sam and Bret with plenty of cover to activate the video surveillance equipment without discovery.

Riley wore jeans, a charcoal-gray turtleneck and hiking boots. A Smith & Wesson .40-caliber pistol rode in a pancake holster over his right hip instead of in its accustomed shoulder rig. The change was a concession to the tenderness of his left shoulder where he’d been shot. He stood two inches over six feet and had an athletic build from years in the gym and on the go. His dark hair set off his hazel eyes.

The phone on Riley’s workstation lit up. He crossed the room in three long strides and scooped the headset up. “McLane.”

“Why did I just authorize a high-level hack into British espionage circles?” CIA Director Stone Mitchell’s voice was calm and uninflected. He’d put his time in over the years, rising from fieldwork to his current administrative position.

Riley turned toward the wall of monitors and stared at the images. Onscreen, Sam followed the verbal directions one of the techs gave her to Steiner’s private rooms.

The view was from above, looking down onto and into the castle. The thermographic imaging revealed the building’s structure in blues and violets, peering through the roof and floors. Special computer programming rendered the information into a three-dimensional display and gave measured distances at the press of a key. The people were translated into orange and red figures based on their body temperatures. Sam and Bret wore unique transponders that showed up on the satellite’s thermographic imagers.

“Because I spotted a guy I think is with MI-6. I wanted to confirm that.” Riley stared at the fox-faced man who had caught his attention. Jackson had plucked the man’s features out of the crowd at Riley’s insistence, then run him through the database.

“MI-6 is interested in our target, too,” the deputy director pointed out. “Seeing them there is no surprise.”

“To our knowledge, MI-6 hasn’t penetrated Steiner’s ID. This isn’t one of Six’s Intel agents, either. He’s one of their hands-on black-bag guys who specialize in kidnapping and assassination. The problem is, this guy doesn’t seem to be as interested in Steiner as he is in Sam—Special Agent St. John.”

In the picture above the nearly full-faced shot of the man Riley had tentatively identified, the man watched Sam, frozen in midstride up the staircase. He hadn’t been focused on Steiner.

Seeing Sam in the ice-blue evening gown had drawn Riley’s attention, too. Agent St. John was an arresting woman. Despite her active outdoor lifestyle, her coloring remained fair, with just a hint of a tan warming her smooth skin. Her shock of shoulder-length, white-blond hair was pulled back in some kind of intricate knot that showed off her neck and shoulders.

“I don’t like coincidences, sir.” Riley gazed at the still image of Sam on the stairway. “The presence of an MI-6 black ops team at our site is a variable I want more information on.”

Mitchell sighed. “I concur.”

Jackson spun around in his chair. A big smile split his dark face. He was young and still excited by the cyber-snooping he did at the Agency. “Got it.” He tapped the small screen beside him. “You’re looking at Henry Watterson. Got another hit, too.” He tapped keys and brought up another image on his personal screen.

A heavier and older man with a square jaw and cold, dead eyes filled the screen. The face was new to Riley.

“MI-6 operative Ian Callan,” Jackson said. “He specializes in abduction and control of people MI-6 wants to interview.”

Riley turned his attention back to the still image of the party scene. Callan’s attention was on Sam, too. A cold, uncomfortable itch spread between Riley’s shoulder blades.

“We’ve confirmed two men, sir,” Riley told the deputy director. “Maybe you can go through channels and see why those men are there.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mitchell promised.

Riley thanked his superior, broke the connection and watched the thermographic image of Sam stop at the door to Steiner’s private quarters in the castle. Riley stood straight and watched, hoping that the woman stayed out of harm’s way. His injured shoulder throbbed painfully, reminding him how quickly death could come for someone in his profession.

Sam removed a thin electronic device from the seam of her tiny purse. The fist-size clutch hadn’t drawn a second look from security because it had hardly been large enough to hold a compact. Instead, the purse held the device she was using now as well as a sat-phone and another surprise.

An electronic lock sealed Steiner’s door.

Opening her purse, Sam took out a small screwdriver and removed the two screws holding the lock’s cover in place. She kept watch over her shoulder for wandering partyers and roving security people.

Steiner’s voice boomed downstairs in the ballroom as he welcomed his guests over the public address system. He repeated his greeting in six different languages.

With the electronic lock’s cover out of the way, Sam looked at the wire bundle inside the device. She moved her hand over the mechanism, allowing the ring camera she wore to transmit the image in color. “Blue and white wires?”

“Affirmative.” Riley’s voice was tense.

“Something up?” Sam asked, responding to the tension in his voice.

“No. Keep your mind focused. That lock can be tricky even with the decoder you’re carrying.”

She knew at once that Riley was concealing something, but at the same time she knew he wouldn’t hide anything from her that was dangerous.

She attached the alligator clips from the device to the appropriate wires, twisting them slightly so the sharp teeth bit through the protective plastic coating. Then she tapped the lock decoder’s power button to activate the search sequence.

The digital readout blurred, flipping through numbers. As each security number was revealed and locked into place, the decoder’s red indicator light flickered. In four seconds the machine had broken a nine-digit number, stored it in memory and pulsed the sequence necessary to open it. The light went from red to green in an eye blink.

The lock clicked open with a metallic ping.

“I’m in,” Sam declared.

“Go. The room’s unoccupied.”

Sam knew that the satellite relay could peer into the castle and view the room’s interior through the stone ceiling. Still, she felt some trepidation at moving into the dark room. From Riley’s description of the room, it was more living space than bedroom, a big spacious place.

“Okay,” Riley said quietly, “let’s get it done.” He called out directions.

Trailing a hand along the chilly stone wall, Sam made her way to the section of the wall Riley identified. Following his instructions, she pressed a hand against a stone that the satellite surveillance had spotted earlier. Nothing about the stone made it stand out from the stones around it. If Bret hadn’t tagged Steiner with the ultraviolet mist and the man hadn’t accessed his hidden computer to make the deal Riley had set up as bait, the CIA would never have found the hidden vault.

Once the vault’s location was known, the thermographic imager had enhanced the locking mechanism, revealing its construction. The system of counterweights was old-fashioned but wasn’t dependent on constant power or potentially harmful to the computer beyond.

Sam pressed the blocks in the configuration Riley called out and felt the false front open. The castle walls were thick enough to hold the two-foot-deep space that contained the prize she sought. She traced her fingers over the cutting-edge notebook computer inside, found the releases and lifted the lid. At her touch, the screen lit up, bathing her in a blue glow that hurt her eyes for just a second.

When her vision cleared, she stared at the desktop image showing Steiner standing in front of the castle with the rugged, snowcapped Bavarian Mountains in the background. Evidently Steiner was more than a little proud of his new castle.

“Check the connections,” Riley told her.

Irritated that he’d told her something he should have known she knew to do, Sam felt around the back of the computer and found the USB cord that undoubtedly led to the other computer systems in the castle’s basement. The system also had a hardwired DSL connection that downloaded Steiner’s work to an off-site backup dump. He kept nothing but a high-end operating system archived on the notebook computer’s hard drive. The device served as a door to and from the business he conducted.

“Connected,” Sam said. “I’m uploading the virus now.” She pulled her purse into the glow given off by the computer monitor and slid a finger inside the lining. She took out a business-card-size CD that had been hidden as part of her purse’s backing, then fitted the rectangular CD onto the notebook computer’s CD-ROM tray.

Once the tray slid quietly back into place, she stroked the keyboard. “Loading.”

The screen remained on the desktop view. The way the virus was set up, even an automated screen-capturing program wouldn’t reveal that the computer had been tampered with. And the installation wouldn’t show up as a new program.

Once the virus was activated, it would instantly spread throughout Steiner’s network and carve back doors into the programming that would allow CIA hackers into the system at will. The virus was also designed to copy itself into Steiner’s address book and e-mail itself to his contacts. The intelligence division thought that within three to four days Steiner’s system and those of his contacts would be rife with the virus. All his secrets would belong to the Agency.

Static cracked in Sam’s earpiece, then she felt like she’d gone deaf.

“Riley,” she whispered.

There was no answer. Sam tried again in a louder voice with the same result. She tried to ignore the prickly feeling that raced across the back of her neck that something had gone terribly wrong.

“Sam!” Riley called. He pulled the headset’s mouthpiece to the corner of his mouth to make certain it was close enough. He stared at the thermographic image on the main screen, watching as the three figures closed on Steiner’s private room. There was no doubt where they were headed. “Sam!”

Thick, black silence filled his ears. None of the techs in the room made a sound.

Riley swore and turned to Melendez. “I’ve lost audio.”

“Yes, sir,” Melendez answered. She busied herself with her keyboard. “We’re getting jammed at that end.”

“By who?” Riley surveyed the screens. “If Steiner was responsible, he’d jam the video links as well.” The video and audio transmitted over different frequencies.

Melendez shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to break through.”

“Jackson,” Riley said, stepping forward and watching the three red-and-yellow images moving toward Steiner’s rooms. There was no hesitation, no possibility that they weren’t headed there. “Who are they?”

“Don’t know.” Jackson stared at his own screen, maximizing the image, then reducing it. “I can tell you it isn’t Steiner. There’s no sign of the ultraviolet mist.”

Riley felt some of the tension in his chest melt away. Thank God for that, then.

Jackson’s voice took on a note of disbelief. “I can also tell you that one of the figures at the door isn’t human.”

Sam counted down silently. With no installation marker showing her the program’s progress available and no contact with Riley Conner, she had to mark time herself.

At 1032, two seconds past the install time, she ejected the CD-ROM tray, took out the CD and closed the machine, then locked the secret door.

Trailing her hand along the wall again, she made her way back to the door by memory. Her heart pounded and her mouth had gone dry. Losing contact with Riley could have been a glitch in the system. Communications systems weren’t perfect.

She kept calm as she reached the door. Hesitating just for a moment, wishing she still had the connection to Riley so he or the support team could tell her if the hallway was clear, she opened the door.

A naked man loomed in the doorway. He stood over six feet tall and had a shaggy mane of shoulder-length hair that was dyed the same amber color as the mountain lion on a leash at his side. The man was trim and muscular like the big cat. Bronze skin glowed warmly. He wore an emerald-studded collar that matched the one worn by his feline companion.

After a shocked moment, Sam recognized him as a professional model whose career Konrad Steiner had taken charge of only a few days ago. The male model had racked up a lot of attention by streaking various sporting events with Web site addresses written on his nude body. Two countries had listed him as an undesirable alien and forbidden his travel there.

The mountain lion was a new accessory.

“Who are you?” a harsh, feminine voice demanded in German.

Then Sam realized that a woman accompanied the model. His size and his nudity had seized Sam’s full attention at first. He dwarfed the woman at his side.

The woman was Ingrid Eichmann, one of Steiner’s top lieutenants. She was tall and beautiful, well into her forties but able to pass for a woman half her age. Her dark hair was cut in a short shag.

“Who are you?” Ingrid repeated. She reached to the back of the business skirt she wore and brought out a small black Walther .25 semiautomatic pistol, delicate but deadly.

Riley’s voice erupted back into Sam’s head in a spray of white noise and static. “Go! Get out of there!”

Ingrid raised the pistol to point at the center of Sam’s face. The model jumped backward and covered his head in his arms. The mountain lion flattened its ears and snarled a little, and Sam knew that the animal must have been sedated.

Dodging back and to the side, Sam barely avoided the bullet that caromed off the wall and shattered glass on the other side of the room. She slammed the door and heard the pistol’s sharp report echo out in the hallway. Turning toward the darkness that filled the room, she knew that she was trapped.

Drawn by the action taking shape on the monitors in front of him, Riley stepped to the edge of the raised dais in the CIA control room. He made himself stand still when every nerve inside him screamed to move.

“Sam,” he called as calmly as he could.

“I’m here.” Her voice was icy, contained and calm. “I need a way out.”

Riley studied the red-and-yellow silhouette on the sat-link monitor and wished that they’d had the time to install a button-cam in Steiner’s suite of rooms. Not that it would have helped, though. The room was totally dark.

“Straight ahead of you,” Riley said. “There’s a window behind the drapes. Probably why you can’t see it. Security bars over the window. They have a locking mechanism.”

A moment later Sam said, “The lock’s stuck. I’m going to blow the window.”

“Do it,” Riley agreed. “The door is holding for the moment.”

“The two MI-6 agents are in motion, Agent McLane,” Jackson called from his workstation. “They’re going for Steiner’s room.”

Puzzled, Riley pulled his attention from Sam and glanced at the thermographic screen showing the castle ballroom. Two computer-inserted ID tags floated over the red-and-yellow silhouettes that were the British agents. They fired their weapons. Ingrid Eichmann and the man with her broke and ran. The mountain lion followed them. The British agents advanced toward the door where Steiner’s security teams converged.

Logic dictated that the agents wouldn’t try to break into Steiner’s rooms. If they were able, they’d spirit Steiner away. They knew he wasn’t inside. Sam should be safe.

Unless Steiner isn’t their target.

The thought chilled Riley. But it fit in a surreal way, and it explained Watterson and Callan’s interest in Sam. And their interest in Steiner’s private rooms.

“Jackson, sweep the outside grounds,” Riley ordered. “I want anyone who comes toward that side of the castle identified.” He knew the British team wasn’t working alone. They’d have a backup team in place.

Outside the castle, the sat-link used night-vision mode, enhancing the existing moonlight so most of the night was stripped away. The rear of Steiner’s castle perched on a tall precipice. Hundreds of years ago when Germany had still been a loose confederation of thirty-five monarchies and four free cities, whoever had built the castle had taken advantage of the topography. An army couldn’t come at the castle from that direction.

Hopefully a lone CIA agent who was quick on her feet could make an escape, though.

“Agent McLane,” another young tech called out. “I’ve got gunfire in the hallway.”

Glancing at the hallway, Riley saw that shots were being exchanged in the hallway in front of Steiner’s room. The MI-6 agents operated mercilessly, firing into the castle security teams. Four more men joined Watterson and Callan as Riley watched.

What the hell is going on?

Riley refocused on the screen showing Sam. She ducked down to the floor just as Watterson and Callan reached the door. Three bodies of security guards lay in the hallway. Warm blood pooled in cooling purples around the bodies.

Watterson stepped close to another downed man struggling to lift his weapon. Flame spat from the British Intelligence agent’s pistol and the guard relaxed in death.

Callan slapped a short square against the front door and stepped back quickly.

“Sam,” Riley called. “MI-6 agents are at the door.”

“Are we coordinating with them on this?” Sam asked.

“No.” Riley folded his arms across his chest and ignored the pain in his shoulder. “Stay away from them. I don’t know if they’re after Steiner’s computer…or you.”

Her response, if there was one, was lost in a sudden explosive detonation.

Chapter 3

Even tucked into a ball, clutching a pillow from the bed wrapped around her head, Sam reeled with the explosion that came from the window. The two-element chemical explosive had been disguised in the tiny bottle of hair spritz she carried in her clutch.

Twisting the cap tightly down and pressing the plunger broke the plastic membrane separating the two chemicals. She’d felt them reacting in a heated rush as she’d tucked the bottle into the window frame. Ten seconds after that, the contents of the bottle blew.

Slightly woozy from the massive concussive force generated by the explosive, Sam stood and dropped the pillow at her feet. She thought she heard Riley calling to her over the transceiver but wasn’t certain because she’d been temporarily deafened by the incredible noise inside the room.

A brief investigation of the window revealed the blast had stripped the security bars loose. The ends glowed red-hot. Chipped stone and broken glass had sprayed across the floor.

Grabbing the bars, Sam shoved outward and felt the metal grate against the stone as the security unit tore loose. She still couldn’t hear anything more than a low-pitched roar. The bars clanged distantly against the hard stone ground.

“I’m free,” she said, hoping the transceiver hadn’t suffered damage in the ear-splitting blast. She wanted Riley listening to her at the other end of the connection because she didn’t want to feel alone.

Part of her resisted that want. Except for her six years among the Cassandras at the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, her whole life had been spent in some degree of seclusion. She hadn’t gotten close to any of the foster families that had helped raise her. Working for the CIA had appealed to her because she could be part of something that mattered, a place where she could matter, without being overly intimate with it. In fact, anonymity was a plus.

Peering out the window, Sam saw the ground a little more than twenty feet below. A sharp drop lay less than three feet out from the castle wall. In the weak moonlight, her eyes still somewhat dazzled by the explosive, Sam couldn’t tell how far the drop was.

Another explosion came as a dulled thump behind her. She turned and stared at the warped door. Light from the hallway blazed through the smoky ruin clouding into the room.

Subtlety obviously isn’t a priority, Sam thought.

The door shivered from impacts. Evidently whoever had set the explosive was now trying to finish breaking in. Steiner’s door had been bomb resistant—to a degree.

Lowering herself through the window, Sam held on to the window frame by her fingertips, her front plastered against the rough stone side of the castle. Her gown ripped. Glancing down, she tried to estimate how far away the ground was.

Fourteen feet, she told herself with some trepidation. At least.

The height wasn’t much. She’d dropped farther than that while running la parkour. The French urban footrace over building tops, fences, cars, and anything else that got in a runner’s way was something she excelled at.

But a drop onto uneven and treacherous ground in the dark without proper footgear was dangerous. If she broke, sprained or even just twisted an ankle, she’d slow down considerably and could be caught or killed in heartbeats. Neither outcome was enticing.

Tense male voices came from inside the room. They spoke English and sounded far away in her still-ringing ears.

“Where is she?”

Cones of illumination moved inside the room, letting Sam know the men carried flashlights.

“The window.”

Sam released her hold and dropped. She remained limp, rolling with the impact instead of trying to resist it. Sharp pain ripped through her left heel as the spike of the shoe snapped off. She slid dangerously close to the drop-off, but managed to shove her palms out to bring herself to a stop. Her head and shoulders hung over the edge. Pebbles skated past her and fell. Gravel and stone scraped her palms.

“Sam,” Riley called over the transceiver. His voice barely sounded above a whisper even though she knew he was speaking loudly or maybe even yelling. “Get up.”

“I am,” Sam snarled. Gingerly, mindful of her balance, she sat up, and kicked off her useless high-heeled shoes. One of them scooted over the drop-off and disappeared. Ringing sounded in her ears as she forced herself to her feet. Her bruised and scraped palms burned from the effort. She bent down and snatched up the clutch purse, then stuffed it into the dress’s built-in bra.

“There!” someone shouted above her.

Sam didn’t look up. Looking up could guarantee a bullet to the face or a loss of her night vision if she saw a muzzle flash or her pursuers caught her full-on with a flashlight beam.

“The parking lot’s down the mountain,” Riley called.

“I know.” Sam felt irritable about the situation she was in, as though she had somehow failed. That was the only thing keeping her fear in check.

She grabbed her gown and ripped it from around her hips, freeing her legs for longer strides. Despite the summer season, the night air up in the mountains felt cold. She ran, dressed in the tattered remains of the gown and her underwear. When survival was on the line, modesty came in a distant second.

Calluses from years of running kept her feet somewhat protected, but she still felt sharp rocks and rough stone edges. Flashlight beams cut through the night around her.

“Have you still got a knife?” Riley asked.

“Yes.” Sam carried a small folding knife disguised as fingernail clippers in her clutch. Her breath rasped in her lungs, but her movements became more fluid as the adrenaline hit her system and her muscles warmed up. The internal rhythm she’d developed over years of physical exercise took over. Her arms and legs pumped, driving her body like a high-performance machine.

“Ever hot-wire a car?”

“Yes.”

“Under less-than-ideal circumstances?”

Sam didn’t bother to answer. When was hot-wiring a car ideal?

The flashlight beams licked the cold stone of the mountain around her. One of them fell across her from behind, and her shadow stretched long and lean ahead of her.

“There are four armed guards in the parking area,” Riley said.

“Where’s Bret?” Sam broke free of the castle and ran along the stony ground behind the tall wall enclosing the main grounds. The ground there held more soil and didn’t bruise her feet quite as badly. Grass actually grew in several spots.

“Getting away.”

Flashlight beams continued to splash the countryside after Sam. She risked a glance behind her. One man was just rising from dropping out the window. Another one hit the ground in the next second.

“Who are these guys?” Sam asked.

“Save your breath for running.”

“Who?” she demanded.

Riley didn’t sound happy about being distracted or disobeyed. “British Intelligence.”

“Why is British Intelligence chasing me when Steiner is such a prize?”

“I don’t know.”

Shots split the night behind Sam. Bullets struck sparks from the castle’s outer-perimeter wall and stones farther down the incline. Several of them passed within inches of her while the two men behind her ordered her to stop.

“There are probably six cars down there that you can hot-wire,” Riley said. “All of them old enough that they lack the antitheft devices of newer models.”

Sam reached the bottom of the incline where the mountain leveled out toward the graveled parking area. Guards carrying flashlights took cover among the cars, SUVs and limousines.

One of the guards swung his flashlight up in her direction. Sam slitted her eyes against the glare to preserve some of her night vision, saw the massive semiautomatic pistol in the guard’s hand and kept running.

“What are you doing?” Riley asked. “He sees you! Get down!”

Instead, Sam kept running. Hiding was an instinctive male reaction. She was female. A half-dressed female running out of the darkness was something a lot of men dreamed about. Especially bored security guards.

“Help!” Sam cried in a pathetic and frightened voice in German. “Those men!” She pointed behind her as she ran. “Help me!”

“Fräulein.” The guard spoke German, as well. “Who is chasing you?” He stood partially shielded by the massive bulk of an H2 SUV.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, acting as though she were out of breath. She ran at the man, never breaking stride.

“Stop!” The command rang out behind Sam. A flurry of pistol shots punctuated the order. One of the bullets shattered the H2’s passenger rearview mirror only inches from the guard’s head.

The man abandoned all pretense of playing the dashing hero to the damsel in distress and got down to the selfish business of saving himself. He ducked behind the H2’s bulk, then fired two shots toward the MI-6 agents.

“Help me!” Sam cried as she closed on the guard. She kept her hands up and away from her body, showing that she carried no weapon.

“Come here,” the man said. His voice cracked with nervousness. “I will protect you.”

Without leaving the safety of the H2, the guard reached for Sam. She caught his wrist in both her hands, set herself, and ruthlessly twisted the man’s hand over, controlling the thumb and feeling it break in her grip.

Before the man could cry out in pain, Sam kicked the guard hard in the groin. The man’s knees buckled. He couldn’t get his breath. Still controlling the broken thumb, Sam kicked the man twice in the face. His head bounced from the H2’s reinforced body with hollow thuds.

Even as the guard dropped unconscious, Sam plucked the big pistol from the man’s hand. She identified the weapon at once as a Heckler & Koch Mark 23 chambered in .45ACP. The weapon was fierce, designed for knockdown power on the battlefield for special forces. With two shots fired, Sam knew the brutally compact pistol held eight more in the magazine.

“Get moving,” Riley ordered.

Sam let the unconscious guard drop and resisted the impulse to look for more ammunition. Getting out of the confusing situation she was currently in relied more on mobility than firepower.

“What am I looking for?” she asked as she fled through the maze of parked cars. Her feet ached but she ignored the pain.

“Mercedes 450 SL,” Riley replied. “Thirty-year-old-model. Midnight blue. It’ll look black tonight. Three rows up and six cars down on your left.”

Sam altered her course.

“C’mon,” Riley said. “They’re gaining.”

They have shoes, Sam thought angrily. But she saved her breath for running.

She found the Mercedes seconds later, exactly where Riley had said it would be. The vehicle looked sleek and powerful. Although it was almost thirty years old, the two-seater model had classic lines that she recognized at once.

Without breaking stride, Sam pointed the pistol at the car and squeezed off two rounds. The bullets shattered the driver’s side window, revealing at once that the glass wasn’t bulletproof. The rounds dug deeply into the passenger seat and door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Riley asked.

“Opening the window. Faster this way.”

“You just ID’ed your location.” Riley sounded pissed and worried all at the same time.

Sam didn’t have time to argue the point over an immediate entrance into the car versus picking the lock or hoping that the vehicle had been left open. She reached through the broken window and pulled up the door lock. A shadow drifted into her periphery on her right.

“On your right,” Riley warned.

Sam wheeled, pulling the pistol up and pointing instinctively. She had one frozen flicker of time as she put the pistol’s iron sights over the center of the guard’s chest. She’d never shot at a human being before. She hesitated.

The guard fired. Heated air skated Sam’s left cheek, letting her know how close the bullet had come to taking her head off.

“Damn it, Sam, fire! He’ll kill—”

Sam squeezed the pistol’s trigger three times, aiming at the man’s beltline and riding the recoil up. He’s not an innocent, she reminded herself. Steiner doesn’t hire innocents.

The bullets knocked the guard backward, spinning him from a limousine before depositing him in a heap on the cracked rock covering the parking area.

Instant horror lanced through Sam. She didn’t let herself dwell on what she had done. There was no doubt that the man would have killed her if he’d had the chance. She walled emotion away, thinking it was possible the man had even been wearing a bulletproof vest and had only had the wind knocked out of him, and turned her attention back to the Mercedes.

She opened the door, slid inside and dropped the pistol on the passenger seat. Reaching under the dash, she located the wiring harness bundle along the steering column and yanked it out. Taking the tiny knife from her purse, she cut through the starter wire and bypassed the ignition. She kept her head up, letting her peripheral vision scan her immediate vicinity.

Sparks flashed the instant the wires touched. The engine hesitated once, then rumbled to vibrant, powerful life just as one of the two men who had pursued Sam from Steiner’s window arrived. He glanced around hurriedly, then spotted her inside the Mercedes. The man ran between rows of cars and suddenly stood before Sam with his pistol in both hands.

“Get out of the car, Agent St. John,” the man ordered in English.

Like hell I will, Sam thought. In the same instant she realized the man knew her name. How does he know me?

Sam lifted the pistol and fired through the windshield. A silvery halo formed in the spiderwebbed glass where the bullets cored through the safety glass.

The British agent ducked for cover behind a nearby car. The glass had deflected her first shot, perhaps even her second.

When the pistol blew back empty, she dropped the H&K into the passenger seat. The weapon had her fingerprints on it; she wasn’t getting rid of it till she wiped it clean. Holding the clutch down, she moved the gearshift into Reverse.

Draping an arm across the back seat, Sam gunned the engine and released the clutch. The rear tires spun as they fought for traction, then caught and yanked her backward so fiercely she almost banged her head on the steering wheel.

The seat was set for someone much taller. She had to stretch to pin the accelerator to the floor. Reaching under the seat, she made the adjustment. The faint, clinging scent of a man’s cologne stained the car’s interior, mixing with the stink of cigars. She stopped the car, then shoved the gearshift into first, let out the clutch, and shot forward. The line of cars ended at the long, twisting road leading up to Steiner’s castle.

“A vehicle is headed your way,” Riley said.

“Who?”

“Damn it! At this point, it doesn’t really matter who.”

“MI-6 agents aren’t the bad guys here,” Sam argued. “Steiner’s people are. I don’t want to hurt one of them if I don’t have to.” Sam paused. “I won’t.”

Riley hesitated only a second. “We don’t know. The car started moving about the same time the MI-6 agents started mobilizing to track you down.”

“I’m their target?” Sam couldn’t believe it.

“Yes. Now move!”

Sam sped out into the aisle just as a pair of headlights came around the long line of parked vehicles. The other driver swung his vehicle around and skidded sideways, blocking her.

In the next instant, the man shoved his hand through the window. She caught a glimpse of the pistol in his hand before the first muzzleflash blossomed. He fired rapidly as Sam stepped hard on the brake pedal. The shots went low, slamming into the Mercedes’s grill and the gravel to Sam’s left.

Moving effortlessly, the adrenaline slamming through her system masking whatever fear she might be feeling, Sam shoved the gearshift into Reverse. She turned and looked back over the seat as she accelerated. Gravel popped and crunched under the Mercedes’s tires.

Headlights flared behind her as a second car shot forward to fill the gap between the rows of vehicles.

Knowing that speed was the only chance she had, Sam kept the accelerator on the floor and steered for the gap between the new arrival and the SUV parked at the end of the row. The rear of the Mercedes negotiated the narrow gap, then the other car banged into the passenger side. Sparks sprayed from the impact and the front bumper hung up with a jerk just for a moment before pulling free. Cracks ran across the windshield.

Airbags swelled up into the driver and passenger’s faces in the other car. The driver might have had time to continue the pursuit if not impeded by the safety measure, but even deflating the airbag and freeing the steering wheel was going to take a few seconds.

Sam continued in reverse for another fifty yards, then tapped the brakes, cut the wheel sharply, and brought the Mercedes around in a tire-eating bootlegger U-turn. She’d mastered the Agency’s defensive, offensive and pursuit mode driving classes during training, then put in extra time at the tracks.

When the Mercedes’s nose slewed around, Sam gazed down the long mountain road that led up to Steiner’s castle. With the ancillary parking area outside the castle’s main walls, no security remained between her and freedom. She pushed into first gear, then floored the accelerator.

Wind rushed through the hole in the windshield. A quick glance at the rearview mirror showed figures converging on the wrecked car she’d left in her wake.

“Riley,” Sam called over the transceiver.

“I’m here.” Riley’s voice cracked and spat. The distance was already pushing the limitations of the frequency booster in the limousine still in the parking area.

“They were after me.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“I’m working on it, Sam. Maybe I’ll have answers by the time you reach the safehouse.”

“Going there might not be a good idea.”

Riley’s voice sounded testy. “Do you have a better place?”

Actually, Sam did. But she didn’t want to announce that. Every mission she worked, she always kept a bolt-hole. Maybe she hadn’t been out in the field on such a dangerous assignment before, but she’d been out there.

“No,” she said, because she knew he was awaiting a response.

“Fine. Get in touch with me there. And try to stay safe. I don’t want—”

Whatever Riley didn’t want got lost when the connection finally failed.

Chapter 4

Dressed in stolen clothing she’d plucked off a laundry line strung between two buildings in an alley near where she’d ditched the Mercedes after wiping it clear of fingerprints, Sam stayed in the shadows of the Munich streets. Her satellite phone nestled in one of the pockets of the oversize ankle-length black duster she wore.

Local time was 11:14 p.m. Few pedestrians were out on the street. Munich was a city that had a lot to offer even after regular business hours were over.

Neon stained the dark streets, advertising the bars and clubs that were scattered along the thoroughfare. Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks and crossed the streets as they pursued the nightlife. Passing cars whickered across the pavement, and fragments of songs, American top forty as well as Euro pop, reached Sam’s ears.

She wore boy’s jeans, a T-shirt and a sweater under the duster. A black crocheted beanie disguised her platinum-blond locks. Black, fingerless skater’s gloves covered her hands. At first glance, she knew most people would think she was a male teen, due to the clothing and her petite size. She’d smudged her face with grime to darken the highlights.

Raucous industrial metal rock and roll blared from the door of the basement club located in the Karlsplatz, which was the beginning of Old Munich. Only a short walk away, the Deutsches Theater towered among the buildings, possessing a grandeur all its own.

The location for the exfiltration was good, Sam thought as she looked over the young crowd enjoying the nightlife. She and Riley had arranged the meet over the sat-phone.

Tourists, convention-goers and young people gathered in Munich’s downtown area, all of them looking for an evening’s entertainment. Uniformed Munich policemen mixed with the crowd, generally at ease and having fun with the partyers.

Taxis mingled with the street traffic. Limousines plowed through the hustle and bustle, as well, which meant that Bret Horn’s arrival would go largely unnoticed.

Sam stood in the shadows and surveyed the street. She kept reminding herself that the satellite phone was encrypted and couldn’t easily be broken into.

The sat-phone vibrated inside her hand inside her coat pocket.

Shifting, Sam kept the device in the shadows because she knew possession of the sat-phone would mark her as a target for the pickpockets working the convention crowds. She held it to the side of her face and said, “Here.”

“The limo has just turned onto Galeriestrasse,” Riley said. “You should have a visual in a moment.”

Sam peered out at the street. She breathed in and out, slow and regular. Before she took her next breath, she spotted the limousine. The big vehicle approached on her side of the street.

“I see it,” she told Riley.

“Bret,” Riley said.

“Go,” Horn replied.

“Stop the car,” Riley ordered. “Sam has confirmed a visual.”

“You got it.”

Sam envied Bret and Riley the calm and easy way they handled the situation. Fear scrambled around inside her, but she held on to the emotion tightly. Even when she’d been bounced from foster home to foster home, she’d never let anyone know how afraid she was.

“Are you okay, Sam?” Riley asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied coldly. She also knew she’d answered too abruptly. Riley would know that she was anything but fine.

“We’ve got visual,” Riley said.

Sam guessed that he deliberately didn’t mention the anxiety he must have noticed in her voice. She was glad for that.

“The crowd there is a good cover,” Riley said. “But it works against us, too. I didn’t know the event was going to be this busy.”

“It’s a new industrial metal band kicking off a European tour,” Sam said, trying to sound casual. “MTV is here.”

“Where are you?”

“In the alley between the office buildings.” Sam peered around, trying desperately to see if any of the faces she’d picked up at the safehouse had mysteriously appeared there. When she’d checked it out a little earlier, she’d seen people she didn’t recognize posted inconspicuously nearby. Taking no chances, she’d assumed that whoever was after her knew where it was and had it staked out, waiting for her to show.

“We’re losing the spy-sat capabilities,” Riley said. “I can’t make you out. I’m not going to be much help from this end.”

“It’s okay,” Horn said. “Just come on, Sam. I’ve got you.” His voice was calm and confident.

Easing away from the building, Sam stepped out into the crowd. She lost sight of the limousine intermittently as she made her way through the revelers dancing out in the street. From the snatches of conversations she heard, Sam learned that the basement concert area was filled to capacity and the Munich police were enforcing the safety laws. Roadies manned the speaker equipment that brought the sound of the concert out into the street.

“I see you,” Horn said. “Keep coming.”

The agent’s declaration caught Sam by surprise. There was no way she could be seen through the crowd. “Bret, you can’t see me. I don’t see you.” She peered through the massed bodies, feeling her heart pump a little faster.

“Yeah,” Horn said. “I see you. Blond hair. Combat boots. Man, you really fit in with this crowd.”

Panic clawed at Sam. “Bret, that’s not me. You can’t see me. I’ve got my head covered. You won’t see me until I’m right up on you.”

“Oh, hell,” Bret said. “It’s not you.”

Sam made her way to a lamppost in the middle of the crowd. A couple teens were hanging onto the post, shouting the words to the song blasting through the outdoor speakers. Cameras flashed around them, snapping pictures. A street vendor sold beer by the cup nearby.

“Riley, I’ve got a prostitute at the limo’s window,” Horn said.

“Get rid of her.”

Quickly Sam stepped up onto the base of the lamppost and stared out over the crowd. She spotted the limousine, then saw the young blonde in the short skirt, jacket and combat boots leaning heavily on the vehicle’s rear window.

Horn’s window rolled down to half-mast. Lamplight fell across his face, bringing his features out of the shadows.

The young woman refused to take no for an answer. She was a hustler working the tourist crowd. Her English was broken, but her intent—her terms and her price—were clear. She was also embarrassingly forward about what she was willing to do and what others had said about her abilities.

“Bret,” Riley said.

Before Horn could respond, three men stepped out of the crowd. They were all dressed in street clothes, jeans, T-shirts and loose jackets so they fit in with the industrial metal fans. Walking deliberately, one arm tucked in close at their sides, they approached the woman and the limousine.

Hypnotized, Sam stood on the lamppost base. “Bret, three guys are bearing down on your position. Riley—”

“I see them,” Riley said. “Bret, get the hell out of there. This is a busted play. These people are on to us.”

Sam strained to hear the conversation in the limousine through the sat-phone as Bret informed the driver of what was taking place. Unfortunately the crowd that had spilled into the street kept the limousine driver from speeding away. Before he could get clear, the three men converged on the car.

One of the men grabbed the prostitute by the hair and yanked her down to her knees. Her sharp scream of pain pealed through the sat-phone, then reached Sam’s ears again across the distance. He turned her face so her features were revealed in the light.

Another man made the mistake of thrusting his weapon into the back of the limousine. Horn caught the gunman’s arm, broke it and took the pistol. As the man gave an agonized shout and sagged against the car, Horn pointed the weapon back at the men.

“Put the gun down, mate,” someone said in English. “You just go on an’ put that gun down easy like, or I’m gonna splatter this little lady’s brains all over the street.”

The man holding the woman shoved his pistol against the side of her head.

“That ain’t her,” someone else said. The English accent wasn’t quite as pronounced. “Did you hear me? This bloody well ain’t the one we’re looking for.”

“That’s okay. This one here’ll do for starters.” The man raised his voice. “I’m gonna give you the count of three, Yank, then I’m gonna kill this bitch. The blood can be on your hands. One.”

The woman screamed again.

The limousine driver kept trying to edge out of the crowd and into the center of the street. Incredibly, no one seemed to notice the men with drawn pistols threatening the screaming hooker. The men trailed the luxury vehicle, and the one manhandling the woman dragged her along with him with the pistol against her temple.

“You better think quick, Yank. And do the right thing. Two.”

“Riley,” Hart called.

Before Riley had a chance to reply, Sam shouted, “They’ve got guns! Help! They’ve got guns!” Atop the lamppost base, she pointed at the limousine mired in the crowd. “Robbery! Help!”

The partyers around her took up the warning at once. Immediately people started fighting to get away from the limousine, breaking out in an ever-widening circle like a ripple spreading across a pond. Hoarse screams and shouts drew the attention of nearby policemen. The policemen fought against the pull of the crowd, working their way toward the luxury car.

The prostitute chose that moment to rake her fingernails across her captor’s face. The man cursed loudly as he stepped back and brought his arm to his head. His pistol roared, further inciting the crowd. The bullet missed the woman and knocked sparks from the street.

Sam watched helplessly.

In disbelief Riley watched the plan he’d put into motion fall completely to pieces. The image on the center screen showed the action in thermographic detail. Dialogue tags covered the identified players in the confrontation. “Agent St. John” stood in the middle of a maelstrom of activity.

Inside the limousine, Horn fired his captured pistol. The muzzle flash became a temporary mushroom burst of sudden yellow light that quickly faded. The man who had mishandled the woman dropped backward as if poleaxed.

“Agent McLane,” Melendez called. “There are Munich police on the scene handling crowd control at the concert. They’ve already called for backup.”

“Thank you, Melendez.” Riley scanned the screen, watching as the remaining men took cover. “Bret, did you copy?”

“Affirmative,” Horn said. “I don’t see Sam.”

“She called out the warning,” Riley said. He glanced at the lamppost where he’d followed the red-and-yellow figure Jackson had tagged as Sam St. John.

“Agent St. John” still stood there.

Riley cursed. Sam had shown great initiative in calling the crowd’s attention down on the kidnapping attempt, but now she was standing around like a rookie.

“Sam,” he called, “go to Bret. Let the police take you both into custody. We’ll work with them to get you both out.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I may be safer on my own.”

Figures with drawn weapons converged on the limousine. Bret dropped his captured weapon outside the window and held his hands up. The two men who had closed on the limousine were also taken into custody. The man Hart had shot lay sprawled on the street.

“You’d be safer with the police,” Riley said.

“I thought I was safe with you, too,” Sam shot back.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean. This meeting was a setup. By you. Or by someone who has penetrated your communications. Either way, I’m out of it. When we talk again, it’s going to be on equal footing.”

The connection popped in Riley’s headset as he watched “Agent St. John” jog back into the concert crowd watching the Munich police take control of the situation. “Sam. Sam.”

There was no answer. Even the rolling thunder of the concert music in the background of the connection had faded.

Riley glanced at Melendez.

The tech shook her head. “She’s gone.”

Damn it, Sam. You can’t just walk away like this. Where the hell do you think you’re going? Riley made himself breathe.

Sam moved through the crowd, going quickly. None of the figures tagged “Munich Police” pursued her.

Then Riley noticed one figure that was moving in tandem with Sam. The heat signature was unmarked, an unknown. But the intention to intercept Sam was plain.

“Melendez,” Riley said. “Get Sam back on the sat-phone. Now.”

Melendez tapped her keyboard.

Riley listened to the phone ring and ring in his headset. He watched the figure closing in on Sam. She wasn’t answering. And in the next instant it was too late.

Whoever the new arrival was, he was on top of Sam.

Sam spotted the man coming out of the crowd at the last moment. He was an inch or two over six feet tall, in his late twenties or early thirties. His dark hair stuck out and a day-old growth of beard stained his jaw.

He reached for her without a word, grabbing the loose material of her jacket’s right arm. “Agent St. John,” he said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the confusion of the crowd. He held a pistol in his right hand and casually brought it up.

Sam resisted the instinctive urge to run away. The man outweighed her by at least seventy or eighty pounds and was nearly a foot taller. Instead, she whirled inside his left arm, stepping inside his personal space, and grabbed his gun arm. She knew at once that she couldn’t overpower him, and the man knew it, too.

A smile spread across the man’s face. “No way, small-fry. But it could be fun.”

Sam didn’t need to control his gun arm, though, she just needed to know where it was. Gripping his jacket with her right hand, she brought her knee up into his groin three times in quick succession. Sliding her left hand down to his gun hand, she stripped the pistol from his grip. Unfortunately he fought her, and the weapon slipped away in the darkness and skittered across the alley floor.

The man cursed, his words venomous. Shooting out a doubled fist, he almost caught Sam flatfooted. She saw the blow coming and moved at the last second, avoiding most of the impact along the side of her face. Her senses reeled. She knew she’d be bruised for days. Her right eye watered.

Despite the blow, Sam moved automatically. For years, every chance she’d made for herself, she’d studied martial arts. She had a natural affinity for several styles. No matter what foster home she’d ended up in, or what shelter, she’d found a way to take classes. Sometimes she’d traded janitorial services for training. At the Athena Academy she’d studied every form that had been offered, gradually working up to a teaching position before she’d left.

The man punched at her head again, still growling curses. He swayed a little unsteadily on his feet.

Moving her arms swiftly, Sam avoided the avalanche of powerful blows. She slapped some of them away, catching the man’s wrists in passing and using his own strength against him. Other blows she interrupted by smashing a forearm against his as he barely started his swing.

He tried to stamp her feet with his heavy boots. On the second attempt she turned, set herself and drove the outside of her right foot down his support leg. Her boot caught him at the knee and traveled all the way to his ankle. She knew from experience that she’d torn hide and deeply bruised him.

Spinning swiftly to her right, she came around with a backhand blow that caught the side of the man’s face and snapped his head around. When he turned to face her again, blood leaked out over his lips.

The man lunged for her. Sam ducked beneath his arms, grabbed his jacket in both hands and fell backward, catching his midsection on her feet and rolling backward. Deliberately, she brought the man over and down, banging his head against the cobblestones of the alley.

She rolled over on top of him, coming up astraddle him. Pain and a little confusion filled his eyes as he glared up at her. Then she grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the cobblestones. His eyes rolled back up into his head.

Glancing up, short of breath because of her exertions and the panic ripping at her, Sam saw that a small group had turned their attentions toward her. She pushed herself up from the unconscious man, ran her hands through his jacket and pants and took his wallet and money. She had some cash on her, but most of what she’d been doing for the CIA involved credit cards the Agency managed.

For the moment she was on her own.

Even as cries went out for the police, she turned and bolted down the alley. With MI-6 and the Munich police hot on her trail, there was only one place she could go for help.

And she wouldn’t be turning to Riley McLane for assistance until she got a handle on things. One thing Sam knew, the whole meeting had been a setup. She couldn’t believe she’d trusted the man.

Barely containing the anger that stirred within him, Riley stepped through the opening elevator doors and strode down the long corridor toward CIA Director Stone Mitchell’s office. In Munich it was almost 10:00 p.m., but in Langley, Virginia, it wasn’t quite yet five.

Several assistants and agents working in the offices along the way looked up at Riley as he passed them. He ignored them.

Before he reached the door to Mitchell’s office, the director’s stern voice rang out. “Come in, Agent McLane.”

Riley glowered at the button-cam hidden over the door. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Mitchell sat at his desk. He was a compact man of medium height in his early fifties. A dedicated regimen kept him lean and fit. He wore glasses, which made him look bookish to an extent, but a person who knew what to look for discovered the cold stare of a killer in the flat brown eyes. His dark hair was cropped short, matching the thin mustache that flavored his narrow-lipped mouth in a permanent frown. His blue suit was carefully pressed, his tie carefully knotted. He skin was dark enough that he could pass for Mexican, Italian or Indio.

The office fit the director. It was also spare and lean, an efficient place to work, not warm or inviting. The only concession to any kind of personal life outside the sterile walls were the pictures of his wife and two college-age daughters and a handful of Mitchell coaching his girls in softball.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on, Stone?” Riley demanded.

Calm and self-assured, Mitchell pointed to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”

“Sam—Agent St. John—almost got captured by those cold-blooded bastards MI-6 sicced onto her. Someone penetrated our communications security.”

“I know. Have a seat.”

Riley paced the floor. “I don’t feel like sitting.”

“Are you in communication with Agent St. John at present?” Mitchell asked.

“Agent St. John has cut off communication to me through her sat-phone.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Not that I blame her. If I was in her shoes, I’d have done the same damn thing.”

“She has to trust you. She’s trapped in a foreign country. No way out. Wanted by the police. Hunted by mercenaries working for MI-6. You’re all she has.”

“C’mon, Stone,” Riley said. “A play gets busted this badly, this quickly, over what is supposed to be an encrypted communications network, you know what she’s gotta be thinking.”

The CIA director made no reply.

“It’s the same thing that you or I would think. It’s the same thing that brought me to your damn door in such a hurry after St. John pulled her fade.”

Mitchell nodded slowly. “That someone here at the Agency sold her out.”

“Yeah,” Riley growled. “But I know it wasn’t me.” He leaned forward in his chair, piercing the director with his gaze. “So I’m here, Stone, and I want to know why you sold out Samantha St. John to the Brits.”

More than an hour after her escape from the trap at Karlsplatz, Sam walked through the door of a cybercafé near the Franz Josef Strauss Airport. Neon tubing advertised the existence of the business tucked in between office buildings. Video cameras, carefully situated in the room so they couldn’t view the computer monitors covering the high tables around the room, panned the door.

The knowledge that someone somewhere was getting her image made Sam nervous. Brief pieces of news footage she’d seen in an apartment she’d broken into for a change of clothes let her know that Munich police had taken several people into custody. No mention was made of who they were, and no mention was made of her by name, although the news anchor reported that some of the rioters had escaped.

After negotiating the computer and Internet rate, keeping the conversation in German and mimicking the local accent, Sam put herself behind one of the machines in the corner. Despite her anxiety and the urgency she felt, she ordered a tomato sandwich and a latte. Although there’d been food at Steiner’s castle, she hadn’t eaten much. Now she found she was famished.

One of the things she had learned about being in a succession of foster homes while growing up, of never knowing what kind of reception she was going to receive there or what the accommodations would be, was to eat whenever she was hungry. Served on a toasted bagel, the tomato sandwich was filled with a thick tomato slice, cream cheese, chopped onions and watercress.

She ate quickly, managing the keyboard with one hand. She used one of the e-mail addresses she’d set up for use while out in the field when she didn’t want the Agency to track her every move. A blind e-mail was easy enough to set up, but couldn’t be used more than once without possibly blowing the integrity of the security.

The trick was to contact someone who knew who she was despite the unfamiliar e-mail address. The second trick was to contact someone who would be in a position to help her.

With the chaotic background she’d lived through, and the succession of foster homes, Sam’s resources outside the CIA were limited. The single happy time in her childhood that had fostered feelings of permanent relationships was her time at the Athena Academy.

Located in Arizona, outside the Glendale/Phoenix area, the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women had come into being about two decades ago. Situated in the foothills of the White Tank Mountains, the five-hundred-acre educational facility offered an array of subjects for elite female students between the ages of ten through eighteen.

One of Arizona’s senators at the time, Marion Gracelyn, became the Athena Academy’s prime promoter. Calling on favors and using her knowledge of government operations, Senator Gracelyn laid out the plans for the school, then found the people and the money to make it come to fruition. Christine Evans, a retired army captain, was chosen as the school’s principal.

The goals of the school were multifold. Creating opportunities for women in all branches of the military, espionage agencies, national law enforcement bodies such as the FBI and the United States Marshals Office, as well as political office was the first goal.

Students who attended the Athena Academy were special: scholastically and physically superior, the kind of women who could succeed at anything they gave their hearts to. When the school first opened, only one hundred students attended. At present, the student body was limited to two hundred.

Sam St. John had gotten into the school at age nine, a full year earlier than the youngest students were usually admitted. At home, Sam had hacked into a secure computer site that handled sensitive espionage matters for the United States Government. After her astounding feat had been discovered, and her foster parents at the time had admitted that they wouldn’t be willing to take any further responsibility for her, a full scholarship had been awarded to Sam. She’d gone to live at the academy, thinking that it was just another way station on her way to adulthood and a time when she could take care of herself.

But in that first year at the Athena Academy, Sam had been assigned to an orientation group with girls who had become known as the Cassandras. Groups were assigned at the beginning of each year as thirty new students were brought into the school and divided into five groups of six members, each group delegated to a senior mentor. The groups of first-years were pitted against each other in several friendly competitions. Tory, Josie, Darcy, Kayla, and Alex had seemed about as different from one another as they could be, but Rainy—Lorraine Miller, at the time—had been made their mentor.

In spite of her best intentions to simply survive the school, get an education and get out, Sam had ended up making friends who she was sure would remain in her life forever. No matter how hectic things became, they still got together on special occasions.

Kayla Ryan had gone on to become a police officer. Alexandra Forsythe had become a forensic scientist with the FBI. Josie Lockworth was an air force captain. Victoria, or Tory, Patton became a reporter and now worked for a national news agency. Darcy Allen had worked in Hollywood as a costume designer and makeup artist before marrying a famous movie producer. Rainy Miller Carrington was now an attorney.

And they’d sworn at the end of that first year that they would always be there for each other. They’d called their vow the Cassandra Promise.

Unfortunately, Sam felt that none of her closest friends could currently help her. But the Cassandras weren’t the only friends Sam had made through Athena.

Given her present situation, only one person came to Sam’s mind. If the woman wasn’t there, Sam had no choice but to either proceed without information or hunker down and try to wait out the storm that had overtaken her.

Allison Gracelyn, daughter of Senator Marion Gracelyn, had graduated the Athena Academy with Rainy. Like Rainy, Allison had maintained close ties with the school. Currently, Allison worked as a computer programmer and mathematician at the National Security Agency, the most top-secret spy organization in the United States. However, she also served as a board consultant and overseer at Athena.

When Sam had applied for the CIA, Allison had stepped forward and written a letter of recommendation on Sam’s behalf. The act had surprised Sam, because she hadn’t been close to Allison. Not that she was terribly close to anyone outside of the Cassandras. But Allison was a good friend of Rainy’s. Sam had guessed that Rainy had triggered the letter from Allison.

Since that time, Allison had kept in touch with Sam and had provided some guidance while Sam worked with the Agency. On a few occasions Allison had asked Sam to translate some of the HUMINT and SIGNIT intelligence the NSA’s spy satellites and agents had gathered.

HUMINT was human intelligence, conversations and confessions garnered or overheard by NSA agents in the field. SIGNIT was signal intelligence, stolen away by listening devices and computers. Although she’d been able to help with the translations on most occasions, Sam still didn’t know for certain what significance those brief bits of information had. Allison had been appreciative of the help and had written more letters to the CIA directors that had helped Sam’s career.

That doesn’t mean I can e-mail Allison and expect help, Sam reminded herself.

In point of fact, there was a good chance Allison could trace Sam through the Internet Service Provider and give her location to MI-6, in return for an espionage favor, or to the CIA. Sam had no doubt that Riley McLane was desperately hunting her.

Lightning flashed outside the cybercafé, startling Sam. Then the dark heavens opened up and rain drummed the street.

She turned her full attention to the computer. She went online and tapped into one of the Web sites where she stored her computer tools and programs, then downloaded them to the computer she was on.

All of the tools were cutting edge, programs that she had either written herself or modified. Some of them were designed to break into sites. Others allowed her to trace people through the Internet. And some, like the ones she downloaded now, allowed her to mask the ISP she was logged on at.

Her configuration set, she typed, ONLINE?, hesitated a moment, then sent the message.

Chapter 5

The computer pinged to let Sam know the message had been successfully sent.

She took a sip of her latte and waited. She was just about to give up when an Instant Message box opened on the screen.

I’M HERE.

IT’S MIRAGE. Whenever Sam contacted Allison, she always used e-mail that pertained to mythological beings and places.

WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, MIRAGE?

Sam quickly logged on to the IM box and opened the dialogue. She typed rapidly. I THINK I’M IN TROUBLE.

WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE?

I DON’T KNOW YET.

SO TELL ME.

Sam hesitated but couldn’t keep her fingers from typing, CAN I TRUST YOU? She hated asking the question and immediately felt embarrassed. But that was one of the questions she’d always wanted to ask the different sets of foster parents she’d met over the years. And it was usually the one question she never asked but always got the answer to at some point.

YOU ALREADY HAVE, Allison replied.

After a brief hesitation, Sam typed, NOT TRUSTED COMPLETELY. I’VE MASKED THE ISP I’M USING. IF YOU TRY TO FIND OUT ANYTHING MORE ABOUT MY LOCATION, I’LL KNOW YOU’RE LOOKING AND I’LL BE GONE.

DON’T BLAME YOU. SCARY OUT THERE.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

NOT MUCH.

THE BRITISH SHADOWS ARE CHASING ME.

I KNEW THAT.

WHY?

Allison’s answer came back at once. I HAVEN’T FOUND OUT YET. IT’S A SENSITIVE MATTER. NO ONE’S TALKING ABOUT IT. I DON’T WANT TO PUSH TOO HARD. THE SITUATION ISN’T IN ANY OF THE FIELDS I’M RESPONSIBLE FOR. I ONLY FOUND OUT A FEW MINUTES AGO.

Sam thought about that. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT?

CIA DIRECTOR MITCHELL CALLED ME. SAID YOU MIGHT BE IN CONTACT. THAT MADE ME CURIOUS.

WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?

THAT I’D LET HIM KNOW IF YOU GOT IN TOUCH WITH ME.

An iron fist wrapped around Sam’s stomach. For a moment she thought she was going to throw up. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting MI-6 agents to come busting through the door. Instead, she caught the two young men gazing at her, then saw them quickly try to cover that fact up.

The computer pinged, letting her know Allison had already sent another message.

I LIED.

The fist clenching Sam’s middle relaxed. But only a little. She hated trusting anyone outside her own skin. Nobody had ever looked out for her the way she’d looked out for herself.

Well, almost nobody. The Cassandras had come close. Rainy had been like the big sister Sam had never had. And Darcy had become almost like a mother.

WHY ARE THEY AFTER YOU? Allison asked.

I HAVEN’T STOPPED LONG ENOUGH TO ASK.

The cursor blinked for a moment, then Allison asked, HOW MUCH INVOLVEMENT HAVE YOU HAD WITH THEM?

PRACTICALLY NONE. SPOT ASSIGNMENTS. NOTHING HANDS-ON WITHOUT OTHER AGENTS BEING PRESENT.

WHAT DO YOU NEED FROM ME?

Sam thought about that only for a moment. I NEED TO KNOW WHERE THE HEAT’S COMING FROM.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

STAY HUNKERED DOWN UNTIL I FIGURE OUT MY NEXT MOVE.

THAT MEANS YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE HERE FOR THE FUNERAL. THAT’S GOING TO BE HARD ON THE OTHERS. THEY WERE HOPING YOU WOULD ALL BE TOGETHER TO SAY GOODBYE.

A creeping chill filled Sam. She made herself read the words again. Nothing there made sense. Breaking the thrall that held her, she typed, WHAT FUNERAL?

YOU DON’T KNOW?

Sam waited. The list of people that Allison knew Sam would be upset over was short. And all of those people meant the world to her.

RAINY.

The single word froze Sam’s heart. Her hands turned numb. She couldn’t type. Images of Rainy—Lorraine Miller Carrington to anyone who didn’t know her—danced through Sam’s head.

Rainy had thick chestnut-colored hair and bright blue eyes. She was quick out on the mats in a martial arts dojo, a whirlwind of determination. Rainy had served as an instructor at the Athena Academy. She’d thought she had taught Sam some new moves. Sam had just never let her friend see how good she really was.

More than anything, the night when Rainy had “injured” her ankle while on a survival camping trip, Rainy had somehow managed to defeat Sam’s ingrained emotional defenses. Rainy had been the group leader of the Cassandras. They’d been an odd group, none of them getting along well with the others. They’d done poorly at every competition in their first trimester at Athena. None of them had worked well with the others at first, and it showed in their poor performance in group activities.

Sam had been the youngest member. At that time, she’d carried a lot of anger inside her and unleashed it on anyone who tried to get close to her. Rainy had changed all that when she’d pretended to be injured out there in the mountains. During that night, while caring for Rainy, all of them—Tory, Josie, Darcy, Kayla, Alex and Sam—had somehow pulled together to take care of Rainy and each other. And the Cassandras had become the strongest of all the groups that year.

No. Not Rainy. Rainy can’t be dead. Nothing can happen to Rainy.

Sam felt the hot flash of tears burn at the backs of her eyes. She walled those feelings off, drawing on the skills she’d learned while getting bounced from foster home to foster home.

Nothing could touch her. She wouldn’t let it.

I’M SO SORRY, Allison typed. OH, GOD, I’M SO SORRY. YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO FIND OUT LIKE THIS.

Sam stared at the screen, then blocked out the hurtful words. She typed WHAT HAPPENED?

“Miss, would you like a pillow?”

Torn from her thoughts, Sam glanced up at the flight attendant. He was young and slim, elegant looking in his uniform.

“No,” Sam replied. She heard the strain in her voice. Fatigue had settled in like a heavy quilt once the jet had taken off. She hadn’t spoken since the jet had lifted from Innsbruck, Austria.

After finishing her conversation with Allison Gracelyn, Sam had abandoned Munich at once. She’d rented a car in one of her cover names and driven down to St. Anton, Austria. Once there, she’d spent the night in one of the ski resorts under yet another name. After she’d lost herself among the skiing crowd and made certain she hadn’t been followed, she’d rented a car and driven to Innsbruck to take the first plane headed west that offered jumps to Tucson, Arizona, where Rainy was going to be buried. She was going to have to say goodbye to her friend forever.

Tomorrow. How am I going to do that, Rainy? How am I supposed to go on and never see you again?

It wasn’t fair. This hurt too much. Sam had gotten really good at telling foster families goodbye. She’d made certain after the first few that she never got to know the families that followed.

Sam glanced at her watch. Tomorrow was only hours away. She was somewhere over the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. With the layovers she had scheduled in Atlanta, Georgia, and St. Louis, Missouri, getting to the funeral on time was going to be close.

“A magazine, then?” the flight attendant suggested, as if uncomfortable leaving her there staring into the darkness outside the window. “Or headphones for the television or radio?”

From the corner of her eye, Sam noticed that the rest of the travelers on the late-night flight were asleep or reading or watching the recycled sit-com on the small television monitors that flipped down from the cabin roof.

“Headphones, please.” Sam paid for the disposable headphones, plugged them into the appropriate slot on the seat, and didn’t switch the sound on. With the headphones in place, her inability to sleep and preoccupation with the painful memories and incessant questions that kept slamming around in her mind were effectively disguised.

Satisfied, the attendant offered a beverage of her choice, accepted her polite refusal of the same and went away.

Fatigue leeched at Sam’s reserves, but she couldn’t rest. Even if she hadn’t been running from the combined forces of the CIA and MI-6, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

Rainy was dead.

And with her friend gone, something of Sam St. John felt dead and MIA, as well.

Sam still hadn’t cried. She refused to allow herself. Crying had never done her any good while she was shuttling from family to family, usually wearing out her welcome and sometimes alienating the families because she wouldn’t socialize with them.

None of them had accepted her. They couldn’t. Sam had been too intelligent. Too independent. Too different.

And she wasn’t vulnerable. She’d worked hard to keep herself from being vulnerable. No one was allowed to hurt her.

Now, with the pain of Rainy’s death heavy on her heart, Sam felt angry with her friend, as well. Rainy had no right to die. Especially not by something as stupid as falling asleep behind the wheel of her car and crashing.

Not after you made me love you, Sam thought. Her throat tightened painfully. It’s just not fair. Damn you, Rainy.

That thought immediately felt selfish. Rainy was married. Her husband, Marshall, was a great guy and completely in love with Rainy. How must he be feeling?

Barely able to hold back the tears, Sam stared at her reflection in the jet’s window. Backlit by a reading light behind her, Sam’s reflection looked gray and paper thin in the clean glass. Her image there was insubstantial; nothing could touch it; nothing could stick to it or hurt it.

Sam wished she could be more like that reflection. There was a time in her life, she knew, that she was like that image. There had been three kids in her fourth foster family. All of those kids had been older than she was. None of them had liked her. Because of her white-blond hair, pale complexion and the quiet way she had when she was six years old, those kids had called her Ghost Girl. They had made fun of her.

At that time, Sam had been too young to take any real command of her life. So she’d chosen to exist simply because she didn’t know how to stop existing. Then she’d discovered computers and had her first few lessons in martial arts. She’d found a way to connect to her own life. Computers offered a world of logic, of checks and balances. In a way, martial arts offered the same foundation. She had learned to be good at both those things.

She studied her reflection in the window. She was pretty. She knew that. Made up properly, she might even own up to being beautiful. Boys who had gotten to know her while she was attending Athena Academy called her the Ice Princess. They’d thought she was egotistical, a snob. None of them had guessed that the demeanor she exhibited was purely there as a defense mechanism.

But it had been so long since she had hurt like this that she was afraid she wouldn’t make it back from the loss to be whole again.

No, she admonished herself, you’ve never hurt like this. Oh God, Rainy, what am I going to do now that you’re not there?

Her reflection held no answers for her. Her pain didn’t even show in the image of her face. She breathed out, keeping herself centered. During the last day and a half, Allison hadn’t been able to penetrate the security regarding the search for CIA Special Agent Samantha St. John.

Her government, at least in spy circles, had declared her a fugitive for reasons that she didn’t know.

She pushed the confusion out of her mind. One problem at a time, she chided herself. She intended to go to the funeral first, then work out the details of finding out what had gone wrong in Munich.

The funeral left her exposed, though. If anyone at the Agency managed to put Rainy’s death into the picture, they might know that she wouldn’t stay away. The way Sam had it figured she only had to worry about one agent.

And Riley McLane had already betrayed her once.

“Did you know St. John was taken into custody by the FBI?”

Looking up from the personnel reports he was perusing, Riley looked at Howie Dunn sitting across the desk from him. They both worked out of the Agency bullpens in investigative services.

“The Feebs?” Riley asked, his interest sparking at once. Samantha St. John was turning out to be an interesting study. Never mind that the slim-hipped build and get-back stare that she maintained had already whetted his interest.

But an FBI arrest? Riley would never have guessed that. Sam was full of surprises. Especially the part about being a traitor.

“What did the Feebs arrest her for?” he asked.

Howie grinned and shook his head. “She hacked into a Web site filled with government secrets.” The other agent was a big, blocky guy in his mid-twenties who looked like he’d be more at home at a university frat house than working profiling and background checks for the CIA. He had his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves rolled up to mid-forearm.

“And she was cleared for service with the Agency in spite of that?” Riley couldn’t believe it.

Howie grinned as mirthless as a shark. “St. John was eight at the time of the incident. Until she became listed as an international threat yesterday, her juvenile records were sealed.”

“Eight?” Riley reached for the computer monitor Howie was looking at and spun it around. He scanned the court documents in quick succession, flipping through the pages with the mouse.

“Just a kid. She borrowed the computer in her foster parents’ house and hacked into the system.”

“Why?”

“According to the child advocate representing her, St. John was just curious.”

“Why did she have a child advocate?” Normally, an attorney specializing in child advocacy—protecting a minor’s rights when the interests diverged from the parents’—only showed up in civil matters.

“She was living with foster parents. The parents’ attorney convinced them to separate their interests from St. John’s because they were afraid they were going to be sued by the government.”

“That wouldn’t have happened,” Riley growled.

“Those people were scared to death. While St. John was on the computer, poking through records no one was supposed to have access to, the FBI hit the house with a full-on raid. Black suits. Riot gear. Tear gas. They kicked the doors down at two o’clock in the morning and handcuffed the whole family. The foster parents were in way over their heads. And they’d had St. John with them less than a year. They didn’t know anything about her.”

“Sounds like they were looking out for their own hides. Not for that of a little girl. Hell, she was a kid.”

Howie flipped through statements taken by the parents’ attorney. “They said they liked her, but she was distant.”

Frustrated and feeling guilty, Riley pushed up out of the chair. He’d been sitting for over two hours straight and hadn’t noticed how long it had been until he’d seen the time on Howie’s computer screen. While the other agent had searched through electronic documents, Riley had gone through text files. He liked working with his hands when his thoughts were jumbled.

And Sam St. John definitely had them jumbled. He hadn’t slept since she’d disappeared in Munich twenty-eight hours ago. With the mission going on, he’d been up for over seventy-six hours. He knew he wasn’t at his best, but he couldn’t stay away from the investigation.

By rights, Mitchell could have pulled him from the hunt for Sam, but the director had chosen to let Riley work on a secondary effort. The primary team on the hunt was searching through the movements Sam had made during the forty-eight hours up to the Steiner op.

“St. John was a child prodigy,” Howie said. “A real computer savant. That’s why she’s so good with languages, too. That could intimidate the hell out of a normal parent.”

“What happened to Sam…St. John as a result of the court case?”

If Howie noticed the slip, he didn’t mention it. From what Riley had seen of the agent, he was a solid, stand-up guy.

“Sam was placed on probation—”

“At eight?” Riley was stunned. “We’re talking about a kid here.”

“Yeah.” Howie nodded. “But we’re also talking about a high-security agency she broke into. And that was eighteen years ago. Phone phreaks and hackers were recognized as a threat then. Cybersecurity and firewalls were in their infancy stages. There was little protection against hackers and other subversive elements raiding the Internet. Her parents were ordered to keep her away from computers and the Internet unless she was supervised.”

Riley went back to the notes he’d made on a legal pad. “She entered the Athena Academy at nine. The files I’ve read on that place say that a kid normally isn’t allowed to enter till the age of ten.”

Howie checked the files. “Entrance to the Athena Academy was one of the conditions the judge stipulated for St. John’s probation.”

Riley flipped through pages till he found what he was looking for. “The student body at the Athena Academy is limited to two hundred students.”

“That’s a hell of a lot smaller than my graduating class.”

“Two hundred kids scattered across six grade levels,” Riley emphasized. “Figure less than thirty kids per level. What do you bet the chances are that other graduates knew Sam St. John?”

“I’d say the odds are pretty good.”

“So would I. Let’s make some calls and see what we can find out.”

Bright morning sunlight streamed down over the cemetery in Tucson, Arizona. A quiet, dry wind moved across the parched land and seemed to shy away from the landscaped areas.

Clothed in a prim black dress, Sam sat in her rented car and watched over the cemetery with a pair of binoculars. The service would be a good four hundred yards away, through a line of imported trees. She would easily escape detection by anyone at the funeral.

Sam left the window down, but the breeze wasn’t cool and the car’s interior was reaching sweltering conditions. If she’d left the air conditioner running, though, a large pool of condensation on the ground could draw someone’s attention.

So far, she hadn’t gotten in touch with Alex, Darcy, Tory, Kayla or Josie. She hadn’t dared to.

In part, she was afraid that someone from the Agency might be watching. But the biggest reason she didn’t talk to her friends was because she didn’t know what to say.

At ten-thirty, the funeral procession came into view along the two-lane highway that twisted through the foothills like a broken-backed snake. The cemetery was located on one of the highest areas surrounding the city.

Fear quavered through Sam when she spotted the two police motorcycles leading the long line of cars. A midnight-blue hearse followed next, trailed by two family cars. The line of vehicles seemed to go on forever.

Grave diggers lounged beneath a tree not far from the green-canopied grave site. They smoked cigarettes and talked, watching the arrival.

Sam tried to will herself numb as she watched the pallbearers take the casket from the back of the hearse. She forced herself to remember Rainy as she had been, not as she must be inside that horrible box.

A car accident. Rainy had fallen asleep at the steering wheel and driven off the road.

Even after Allison Gracelyn had told her about Rainy’s death, Sam hadn’t believed it. An accident couldn’t have happened to Rainy, who was so careful and meticulous.

When Sam saw Alex, Kayla, Tory and Darcy step to the row of family seats, she wanted to go join them. But just as she started to get out of the car, her emotions burst inside her. Hot tears ran down her face. She remained seated in the car. No one was going to see her when she wasn’t in full command of herself and her feelings. She wouldn’t allow it.

The mourners gathered at the canopy-covered grave site. The preacher began speaking, and his voice rolled over the cemetery.

Resolutely, knowing that she couldn’t stay away without telling Rainy goodbye in person, Sam opened the car door and got out. She strode down the hill toward the graveside service.

She had covered only a short distance when a group of men standing at another grave site turned toward her. They moved deliberately, converging on her quickly and efficiently, cutting off her approach to Rainy’s grave site.

Desperately Sam turned back toward the rental car. If she could reach the vehicle, she had a chance. She could—

Four more men surrounded the rental car. They’d come up behind her. They’d had her under surveillance, Sam realized. They’d waited for her to quit the car to catch her out in the open.

And she had missed them. She felt incredibly stupid. Someone had found her ties to the Athena Academy and tracked them back to Rainy.

“St. John,” one of the men called.

Sam turned toward the speaker. He was dressed in a black suit and wraparound black sunglasses.

“Don’t run, St. John,” Riley McLane warned. “If you do, we’re going to chase you. And if we chase you, I can guarantee that your friend isn’t going to get the kind of burial you’d like to see her have.”

“What are the charges?” Sam demanded. “What is it you think I’ve done?”

“We aren’t going into it here. Give it up, St. John. It’ll be easier on you.”

Frustrated, Sam stood her ground. She clenched her fists, unconsciously dropping into a T-stance.

The agents flanking Riley slowed their approach. Riley kept coming.

“I didn’t come here to walk away empty-handed, St. John,” Riley said. “Stand down. You choose which way you want it, but you’re coming with me.”

Sam wanted to run. She even wanted to fight. Maybe she would lose against so many opponents, but the effort would at least allow her to work through some of the hurt and confusion she felt. She didn’t know why Rainy had had to die, and she didn’t know why MI-6 had begun pursuing her or why the CIA now seemed intent on taking up the chase.

But she couldn’t do that to Rainy or her family. Or to their friends. She looked at the grave site as the preacher continued his message. They all deserved to say goodbye to their friend in peace. She had no doubt that Riley would carry out his threat to take her into custody by force even during the funeral if he had to.

“All right,” she said to Riley.

“Hands behind your back, St. John,” Riley said gruffly. “You know the drill.” The metal links of the handcuffs gleamed in his fingers.

Sam placed her hands behind her back and surrendered herself. She pushed her feelings away. Nothing was going to touch her. She wouldn’t allow the fear or frustration inside her. She forced the pain away, ripped the confusion apart and concentrated on being empty.

Chapter 6

Despite the fact that Riley had a dozen trained agents around him, men who had worked takedowns before in war zones and battlegrounds around the world, he didn’t feel completely confident they would take Samantha St. John without a fight. He knew they’d take her; he had more than enough men to do that and she had no place to run. But he hoped she didn’t force them to hurt her. Giving up wasn’t something he believed was in her nature. She was a fighter, a warrior to the last.

He’d faced her on the racquetball court. Other times, he’d seen her practicing martial arts with agents and instructors. She hadn’t won all the time, but she’d never given up, never simply accepted defeat.

Sam didn’t accept it now. She only permitted it. He saw that as he closed on her. Standing straight and tall despite her petite stature, every inch of her screaming defiance, Sam accepted the fact that she could do nothing to effect her escape.

Dammit, Sam, what the hell is going on with you? Why did you do what you did?

Riley stepped behind her. It would have been easier if she had run, if she had shown her guilt. Riley would have felt better if he’d had the chance to get his own adrenaline levels pumped. Adrenaline took away all moral thinking and left only the animal need to survive, to win. He could have lived with that.

The way things sat now, he felt guilty. As the oldest of four brothers in his family, guilt was part of his nature, tied closely to responsibility. He didn’t undertake a mission to fail, and he never gave less than everything he had. He never had.

But putting the cuffs on Sam St. John, even after he’d seen the evidence of guilt Mitchell had offered, didn’t give him any sense of satisfaction. More than that, the action didn’t feel like the right thing to do.

Standing behind her, Riley was acutely aware of the size difference between them. He stood nearly a foot taller and weighed nearly twice what she did. He’d been conscious of that difference in size on the racquetball court, but there it hadn’t been so apparent. Sam had played big.

She felt vulnerable now. Not helpless, because he felt certain if she’d chosen to fight, it would have been a hell of a thing. But she definitely felt vulnerable.

The black dress hugged her slim hips, emphasizing the womanly curves. Black hose covered taut legs. She wore a red wig, and the disguise might have fooled a lot of people, but Riley had known her instantly. Her size marked her, and the controlled way she moved, fluid and graceful, identified her to him immediately. He loved watching her move, whether on the racquetball courts or the exercise mats. He’d never seen another woman in any part of the world that he’d been in who moved quite like Sam St. John.

He took one of her hands in his, feeling the ridge of calluses along the side of her hand and on her fingers. A lot of women would have been embarrassed by the lack of softness, but these were hands of a woman not afraid to get her hands dirty. Riley’s mother was like that. She sometimes still climbed aboard one of the farm’s tractors and put in a day tilling fields, bucking hay or shucking corn.

Riley respected women like that. He’d grown up around them.

He closed one cuff around her wrist. In a whisper he said, “Let me know if they’re too tight.”

Sam said nothing. Her black-lensed gaze remained locked on the funeral service. Her arms stayed limp, giving no indication of resistance.

“C’mon, St. John.” Travers, a young agent who always liked playing the hard guy, grabbed Sam’s arm and started to pull.

Sam hesitated just a moment. Riley knew that Travers was leaving himself open to attack. Travers was too cocky, too sure of himself. But the young agent was also good at dealing physical punishment. Travers would use on attack as an excuse to respond. Sam could have turned in a heartbeat and kicked him to the ground before he’d known the attack was coming. Riley knew she’d had to stop herself from doing exactly that, and he knew that Sam was having control issues as much as he was.

“Let her go,” Riley growled.

Travers looked up at him.

“We’re staying through the service.” Riley stepped forward and pulled Travers’s hand from Sam’s arm.

“You’re taking a chance.” Travers’s voice was thin and hard. “She might not be here just for the funeral. She could be meeting someone.”

Howie Dunn stepped up without a word, invading Travers’s space and making the other agent step back. Howie kept his hands crossed in front of him and didn’t say a word, but there was no way to ignore his presence.

Although Howie normally stayed in the records office, Riley had requested Howie to accompany him. They’d continued working on St. John’s file during the flight out to Tucson, in case St. John hadn’t shown.

“We’re staying through the service,” Riley repeated.

“If anything goes wrong, it’s going to be on your head,” Travers warned. “And this is going in my report.”

“When you write that up, let me know if you have any trouble with the big words,” Howie said, taking another step forward and forcing Travers back again. He turned and stood behind St. John, dwarfing her like some protective giant.

Riley stood at Sam’s right. Between Howie and himself, Riley knew they created a wall between the young woman and the rest of the CIA team. No one besides Travers seemed to have a problem with staying.

Sam stood quietly for a moment. She spoke without turning to address him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Riley said. He noticed the glint of a tear sliding down her cheek. He resisted the immediate impulse to wipe it away. If Sam could have found a way, he knew she’d have broken his arm for even trying.

The preacher talked for a while longer. Then, after the final prayer, the group broke up and began talking. Only a few of them looked up at the quiet gathering of CIA agents and prisoner only a short distance away.

Riley lifted his arm and spoke into the pencil mike on the inside of his wrist. “Bring up the truck.”

“On my way.”

Taking the inside of Sam’s right elbow, Riley turned and walked her back to the narrow courtesy road through the cemetery. None of the graveside attendees came after them. A black Chevy Suburban with dark-tinted windows rolled down other roads and came to a stop in a swirl of dust that quickly eddied back to the ground.

Riley opened the door and helped Sam into the vehicle’s rear seat. A shield of bulletproof glass protected the driver and the man in the other front seat from the rear seat’s occupants.

Sam sat at the other end of the seat. The single tear had dried on her face, but Riley could still see the trail that it had left.

Standing in the open doorway, Riley asked, “Want to talk about this, St. John?”

“About what, Special Agent McLane?” Her voice sounded hard and flat.

“About why we’re here.”

“Maybe you want to tell me.”

Riley felt some of the tension in his stomach release. She wasn’t broken. That mattered. He felt good about that. Even with the odds stacked against her the way they were, she wasn’t giving in. Riley respected that, even if he didn’t respect what she’d done.

“Why did you do it?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Frustrated, Riley shook his head. “You had a career ahead of you, St. John. A good career. If you’d wanted it.”

Sam kept her eyes forward. “Are you turning me over to MI-6?”

Riley waited a moment, letting her think about that possibility.

“If you’re not going to answer, then let’s get moving,” Sam said. “I’ll find out when we get there. I can wait.”

Riley cursed to himself. It would have been better if she’d been afraid. She is afraid, he realized, thinking about the young kid she’d been who had never known a true mother and father. Or even a true home. She’d been bounced to a dozen different places by the time she was seven.

“I might not be able to help you once we get there,” Riley warned.

“Then help me now.” Sam turned her black-lensed gaze on him.

Riley looked at her for a moment. The two agents in the front of the Suburban could hear the conversation. They were also taping. That was standard operating procedure. A law enforcement vehicle was considered public property and privacy laws did not protect conversations held within them.

“I can’t,” he said. “Damn, but you’re hardheaded.”

“And that bothers you more than thinking I’m some kind of criminal? Or a national threat?” Her voice was cold and distant.

Exasperated, not trusting his own emotions and not truly understanding them either, Riley turned to Howie. “Hold the truck here a little while longer. I’ll be right back.”

A thousand questions shot through Sam’s mind as she sat in the air-conditioned Suburban. What had turned Riley against her? Whatever was going on with British Intelligence must be severe.

Was the Agency really going to turn her over to MI-6? She didn’t know if the CIA would do that. Or even if they could. She had rights as an American citizen.

However, she also knew that the world had changed after September 11. Nations had a tendency to look after their own needs first instead of the rights of individuals. The weight of the handcuffs around her wrists reminded her of that.

She was conscious of the Suburban driver’s attention on her in the rearview mirror. The passenger sat with his hand wrapped around the barrel of the .12-gauge shotgun tucked between the seats.

From the corner of her eye, Sam watched Riley cross the cemetery to the grave site. Panic welled up inside her and almost burst loose. Riley couldn’t talk to Alex or Darcy or any of the others. That wasn’t right. Whatever business Riley had with her, it wasn’t supposed to touch the Cassandras. Her friends had been through enough in losing Rainy.

She watched Riley, wondering why he had chosen to confront the people at the grave site. Surely his instructions hadn’t included interviewing the people she had known back in school.

The big agent who had interceded on her behalf shifted outside the Suburban as he took a call over his cell phone. He blocked Sam’s view of the grave site. She had to bite her lip to keep from telling him to move.

Minutes passed. The two agents in front talked about the coming football season.

Then the big agent moved again. Riley walked toward the Suburban.

Unable to totally assess the situation through her peripheral vision, Sam looked past Riley. The attendees drifted apart, going their own ways in small groups.

Riley opened the door. His sunglasses covered his eyes and helped mask his expression.

“Turn around, St. John,” he ordered. “It’s a long ride to the airport.”

Without a word, Sam turned and presented her handcuffs to him.

Riley opened one of the cuffs and allowed her to bring her hands around in front of her. Then he took a length of chain from the Suburban’s driver and secured the cuffs to the D-ring mounted on the vehicle’s floor.

Sam felt the heaviness of the chains around her wrists. At least in her current position she could sit comfortably.

“I got you something,” Riley said, sounding a little unsure of himself.

Surprised, Sam looked at him.

“I know the Carrington woman was a friend of yours,” Riley said. “I know coming here had to have been hard.”

“Why did you go down there?” Sam demanded. “Who did you talk to?”

“I got you this.” Riley held out a single white rose.

Sam made no move to take the rose.

“I didn’t know if you would want it or not,” Riley said, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “My mother always kept a flower from the funerals of people she loved. From both my grandfathers and one of my grandmothers. From her sister’s.”

Sam sat silent and still.

“I didn’t know if you were like that, St. John,” Riley apologized. “But if you wanted something to remember your friend by, I wanted you to have something.”

Hypnotized by the rose and all that it represented, that it meant she would never again see Rainy, Sam found she couldn’t move. The grief pressed down on her, paralyzing her with pain that she refused to show.

“Sorry,” Riley said. “I presumed too much.” He started to walk away.

“Wait.” Sam’s voice came out strained and cracked at the end.

Riley looked at her. He didn’t speak.

Struggling to control the sudden grief that assailed her, Sam reached out for the rose. Riley laid it in her cupped hands. The flower felt soft and fragile against her fingers and palms.

A look of surprise touched Riley’s handsome face for a moment, then he twitched his full lips and the expression was gone.

“What does your mother do with the flowers?” Sam asked. She turned her gaze from Riley. She didn’t want to have to deal with him looking at her.

“She dries them out,” Riley said softly. “She presses them between the pages of her family Bible and saves them in a memory book.” He paused. “Sometimes she says doing that is foolish, that it’s more trouble than it’s worth, and that it gives her one more thing to worry about and grieve over when it’s gone. Then she says that sometimes the things that are the most trouble are actually worth the most.”

When he closed the door, Sam watched him walk away without turning her head. She was alone in the rear of the Suburban. A moment later the big vehicle got underway. Sam kept her eyes open, taking in the final sight of Rainy’s coffin perched on the metal device that would lower it into the ground.

When she could no longer see that, she closed her eyes and retreated into the small corner of her mind that she had created for herself all those years ago when she was a little girl. Some of the counselors had claimed she was helpless when she did that, but Sam had learned that she was invulnerable there.

Chapter 7

For nine days Sam was kept in one of the holding cells in a building in Langley. Her contact with people was nonexistent, because she didn’t even get to see them. Three times a day, someone—maybe not even the same someone—brought her meals to the cell and slid the tray through the opening at the bottom of the heavy steel door.

Often, Sam wondered why she had been locked up. Especially since she had no human contact. What did they think she had done? Why didn’t they talk to her? Those questions were in her head every day, but she had no answers. Nor did it seem those answers were going to come any time soon.

Sam ate the meals, all under the watchful eyes of whoever manned the protected video cameras that kept surveillance inside the cell. When she was finished with her meals, and she made certain she finished because she’d retreated to her childhood survival system and even saved back wedges of apples and cheese and crackers for snacks later when she got hungry, she passed the tray back through the slot. She never once tried to see whoever brought the food or took the tray later. Whoever watched her would have seen that as weakness on her part.

The cell was a little larger than solitary confinement in prison. After days of pacing, she was certain it measured twelve feet wide by fourteen feet long and had about an eight-foot ceiling. Chains held a single bed screwed into the wall suspended off the floor. Cubbies for her clothing occupied the space beneath the bed.

The toilet and shower, outfitted with opaque windows, offered her a little privacy. She took care of showers and her private needs in the dark after lights-out. Possibly the surveillance teams had access to night-vision systems on the cameras, but she didn’t see any sign of it. She also told herself that the night crews probably weren’t as alert as the day crews.

However, the possibility existed that Riley might sit in on the surveillance sessions.

Sam didn’t know how she felt about that. She tried hard not to feel anything. But it was impossible not to feel trapped. The room had no windows and only the one door.

Or maybe Riley wasn’t there at all. By now he was probably released from Medical and returned to duty. She was just another takedown he’d arranged, another success that had gone into his dossier.

Given the solitude, she worked on coming to grips with Rainy’s death. Letting go of her friend was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She’d never lost anyone close to her. She’d never let anyone close to her outside of the Cassandras.

The white rose that Riley had gotten for her sat in one of the cubbies beneath the bed as a grim reminder of Rainy’s loss. She wondered what her friends thought about her continued absence. Maybe they thought she was on a mission; they knew she was in the CIA. Without a phone or a means of contact with the outside world, she had no way of knowing.

All she had was the rose.

During the plane trip to Washington, D.C., she’d had to ask Riley how to preserve the flower. He’d told her that his mother had always hung the flowers upside down for a few days if she didn’t immediately press them into the family Bible.

Sam didn’t have a Bible. She didn’t have a book of any kind. She’d hung the rose upside down from one of the cubbies until it was dry.

After that, there had been nothing to do. With all of the dead hours in the day and the night, Sam’s mind played with possibilities. If she hadn’t been self-taught in discipline and waiting, the building anxiety could have been agony.

Instead, she chose to take the time to consider her future moves. With her CIA career obviously in flames for some reason, she didn’t know what she would do once she was released. If she was released.

She had money saved up. Money meant freedom. As soon as she had started working as a teen, she’d saved money, putting back everything she could. That habit had continued in the Agency.

She could live for a few months. Then, depending on what the circumstances were when the CIA eventually let her go, she could always return to New York and use her linguistic skills for corporations. The work had been offered before while she was in college, but she hadn’t been interested. She wasn’t now, but having a plan was a step toward freedom and out of the cage where the Agency held her.

Once she had made tentative plans, the hours of the passing days grew longer. Where she had once thought CIA interviewers would be in at any moment, she now began to think they weren’t coming at all. The new Homeland Security regulations that had been passed after 9/11 effectively stripped a person suspected of terrorism or espionage of any rights. As long as they thought she was guilty of whatever the hell they thought her guilty of, they could hold her forever.

The certainty that she’d been forgotten grew a little more every day. Whatever the Agency had brought her in for might have gotten put on a back burner, and her with it. She’d read about Chinese illegals who had gotten arrested in NewYork and were currently being confined years later because the United States Government didn’t know what to do with them.

The Triad, the Chinese Mafia, had sworn to kill the people being detained if they went back to that country, making it impossible for the United States to return them to their native land. On the other hand, the American Government couldn’t allow someone to forcibly enter the country and become a citizen.

Those people, Sam knew, existed apart.

And that was how she existed—minute by minute, hour by hour and, lately, day by day. Apart.

She wore a sleeveless gray top and unflattering dark-gray sweatpants. They’d taken her shoes and not given her anything to wear. Being barefoot in a controlled climate wasn’t much of a hardship.

As she did every day, she exercised, going through her martial arts forms one after the other effortlessly. Staying fit while incarcerated was a problem, but she knew she couldn’t afford to lose her edge. In the beginning she went slow, loosening and warming her muscles. Then she started pushing, stressing her training and her endurance. Her arms and legs moved automatically.

She didn’t think about anything but the movements and the motion. In her mind, she was no longer in the cell. She was in Master Chong’s dojo, where she’d first started learning, paying for her schooling by sweeping the floors and doing laundry after class.

She’d only been seven years old, slipping away again because supervision in the home where she’d stayed had been a joke. If she’d wanted to, if she’d had a place to go, she could have been gone in a heartbeat.

After she had gone through all of the forms, had her heart rate up so that blood exploded through her and the exercise had turned anaerobic, she changed to tai chi. A lot of the movements were the same as her forms and called on the same level of discipline, but they relaxed her and gave her a chance to breathe normally.

And, like always, time disappeared.

“How long has she been at this?”

“Hours.”

“Man, you’re kidding me.”

“No. She’s incredible. Never seen anybody like her.”

“How long has she been locked up?”

“Eleven days.”

“And she’s done this every day?”

“Every day.”

“What’s she in for?”

“Nobody’s saying.”

“So you haven’t even caught a whisper?”

Standing in the doorway to the security observation post cued in to Samantha St. John’s holding cell, Riley McLane curbed the immediate anger he felt at the two young agents pulling the night security detail. Still, his voice was sharp when he spoke.

“If you were supposed to know what she was in for, you’d have been briefed.”

Both agents jerked around, whipping their heads back to look at Riley.

“Special Agent McLane.” Tom Lackland, the senior of the two agents, looked embarrassed and relieved. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Good thing I’m one of the good guys,” Riley said lightly.

“Yeah.”

On the screen, Sam stepped up her exercise routine again. She whirled and kicked, feinted and punched. Her motions were compact and deadly.

“When is lights-out?” Riley asked.

Lackland consulted his watch. “Seven minutes. Eleven o’clock.”

Riley nodded. “Why don’t the two of you take a break? I’ll watch the monitors for a while.”

“All right.” Lackland and his partner left the room.

Leaning against the side wall, Riley watched Sam go through her forms. He wondered what it would be like to face her in combat. Even with the size difference he had over her, it would be a close match. She was much better at martial arts than he was. Every move was smooth, fluid. Her focus was complete.

Watching the single-minded purpose she maintained, Riley envied her ability to stay calm. Eleven days had passed since she’d had a conversation with anyone. He’d put her in the cell and walked away. She had never tried to talk to any of the people that brought her meals. She was good at waiting. Riley didn’t think he could have lasted this long.

Stone Mitchell felt certain that the process might take a little longer, but the director was confident that Sam would break in the end. Riley didn’t think that was the case at all. He’d pushed at Mitchell to let him interview her.

With the turn of events that had happened that afternoon, Riley knew the director wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. Despite St. John’s personal agenda, she had good friends. Those friends also had a certain amount of political pull.

Riley wondered if those women would stand by Sam so adamantly if they knew what she was accused of doing.

Sam went through a series of cool-down exercises.

Riley looked at the smooth lines of Sam’s small breasts, made visible by the way the soaked sleeveless shirt clung to her. The loose, baggy sweat pants couldn’t hide the swell of her hips or the long legs for her build.

At precisely 11:00 p.m., the room went dark.

Riley blinked at the darkness. He closed the door to the security room, shut down the computer monitors, and switched out the room’s lights, dampening the light in the room, as well. He stood in the darkness for a moment, listening to his heartbeat in his ears and feeling the power of it in his chest.

He stared at the dark monitor and thought he could make out movement. He actually couldn’t, but he knew what was going on. Somewhere in that darkness, Sam St. John was stripping off for her nightly shower.

Unable to stop himself, Riley tapped Lackland’s keyboard, shifting the camera feed over to the backup systems while he used the manual controls. The monitor blinked, then fuzzed for a moment and presented a green-tinted picture. Another moment passed and picture cleared.

The night-vision-capable cameras planted in the room revealed Sam St. John as she pulled the sweat-soaked top over her head, unveiling her dark bra and gleaming flesh.

Riley’s breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight. His arousal was immediate and painful.

Nine days ago he had discovered that Sam waited until after lights-out to take her shower before going to bed. He’d walked in on the two agents watching the surveillance camera and listened to the derogatory comments they’d made at Sam’s expense. Riley had shut the night-vision capabilities down and stood watch for the next hour.

The next day Riley had transferred the men from the detail and brought in Tom Lackland and a female agent who had been reassigned that evening. With the female agent in the room, Lackland hadn’t used the night-vision capability. There had been no need, and the female agent would have protested and probably reported him.

Knowing that two male agents were in charge of surveillance that night, Riley had decided to step in to maintain Sam’s privacy.

Not exactly what you’re doing here, is it? Irritated with his inability to control his impulse, Riley reached for the control.

At that moment Sam skinned out of the sweatpants. In the artificial-light enhancement, Riley couldn’t see what color her panties were. They probably matched the black or navy or dark green of her bra. Riley knew those colors were possible because he’d checked the list of clothing Sam was issued. He hadn’t intended to; he’d just thought about that while looking over her list of personal items inside the cell.

His gaze traveled up the expanse of legs and over Sam’s slim, rounded bottom. Other cameras in the room provided different views, but he keyed in the one from the rear. His mouth went dry and his pulse beat at his temples.

Sam stepped out of the sweatpants and placed them in the dirty clothes hamper along with the sleeveless shirt. With a sinuous movement that was sexy as hell by nature rather than design, she reached behind her back with both hands and unfastened her bra, stripping the material away.

Riley’s gaze followed the swell of her breasts. He breathed in, as though he could catch her scent through the monitor if he tried hard enough. He barely stopped himself from tapping the keyboard and shifting the cameras to look at her from the front.

Then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and hiked the wisp of cloth down over her rounded buttocks. In spite of her slim build, she had generous hips. As active as she was, as small as she was, Riley hadn’t expected that.

A growl sounded in the surveillance room. Riley realized with a start that the sound came from him.

On the screen, Sam tossed her underthings into the dirty clothes hamper and stepped into the shower. The opaque plastic prevented the night vision from penetrating the shower walls, but her shadow still showed through. She turned the water on and stood beneath the spray for a while, luxuriating in the feel of the water cascading over her body.

The night vision was sensitive enough to pick up the rising steam that clouded Sam’s body and occasionally hid her completely from Riley’s view. The view tortured him. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. All those times he’d watched Sam on the racquetball court, all those times he had seen her on the mats sparring with opponents, he had wondered what she would look like nude.

Now…he almost knew.

A few minutes later Sam turned the water off. The clouds of vapor thinned and disappeared. He closed his eyes as she stepped from the cubicle, intending to give her privacy. But he opened them seconds later, unable to stop himself. He exhaled as he realized Sam had picked up the towel she’d placed on the floor and wrapped it around herself.

After she was dry, Sam dressed in bra, panties, sweatpants and a tunic top. The clothing was virtually sexless, but Riley couldn’t get the sight of her out of his head.

In the dark, Sam trailed her fingers down the wall and found her way to the bed. She lay down on her side, facing the wall and tucked into a ball.

Riley knew that some observers who didn’t know Sam St. John’s history might think she’d curled up into a fetal position. Riley knew that she had just assumed the best defensive position she could against someone who might attack her while she slept. Her back and shoulders could take more punishment than her face or front. He had no doubt that she’d wake at the slightest touch, the slightest sound.

Sam’s foster years hadn’t been pleasant. And Riley knew the reports he’d read only revealed part of what she had been through.

He watched her sleep. After settling in, she was still. He envied her that. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he’d brought her in.

Finding her hadn’t seemed like he was doing his job; it had felt more like a betrayal.

Riley switched the night vision off. Reluctant to leave, he triggered the audio pickups in the room. He increased the volume till he could hear Sam’s breathing, slow and steady.

She slept.

For a moment Riley listened to her, made himself realize that she was all right. And he told himself Sam’s situation was going to change tomorrow. That realization didn’t make him feel much better. The change still wasn’t going to set her free.

He hated the conflict that raged within him. Sam didn’t deserve to be free. He’d seen the digital recordings that Mitchell had gotten from British intelligence.

There was no way she wasn’t guilty.

On the twelfth day, the cell door opened without warning.

Sam stood in the center of the floor in a relaxed martial arts L-stance, right foot back and perpendicular to the left foot forward. Her arms hung at her sides, but she could lift them instantly to defend herself if she had to. She stared at the swinging door and imagined that the air outside the room felt and tasted a lot different from what was trapped in the cell with her, but she knew that wasn’t true.

When Riley McLane stepped into the room, Sam experienced mixed feelings. Anger came first, which she expected, but hope and attraction came as well. She forced the hope away. She’d learned a long time ago that hoping for something was nearly useless. The only thing that truly mattered was the ability to make something happen.

The attraction was confusing. She’d always noticed an undercurrent of it when she was around him, but now the sensation was like a live thing. She didn’t know what to do about it and couldn’t help standing there feeling very much like a deer in headlights.

During the past twelve days, it seemed as though not a moment had passed that she hadn’t thought of Riley McLane. Of course, those thoughts were mixed. Sometimes she missed him and other times she wanted to kick his teeth in for taking advantage of Rainy’s funeral to capture her.

Confronted with him now, she didn’t know how to respond.

“St. John,” Riley said in a deadpan voice. He carried an armload of clothes that included a teal blouse and wheat-colored slacks. There was even a pack of hose. “You’ll need to get dressed.” He offered the clothes.

Sam stood her ground. “No one told me when checkout was.”

Riley grimaced. “Don’t be a smart-ass.” He wadded up the clothes and fired them off his chest like a basketball pass.

The clothes separated in midflight. Sam had to scramble to keep them from hitting the ground. For a moment, she considered letting them scatter, but the opportunity to get dressed in slacks and a blouse instead of sweats was too enticing.

You’re getting weak, she chided herself. But she consoled herself with the fact that if she could recognize her weakness, she wasn’t really weak. Getting dressed in those clothes was something she deserved, but she didn’t have to have it.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Riley told her. “Get dressed.”

“Now we’re on a timetable?” Sam took her time and sorted through the clothing. When she got to the bra and panties that had come from Victoria’s Secret, one of her guilty pleasures and one that Rainy had empathized with yet teased her about, she knew Riley had been to her home. Knowing Riley and the men with him were watching embarrassed her. She kept her head down, cheeks flaming in spite of her attempt at iron control, and didn’t make eye contact.

The bra and panties weren’t hers, though. These still had the price tags on them.

And that’s a weakness of yours, Riley McLane. You didn’t have the guts to go through my panty drawer. Sam was mildly surprised. During the time she’d known Riley, she’d felt certain he was the kind of agent that could do anything.

“We’re on a timetable,” Riley said.

“And I’ll want a shower and some privacy.” Sam glared up at him.

“We don’t have time for a shower.”

“We,” Sam stated coldly, “aren’t taking a shower.”

One of the two agents standing at the open door snickered.

Riley looked vastly irritated, but his cheekbones showed a little color. Sam knew she’d struck a nerve. “We need to go now.”

“Then I can go barefoot and in sweats.”

“St. John, now isn’t the time to be difficult.”

“Oh? Is there going to be a time later? See, I didn’t get the itinerary. I’ve just been locked away for the last twelve days and left without human contact. Not exactly conducive to gaining a positive response from a subject.”

“Nobody thought we needed a positive response.” Riley returned her glare. “A lot of people still don’t think we need one.”

Sam let that hang for a moment, then—because she couldn’t help herself even though she knew not to ask—she asked, “What about you, McLane? Do you want a positive response?”

Too late, Sam realized that the question could have dual meanings. The two agents minding the door grinned at each other.

Riley looked more irritated than ever. “Take a shower. Get dressed. You’ve got ten minutes.” Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the cell door behind him.

After he’d gone, Sam was surprised to find out how alone she felt. A lump rose to the back of her throat. She didn’t want to admit how scared she was, but she was. And she did. She didn’t like doing it, but she’d always tried to be honest with herself.

Quickly she laid out the clothes on the bed. When she got to the business-cut jacket, she discovered a package in the pocket. A plastic bag inside the pocket contained deodorant, perfume and a few makeup items. After twelve days of being without those things, Sam felt as if she’d discovered a treasure trove.

The small perfume bottle shouldn’t have entered the room at all. The bottle could be broken and the shards used for a weapon or to slice her wrists. A small disposable razor lay at the bottom of the bag.

Sam weighed the bottle and the razor in her hand. Only grim determination and a lot of time would have made the disposable razor a threat. But the bottle was a different matter.

Was Riley that certain of her? That she wouldn’t use the shards as a weapon? Or that she wouldn’t try to commit suicide out of guilt for whatever it was she was supposed to have done? Or because of the futility she had to be feeling about being locked up and not being able to get free?

Or was he just giving her a way out?

The possibility crept into Sam’s mind without warning. She felt chilled to the bone.

Never in all the years that she’d spent in one foster home after another had she felt like ending her life. She’d always dreamed that there would be a way out. She had known that eventually she would grow up and she could be on her own.

But what about now? she asked herself. Her hand trembled slightly, and she instantly got frustrated with herself. For all she knew, she was paroled, on her way to freedom. Of course, Riley McLane hadn’t acted that way. Or maybe he was just upset because he believed she was guilty of whatever it was she hadn’t done.

She made herself stop speculating. She didn’t have any answers. She had questions, but they weren’t the right ones she needed to ask.

Despite the fact that Riley had wanted her to hurry, she stayed in the shower long enough to put the razor to good use. When she finished, she truly felt clean for the first time in days.

Someone banged on the door as she started getting dressed. Each piece, from the underwear to the hose to the slacks and blouse, felt like battle armor sliding into place. Her confidence grew.

“We’re late,” Riley growled through the door.

“Another minute,” Sam called, starting on the makeup by touch since she didn’t have a mirror. Riley had even provided a brush. When she finished, she walked to the door.

“—father always told me a woman would be late to her own funeral,” a man was saying. He fell silent as Sam stepped through the door.

Riley stood out in the hall. Dark, wraparound sunglasses masked his eyes.

The other two agents stared at Sam.

“Wow,” one of them said in a low voice.

Sam almost blushed. She didn’t make eye contact with either of the two men. Instead she waited without saying a word.

“Let’s go.” Riley gestured to the other end of the hall. “Director Mitchell’s office. You know the way.”

Sam started walking.

“Wait, Agent McLane.” The agent who spoke produced a pair of handcuffs. “We need to cuff her.”

A shudder passed through Sam despite her resolve not to show a reaction. The long trip back by plane with her hands manacled in her lap and covered by a jacket had been claustrophobic. Going to the bathroom, even with a female agent along, had been embarrassing. The worst part had been the way kids had stared at her.

“No cuffs,” Riley replied.

“Standard operating procedure—”

Riley wheeled on the speaker, freezing the man in midstride with the handcuffs swinging before him. “Isn’t something we’re worried about today, Gautier. Got that?”

Gautier hesitated for a moment and looked thoroughly pissed. “Got it. But if she gets away—”

“No,” Riley said. “No getting away. And, Sam, if you try, if I have to shoot you to stop you, I will. Understood?”

“Understood,” Sam said. As she looked at the stony glare he gave her, she knew that he meant what he said. She also thought she saw a flicker of sadness in his dark eyes. But when she turned away, she felt his hard gaze on her, tracking like a sniper’s cross hairs.

Chapter 8

“Have a seat, St. John.”

“No, sir,” Sam replied, forcing herself to remain calm. The fact that Director Stone Mitchell hadn’t addressed her as “agent” spoke volumes. “I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” Mitchell didn’t sound like he cared. He flicked his gaze to Riley. “No handcuffs?”

“My decision,” Riley said.

Mitchell waited expectantly for an explanation.

Riley didn’t give one. He stood between Sam and the door, to one side of the director so that he could intercept her if she chose to try to attack Mitchell.

“Not a good decision, Agent McLane,” Mitchell said.

“She’s here.” McLane hesitated. “Sir.”

Opening a folder on the desk, Mitchell said, “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better,” Riley answered. “I’ll probably be released any day by Medical.”

“Probably so.” The comment coming from Mitchell sounded like a threat. The director glanced up at Sam. “You’ve been quiet for twelve days. You haven’t asked to see anyone. You haven’t asked to talk to anyone.”

“Would it have done any good?”

Mitchell’s flat expression didn’t change. “No.”

Sam knew the man was baiting her, offering hope only so he could yank it away. She’d seen him work an interview before.

“We won’t let you talk to anyone until we are ready,” Mitchell said.

“You’re ready now,” Sam observed. “And you want me to talk to you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” She was conscious of Riley watching her, standing silent guard with his hands resting lightly crossed in front of him. “My decision is whether or not I want to talk to you.”

“I thought maybe you would want to talk to me,” Mitchell suggested. “I could be in a position to help you. Provided you help me.”

Sam stayed quiet, smothering a sharp retort. One thing she had learned in all the unfriendly foster homes she’d been in was to stay quiet when she was talking to someone who had power over her and was looking to use it. That was Mitchell now.

Mitchell feigned boredom. Sam didn’t buy the act. He was a man who made every moment count. He wouldn’t have had her brought to his office for no reason. Not even to kick her while she was down.

“I find myself in a desperate situation,” Mitchell admitted. “I’ve never personally dealt with a traitor before.”

Still, Sam told herself, sipping air through her nostrils. Stay still. He’s just talking, trying to rattle you.

But traitor?

“For the record,” Sam said in an icy voice, “I’m not a traitor. Furthermore, for the record, I resent any and all implications and references you have made and you may continue to make about my integrity.” She knew someone was taping the interview.

Mitchell’s demeanor took on more of an edge. “Who are you protecting?”

“No one.”

“Who turned you against this country?”

“I’ve not turned against this country.”

“You’ve been conducting criminal activities that endanger this country.”

Anger seethed inside Sam. “No, sir, I have not.”

Mitchell glared at her. “You’re lying.”

Sam barely held back a hot response.

“Do you know how I know you’re lying?” Mitchell challenged.

Confusion swirled within Sam for a moment. Mitchell wasn’t a man who bluffed.

“I’m not lying,” Sam said.

Mitchell stared at her.

“Sir,” Riley said, “maybe—”

“Agent McLane,” Mitchell interrupted sharply without looking at Riley, “if you utter another word, I’ll have you escorted out of this room.”

For a moment Sam thought that Riley was going to continue his protest. She had no doubt that Mitchell would make good on his threat. Thinking of being in the office facing Mitchell alone, or even with other agents around—being without Riley—wasn’t a pleasant thought. She hoped that Riley knew when to shut up.

Riley breathed in deeply through his nose, but didn’t say anything.

“Would you like to see the evidence I have?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. You bet your ass I would.

Without hesitation, Mitchell pressed a button underneath his desk. Across the room, a projector rolled smoothly down from the ceiling like one of the monitors on a passenger jet. The screen pulsed for a moment, then cleared and went to high-definition digital image.

“This is a copy of one of the disks I received from MI-6,” Mitchell said.

Sam studied the images. The footage seemed to have been shot in the Middle East. Men, women and children in loose white clothing and some Western clothes converged on an open-air bazaar. Cages containing chickens, crates filled with vegetables and stands of cloth and Western DVDs and Japanese electronics created a maze of merchandizing.

“Do you recognize this place?” Mitchell asked.

Sam studied the footage, waiting for some clue. She was always careful and considered when she was forced into an answer.

Mitchell tapped the keyboard. The video stopped clear and clean, leaving a picture with crystal clarity. “Well?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered in a neutral voice. “It looks like the Middle East. Iran. Iraq. Saudia Arabia. But there are some pockets in Eastern Europe that—”

“It’s Suwan,” Mitchell said.

Sam took a deep breath. Suwan was the capital of Berzhaan, a small country in the Middle East north of Iran. The United States maintained a presence there to support the current government headed by Prime Minister Omar Razidae.

“You know Suwan,” Mitchell said.

“Yes, sir.” There was no denying that.

“You’ve been there.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam returned Mitchell’s gaze. “On assignments. Assignments that you ordered me on.” During those missions, she had translated documents agents had stolen from various “businessmen” dealing with the Berzhaan Government as well as the two factions vying for control of the country. Berzhaan had a large amount of undeveloped oil reserves that could turn it into a wealthy nation overnight. But allowing in the wrong foreign power or the wrong foreign corporations could turn it into a puppet state of politics or economics.

“I know,” Mitchell said. “However, I hadn’t counted on those assignments helping your other, more clandestine, acts.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Mitchell tapped the keyboard again. “Then tell me what you see.”

The digital record started again. The camera work was deft and certain. The observer followed a swarthy man in casual Western clothing down the crowded streets. No audio accompanied the video, but Sam could imagine the hubbub of voices that surrounded the slow and steady pursuit through the crowded streets and alleys.

The man met another man in front of a small curio shop.

Mitchell paused the video again. He tapped more buttons and zoomed in on the newcomer’s face. “Do you recognize this man?”

The man was heavy-set. His face was broad and soft, marking a life of excesses. He wore a mustache and beard trimmed close to the skin. A scar, pink in its newness, cut through the beard on his left cheek. He wore loose white robes and a burnoose.

“Abdul Hassan.” Sam knew the man instantly. She’d been with a team that had tracked him for a few days.

“Correct. And you know what he does?”

“He’s an arms dealer. I was with a team that tracked him for a time. He slipped away from us.”

“I know,” Mitchell stated dryly. “Hassan has been connected with the Q’Rajn for four years. Even before the United States decided to support Prime Minister Razidae and his staff against the Kemeni rebels.”

Sam knew that as well. The Kemeni rebels worked to oust the present government and even curried favor with the United States. The Kemenis had taken care not to attack American Consulate staff, business interests or tourists. The Q’Rajn terrorists actively targeted both the current government officials as well as Americans.

“Over those years,” Mitchell continued, “Hassan has proven able to slip through the best efforts of the Berzhaan military and the people we’ve managed to field there. We’ve had reason to believe that someone hacked into the Agency’s files regarding operations in Berzhaan.” He pursed his lips. “We’ve never been able to prove or disprove that.” He paused. “Until now.”

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw the corners of Riley’s mouth turn downward. He was obviously displeased. An impending feeling of doom filled Sam. She’d learned to pay attention to feelings like that while she’d been bounced from house to house. The other shoe was about to drop.

Mitchell set the video into motion again.

Silently, though questions filled her, Sam watched the video. Hassan and the man the observer had been following disappeared into the curio shop. The video cut, picking up from inside the shop as Hassan and his companion entered through the door.

“MI-6 knew where Hassan was going that day,” Mitchell said. “They had a man on the inside.”

Hassan and the man passed through the shop and walked out into the alley.

Another viewpoint change took place, and this time the man capturing the video was in one of the buildings overlooking the alley behind the shop. Hassan and his companion stood and waited.

“The British team had been dogging their quarry’s movements for over a week,” Mitchell said. “They’d gotten a tip that Hassan was setting up an arms deal. They wanted to catch him with his hand in the cookie jar.”

The camera angle shifted slightly, picking up the dirty white Toyota van that pulled into the alley. Two figures sat in the front seats behind the dirty glass. A moment later the van rocked to a stop in front of Hassan and his companion.

“Watch closely,” Mitchell advised. “I don’t want you to miss this.” He watched Sam instead of the screen.

Sam tried to ignore the CIA director’s attention. Her throat felt dry with dread.

“Things move quickly here,” Mitchell said. “MI-6 was well set up for their observation. They’d been tipped off early enough to get their agents into play. However, they didn’t know the Kemenis had sat in on the game, too. Not until it was too late.”

Onscreen, violence broke out. Bullets struck the van, shattering the windshield and striking the driver. The van lurched forward and rammed into the side of the building. Mortar and stone broke free and cascaded to the ground. Other bullets ripped holes along the van’s side. Hassan and his companion doubled back into the curio shop. The MI-6 observer leaned out from the window of the building.

“Pay careful attention,” Mitchell said.

The rear of the van opened and three people bolted out into the open. Two men and one woman, all carrying assault rifles, took up quick defensive positions around the van.

“Here.” Mitchell tapped the keyboard. The camera view locked on the woman. Her face was in profile, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. She wore jeans, a white cotton blouse and a green nylon windbreaker that had to have been hot considering the temperature. She was raising the AK-47 Russian assault rifle she held to her shoulder. “Do you recognize her?”

Sam stared at the woman. There was something familiar about her. The woman was lean and graceful, much smaller than her companions. Her skin was pale. The eye that was visible was ice-blue. A burnoose covered the top of her head, but a few blond hairs leaked around the side.

“Do you recognize her?” Mitchell asked.

“No,” Sam said. The picture wasn’t clear enough to make a positive identification.

“Keep watching.” Mitchell tapped keys again.

The digitalized video moved at a reduced speed, putting everything in slow motion. Sam would have sworn that she could see bullets cutting through the air before striking the van, the wall and the alley floor.

On the screen, the woman pushed up and turned toward the camera. The empty magazine dropped free of the assault rifle as the woman tugged another one free from a shoulder bandolier beneath her robe. The folds of her robe jumped as bullets tore through the material. She moved so slowly that Sam felt certain the enemy fire was going to cut her down at any moment.

Just as the woman’s face turned toward the MI-6 camera so that Sam could view the woman’s face fully, one of her companions got hit several times. The man jerked back, responding to the bullets that ripped into his flesh, standing as he forced himself up in what was going to be a last-ditch effort to get away. His body blocked the MI-6 operative’s view of the woman’s face.

“Do you know who it is?” Mitchell asked.

“No,” Sam said quietly. Don’t you mean, who she was? Sam felt certain that the woman couldn’t possibly have lived through the attack.

Amazingly, the woman was still in motion. Bullets peppered the back of the van where she’d just been. She turned in slow motion, following the speed of Mitchell’s presentation. When she stepped out from behind her stricken companion, she was in profile again, presenting the other side of her face. Again Sam had the strange feeling that she knew the woman.

Two Kemeni rebels raced from the other end of the alley. The woman fired deliberate three-round bursts at her attackers as she ran. Both Kemenis went down, tumbling like dervishes in slow motion.

In the next instant, the camera view shifted, dropping and plunging toward the street. The camera tumbled end over end, only occasionally catching the woman as she advanced along the van’s side.

“The cameraman was hit and killed,” Mitchell said in a quiet, conversational voice. “But the agent who followed Hassan and the unidentified man into the shop was in position by this time.”

The view shifted, swinging around quickly to pick up the woman as she ran toward the front of the van. The other MI-6 agent’s plunge from the other building caught part of the frame. Sam felt sick to her stomach as the man’s body slammed against the alley floor. He fell, sprawled and didn’t move. Blood showed on the robes and burnoose he wore. He’d been hit several times.

Onscreen, the woman caught hold of the door and yanked it open. The driver leaned across the steering wheel. From where the second MI-6 observer was, the view afforded showed the inside of the van. Calmly the woman reached inside, grabbed the dead man by the collar, and yanked him out. Bullets that searched for her caught the dead man, jerking his body with the impacts. As the man tumbled to the ground, struck again and again by bullets, the woman stepped up into the cab. Her arm masked her face as she started the van and backed it up.

More Kemeni rebels raced toward her. Rips appeared along the van’s front and cracks spiderwebbed the windshield.

The woman drew a pistol and fired smoothly as she continued backing the van free of the wall. Her bullets chopped into the two men and spun them away. A rebel ran for the rear of the van.

Sam felt sure she was about to see the woman gunned down by the surprise assailant.

Incredibly, the woman braked the van and turned around in the seat as the rebel gained the open doors of the van. From the camera’s vantage point, Sam saw the woman turn around and point the pistol at the rebel hauling himself into the rear of the van. In the next instant, the rebel toppled back from the van with a bullet between his eyes.

The rearview mirrors, Sam thought, impressed at the woman’s skill. That was how she had seen her attacker coming.

One of the woman’s companions broke from cover and ran to the van. She waited till he reached her, then gunned the engine and rocketed through the alley. Just once, she looked through the driver’s side window to lift her pistol and fire again.

Mitchell froze the image. His timing was impeccable, offering silent proof that he’d grown used to stopping the video in that spot.

“Do you know who she is now?” Mitchell asked.

Not believing what she was seeing, Sam stared into the woman’s face. The blond hair, the blue eyes and the features matched hers exactly.

“No.” Sam barely forced the word through her clenched teeth. Although she didn’t know what was going on, she was certain that she was being set up.

Silently Mitchell worked the keyboard. The image of the blond-haired woman separated from the rest of the violence and filled the left side of the screen. The right side of the screen was dark for only an instant, then another picture surfaced from a murky haze to fill it.

Sam recognized her own CIA ID file picture on the right side of the screen. Although the woman’s head was turned at a slightly different angle than her own, Sam knew the resemblance was unmistakable.

“That’s not me,” Sam insisted.

Mitchell didn’t argue. He tapped more keys. The woman on the left turned as the digital reimaging program seized hold and turned her face to the same angle as the ID. In the next moment the two images shuddered, then slid into each other, overlapping so they were two layers deep.

The mystery woman’s face slipped over Sam’s ID picture like a hand inside a glove.

“That’s not me.” Sam’s voice was weaker than it had been. She knew the woman in the footage wasn’t her, but she had no explanation for what she witnessed. “This isn’t possible. There’s been some mistake. Someone is setting me up. The video is a fake.”

“The video isn’t faked,” Mitchell said. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his index fingers. “I’ve had experts going over every second of this footage for the last fourteen days. Since the Munich assignment. The video is legitimate.”

“It can’t be.”

Mitchell let out a long sigh. “It is. How long have you been working with the Q’Rajn?”

“I haven’t,” Sam answered. “And I won’t.”

“Things would go easier on you if you confessed.”

“How would they go easier?”

“You could cut a deal. This thing is bigger than you. There are people who want to know who else is involved. We’ve got several operations involving Berzhaan that may be compromised. The Agency wants to know how exposed those agents and those operations are.” He paused. “I want to know.”

Tight-lipped and scared, Sam said nothing. She knew there was nothing she could say in her defense.

“St. John,” Mitchell prompted.

“That’s not me,” Sam whispered, staring at the haunting pair of faces on the monitor. “When was this shot?”

“This footage, according to MI-6,” Mitchell said, “was shot four months ago. In May.”

“I wasn’t in Suwan in May,” Sam said. “I wasn’t even in Berzhaan.”

“No,” Mitchell agreed. He pulled one of the folders from his desk and opened it. Sam’s picture was neatly clipped on the left side of the folder. “But you were in Prague. You could have been in Suwan long enough to manage this arms deal.”

Sam remembered Prague. The assignment she’d been on involved a Chinese director working for Hollywood who worked for the Triads, the Chinese Mafia, and was coordinating arms buys for the rising Romanian criminal underground. With the economic boom Prague was experiencing by becoming a favorite hangout for the jetset and Hollywood moviemakers, a boom in criminal industry had naturally followed.

Sam had interpreted several documents captured and stolen from the Romanian contingent. Her work, and that of the agents involved in the mission, had resulted in getting a clearer picture of the transportation of money and arms. As a result the fragile trust between the Chinese Triads and the Romanians had almost been dismantled.

“You had a lot of downtime in Prague,” Mitchell commented. “You served in an advisory capacity. The agents there left you on your own a lot of the time.”

That wasn’t exactly how it had been. Sam had been the newest addition to the team. The group had included only one other woman, and she was a field agent, not an expert sidelined to pushing papers. The group had spent a lot of their downtime with each other when they weren’t at post. And they had shut Sam out, relying on e-mail transmissions at times. Sometimes days had passed without human contact.

“I. Never. Left.” Sam’s made her voice cold and hard.

Mitchell regarded her blankly. “Unfortunately, you can’t prove that any more than I can.”

“There were e-mail transmissions,” Sam pointed out.

Mitchell riffed a stack of paper included in the folder. “I have them.”

“I never missed a transmission. I was never not there for the team.”

“No,” Mitchell commented. “No, you weren’t. But the e-mail transmissions don’t show where you were at the time you made your response. The Agency allowed that open window for you by assigning you a satellite phone and giving you access to a rolling IP address.”

Sam couldn’t say anything. The rolling Internet Protocol address was SOP in the field, and standard operating procedure existed to protect operatives. Having an agent log on at the same IP address opened the whole mission up to attack if the address was traced.

“I didn’t leave Prague,” Sam replied.

“Can you prove that?”

Sam met the director’s gaze boldly, but felt trapped and helpless. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak.

Mitchell leaned back in his chair and kept his eyes locked on the double image on the monitor. “Neither can I.”

Fear filled Sam. She controlled it only by using the same skills she’d learned long ago when she was helpless.

“We’re both trapped by this, St. John,” Mitchell said in a dull voice. “I can’t prove that you’re guilty, and you can’t prove that you’re innocent.”

“I haven’t asked for an attorney,” Sam said in a quiet voice, “but I’m asking for one now.”

“Duly noted, St. John, but it won’t do you any good. Under the Homeland Security Act, the Agency can keep you sequestered here till Hell freezes over.”

The sharp bite of tears burned the backs of Sam’s eyes. God, she hated feeling helpless. She’d had to feel that way so much of her life.

“Even if the Agency were inclined to set you free or even use you as bait,” Mitchell said, “even if I were so inclined, no one can do that. MI-6 lost several agents over there the last few months. They attribute those losses to information leakage that could only have been gotten from the CIA.” He nodded at the monitor. “They think they have an answer. If you were set free, it would be like leading a lamb to the slaughter. Their agents are looking for their pound of flesh. They would find you eventually, and they won’t settle for containing you.”

Sam made herself breathe. Her heart thudded like a lead balloon.

“However,” Mitchell continued as he shuffled papers on his desk, “it appears we have a new problem.”

Sam focused on Mitchell. Anything that was a problem for him might be leverage she could use.

“You know Josie Lockworth, a captain in the USAF,” Mitchell said.

Josie. Mixed feelings warred within Sam. Rainy’s loss had come without warning. Josie was a pilot in the air force, and lately she’d been testing her own experimental plane design. Had something happened to Josie? Sam made herself go dead inside, choosing to feel no hope and no dread.

“We went to school together,” Sam answered.

“It seems several of your classmates are curious about why you didn’t put in an appearance at the funeral of your mutual friend. Josie, who wasn’t there, either, has taken it upon herself to track you down for the group.”

Sam didn’t respond. If Josie was trying to find her, it meant Josie was all right.

“Did you know that her grandfather was once a CIA director?”

Sam waited. She had known that, but she’d gotten into the Agency on her own merits. Although Josie had offered her grandfather’s intercession, Sam hadn’t wanted any help.

“Joseph Lockworth remains highly thought of,” Mitchell stated. “He’s still got the ear of several politicians.”

Standing at ease in front of Mitchell’s desk, Sam kept calm. She knew Mitchell was waiting for her to speak, to ask questions or to claim some kind of triumph.

“Captain Lockworth insists on speaking to you,” Mitchell said. “She wants to make certain you know about your friend’s death. And she wants to make certain you’re all right.”

Sam thought that was curious. Why would Josie think anything was wrong with her? It was one thing to wonder why Sam hadn’t been at Rainy’s funeral, but directly calling the CIA seemed like overkill.

“I’ve put the captain off as long as possible,” Mitchell said. “She’s asked her grandfather to intervene. I’m starting to get some pressure from the White House.”

Slightly surprised, Sam thought about that. She’d known Joseph Lockworth maintained political connections, and he’d used them to help fund the Athena Academy, but she hadn’t known he had enough clout to put pressure on a CIA director in Langley. The fact that Josie had asked her grandfather to do something like that was even more interesting.

“I’ve been told to grant the air force captain access to you,” Mitchell said, clearly not happy about the situation. “But it’s going to be limited, and it’s going to be monitored.”

All right, Sam thought, I can live with that. Josie was good at reading between the lines. All of the Cassandras were.

“I’m going to have an e-mail account established for you,” Mitchell told her. “We’ll clear the messages you send as well as the ones you receive.” He looked at her. “The captain will be informed that you are locked into an important mission and can’t call her. The e-mail contact will be limited.”

“Josie will check whatever story you give her,” Sam said. She knew her friend would do exactly that. “Your cover is going to need to be bulletproof.”

“Why should she check?”

“Because she knows it would take a lot to keep me from being at Rainy’s funeral.”

Mitchell scowled. “We’ll make the story bulletproof. But you’re going to have to help.” He paused, his face totally without emotion. “If Captain Lockworth discovers that you’re being held against your will and tries to interfere in any way, this Agency will take appropriate steps. You’ll be formally charged with treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Sam answered.

“You’ve got some good friends,” Mitchell said, “but I don’t know if they’ll stand so steadfastly by you once they learn what you’ve done.”

For the first time, Sam thought about that. Until that moment, she hadn’t considered what the Cassandras might think of the accusations against her. She wasn’t used to thinking about her world impacting the lives of others. She’d always managed a separate existence. Moving away from the academy had effectively pressed the reset button on her independent lifestyle. Except for occasional gatherings. Would they believe her? Or would they believe the charges?

Sam looked at the identical faces on the monitor. The evidence, however it was arranged, was damning.

“So when do I get e-mail access?” Sam stood inside the cell. She wrapped her arms around herself. Even Riley noticed that the room somehow felt colder than when she’d left it.

He stood on the other side of the doorway. He kept his expression neutral. Keeping himself distant from her and the problems she presented was harder. “You’ll get it when Mitchell says you do.” He stared at her and tried to forget that she looked so damn sexy. He also tried to forget that he’d been responsible for locking her away—again. Guilt was a weapon a spy used, not a consequence one suffered.

“Josie won’t wait on an answer forever.”

“Don’t put pressure on me, St. John. I’m not the one calling the shots here.”

A flicker of defiance ignited in Sam’s ice-blue eyes. Then it passed. “Tell Mitchell that Josie won’t wait.”

“I think he’s already got that impression.” Anger roiled inside Riley. He hated leaving her in the cell. The guilt that assailed him twisted through his guts. “It’s not my fault you’re in here.” And he said that more to put things in perspective for himself than to post any blame.

Sam obviously didn’t take the assignation of guilt like that. She glared at him. “Do you think I’m a spy for another country? Or a terrorist?”

Riley looked at her for a moment. More than anything, he didn’t want to believe the beautiful woman before him could possibly be a spy or served terrorist masters against the country that he loved and had sworn to defend.

Before he could speak, before he even knew what he was going to say, Sam said, “Because if you think that was me in that video footage, then you’re an idiot.” Without another word she turned away from him and walked toward the wall on the other side of the room.

Unable to stop himself, Riley snarled, “You want to give me another answer, St. John? Want to tell me how that woman just happens to have your face? Want to tell me why anyone would masquerade as a low-level, wannabe field agent to cause problems for the Agency?”

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

“Tell Mitchell,” Sam said in a flat, dead voice. “Tell him that Josie Lockworth won’t wait long before she attacks the situation another way. That’s just how she is.”

Riley stood for a moment, trying to think of something to say. In the end he could only close the door and walk away feeling empty and miserable for reasons that he couldn’t explain even to himself.

Chapter 9

SO, IF YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING, YOU HAVE TO KILL ME, RIGHT?

Sam stared at the words on the computer monitor. She almost laughed in spite of her situation, and maybe she would have if she hadn’t had two agents in the room with her and known that another team was analyzing everything that was sent either way over the Internet connection. Each message was read by the analysis team before being kicked through cyberspace.

THAT’S RIGHT, Sam typed, trying to keep the tone light. SORRY I COULDN’T COME TO THE FUNERAL. Keep the topic to Rainy’s death. There’s less chance of blowing your cover then.

I MISSED IT, TOO. Josie Lockworth responded. BUT THE OTHERS TOLD ME ABOUT IT. THEY ASKED IF I’D HEARD FROM YOU. DARCY’S REALLY WORRIED ABOUT YOU.

Back in school, Darcy had been like a mother to Sam, caring for her and making certain Sam had everything she needed. At first Sam hadn’t wanted all the attention the other girl had shown. She hadn’t known how to react to it. But once they’d all bonded and become the best of friends, it had become second nature to her to seek comfort from Darcy when she felt down. She’d missed the attention when Darcy had moved away after graduation.

Darcy had shown a gift for theater and the dramatic arts. After graduation at the Athena Academy, Darcy had gone on to UCLA and had gotten a job in Hollywood as a makeup artist. She’d married and had a son, but there had been trouble that had caused her to split up with her husband. Sam knew that Rainy had helped Darcy leave her husband, but that was all she knew. Darcy had dropped out of sight. It was good to know she was back enough to worry about Sam.

TELL DARCY I’M ALL RIGHT, Sam typed. She sat in a hard straight-backed chair in front of the notebook computer on a rolling cart.

YOU SHOULD TELL HER YOURSELF. I HAVE HER PHONE NUMBER.

I CAN’T MAKE PHONE CALLS FROM HERE.

CAN’TYOU GIVE MEA HINT WHERE “HERE” IS?

I DON’T HAVE TIME TO TRACK YOU DOWN, AND THEY TELL ME YOU HAVE TO BURY THE BODIES REALLY DEEP. BESIDES THAT, THE AIR FORCE WOULD PROBABLY MISS YOU AND THERE WOULD BE ALL KINDS OF FORMS TO FILL OUT.

LOL. JUST TELL ME YOU’RE SOMEPLACE EXOTIC, WHERE GUYS IN SWIMSUITS PLAY VOLLEYBALL IN THE SAND ALL DAY AND ALL THE DRINKS COME WITH THOSE CUTE LITTLE PLASTIC UMBRELLAS.

YEAH, Sam typed. IT’S REALLY INCREDIBLE HERE. She was fifteen days into her incarceration now. The four walls remained the same. Although, when she paced the cell and the area measured out the same distance, she still had the definite feeling that the walls were closing in on her.

AFTER WHAT SEEMS LIKE ENDLESS DAYS OF LAB AND DESERT, ANYPLACE WOULD SEEM EXOTIC TO ME.

LUCKY ME, Sam replied. OF COURSE, I CAN’T MEET ANYONE, AND DOING ENDLESS AUDIO AND WRITTEN TRANSLATIONS CAN’T BE THAT MUCH DIFFERENT THAN STARING AT BLUEPRINTS ALL DAY. OR PLAYING IN A WIND TUNNEL WITH MODEL PLANES.

SO THE SPY WORLD ISN’T ALL THAT EXCITING?

NO.

BET YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D GROW UP TO BE A REAL-LIFE SPY.

NOT ONCE. Or arrested for being a traitor to my country. Thinking about the threat Mitchell had made, about how the Cassandras would react once they found out about the charges of treason that could be filed against her, Sam realized that Josie most of all would more than likely turn against her. Sam had several pictures of Josie in her air force uniforms as she’d gone through ranks. More than that, Josie was currently working in the espionage field herself, though from a research and development angle.

I HAVE DARCY’S E-MAIL ADDRESS, Josie typed.

I’LL HAVE TO GET CLEARANCE TO USE IT. THIS OPERATION IS CLOSED UP TIGHT.

I UNDERSTAND. I’VE BEEN LIVING IN A LAB MYSELF. FOR FREAKING MONTHS!!!

THE PLANE? Josie was working with a robot spy plane that could be remote controlled from space-based satellites.

OF COURSE, THE PLANE.

Deciding that talking about top-secret projects was getting a little too close to home, Sam asked, HOW ARE RAINY’S PARENTS? Despite her choice to live in Arizona after college instead of returning to California where her family still lived, Rainy had remained close to her mom and dad.

THEY’RE TAKING IT HARD. SO IS MARSHALL.

Marshall Carrington was Rainy’s husband. Sam had met him a few times and liked him.

I NEVER DID FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO RAINY, Sam typed. THE ONLY INFORMATION I’VE SEEN SAID THAT IT WAS A TRAFFIC ACCIDENT.

THAT’S HOW IT WAS WRITTEN UP. SINGLE-CAR COLLISION. THE INVESTIGATORS BELIEVE RAINY FELL ASLEEP IN THE CAR AND WENT OFF THE ROAD.

Sam stared at the line of type. The words seemed so artless and ineffective. She didn’t think anyone’s death should have been summed up so succinctly, so bloodlessly. She hesitated before she started typing again.

THAT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE RAINY. SHE WAS ALWAYS CAREFUL ABOUT EVERYTHING SHE DID. IF SHE WERE SLEEPY, SHE WOULD HAVE PULLED OFF THE ROAD AND STAYED SOMEWHERE. OR HAD MARSHALL COME GET HER.

I KNOW. NONE OF US CAN BELIEVE IT. ESPECIALLY SINCE RAINY INVOKED THE CASSANDRA PROMISE AND WAS ON HER WAY TO MEET US AT ATHENA WHEN SHE CRASHED. DIDN’T YOU GET A MESSAGE FROM HER? IT WAS EARLY AUGUST.

Sam swallowed. Rainy had called on the Cassandra Promise? That meant something serious had happened.

I DIDN’T GET THE MESSAGE. I’VE BEEN IN THE FIELD FOR A FEW MONTHS. WHAT DID SHE SAY?

WE NEVER FOUND OUT. SHE WAS GOING TO TELL US WHEN SHE GOT TO ATHENA. WE ALL THINK IT’S SIGNIFICANT THAT SHE DIED ON HER WAY THERE. The cursor blinked for a moment. ALEX SAT IN ON RAINY’S AUTOPSY, BUT SHE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE THE EXAM WAS ENOUGH. SHE GOT MARSHALL’S PERMISSION TO DO ANOTHER POST. KAYLA HELPED HER MOVE RAINY’S BODY TO ATHENS AND SHE EXAMINED RAINY HERSELF. SHE FOUND SOMETHING REALLY STRANGE.

WHAT?

Alexandra Forsythe was a forensic investigator for the FBI. She’d become a recognized authority in her field. Kayla Ryan was a lieutenant in the Youngstown Police Department and served in the Athens satellite station. She and her daughter, Jazz, lived in Athens. As a single mother and a police lieutenant, Kayla wouldn’t have wasted time on something she didn’t believe in. Likewise, with her contacts through the police department, she would have had access to all the information regarding Rainy’s death.

Together, Alex and Kayla must have turned the investigation upside down and inside out.

REMEMBER WHEN RAINY TOLD US ABOUT THE APPENDECTOMY SHE HAD WHEN SHE WAS TWELVE? Josie typed.

YES.

WELL, THE PRELIMINARY AUTOPSY SHOWED THAT RAINY STILL HAD HER APPENDIX.

The information sent a chill through Sam.

LATER THAT NIGHT, SOMEONE BROKE INTO THE MORGUE AND ALEX WALKED IN ON IT. SHE THOUGHT THE PERSON WAS TRYING TO DO SOMETHING TO RAINY’S BODY.

WHO WAS IT? WHAT WAS HE TRYING TO DO?

DON’T KNOW. HE GOT AWAY. BUT DURING ALEX’S POST IN ATHENS, SHE FOUND OLD SCARS ON RAINY’S OVARIES.

HER OVARIES?

YES.

WHY? Sam typed.

THIS IS WHERE IT STARTS GETTING FREAKY. WHILE KAYLA WAS SEARCHING THROUGH RAINY’S THINGS, KAYLA FOUND OUT RAINY HAD BEEN DOING RESEARCH ON EGG MINING. YOU’RE FAMILIAR WITH THAT?

FOR FERTILITY TREATMENT.

EXACTLY.

WHAT WAS RAINY’S INTEREST?

AT FIRST WE THOUGHT IT WAS BECAUSE SHE AND MARSHALL WERE HAVING TROUBLE GETTING PREGNANT AND WERE CONSIDERING IN-VITRO. BUT NOW WE THINK SHE’D SOMEHOW DISCOVERED THAT SHE HADN’T HAD AN APPENDECTOMY ALL THOSE YEARS AGO AND WAS ABOUT TO FIGURE OUT WHAT HAD REALLY HAPPENED. ALL OF US—KAYLA, ALEX, DARCY AND ME—THINK RAINY WAS MURDERED TO COVER UP THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT SOMEONE DID TO HER. WE THINK HER EGGS WERE MINED.

Sam stared at the screen.

WHEN KAYLA INVESTIGATED ALEX’S CAR, SHE FOUND OUT THE SEAT BELT HAD FAILED.

The announcement struck a chord in Sam’s mind. Accidents and failed seat belts reminded her of something she’d studied during her CIA training.

THERE WAS NO REASON FOR THE SEAT BELT TO FAIL, Josie typed. IT JUST DID.

Sam reached for the memory but couldn’t quite find it.

KAYLA WANTED ME TO ASK YOU A FAVOR IF I GOT IN TOUCH WITH YOU, Josie typed.

ANYTHING, Sam typed.

SHE WANTED YOU TO CHECK THROUGH RAINY’S FILES. SEE IF ONE OF THE ENEMIES RAINY MADE AS AN ATTORNEY MIGHT HAVE HAD MOTIVE TO KILL HER.

I CAN LOOK AROUND. Sam would force Mitchell to allow her to do that. Or assign someone like Howie Dunn to do that.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU FIND OUT. WE WANT TO CHECK ALL POSSIBILITIES.

I WILL.

ANOTHER WEIRD THING HAPPENED, TOO. ALEX CAUGHT AN FBI AGENT SNOOPING AROUND AT ATHENA.

WHY WOULD THE FBI BE INTERESTED? Again, that tendril of almost-recognition danced in Sam’s brain.

HE DIDN’T STICK AROUND TO TELL HER. ALEX WILL TRACK HIM DOWN.

The cursor paused again. Sam waited, absorbing the information. Had someone stolen Rainy’s eggs when she was just a kid, and then killed her years later when she found out what they’d done?

Josie finally continued. AND HERE’S ANOTHER WEIRD THING. WHILE KAYLA WAS CHECKING RAINY’S MEDICAL FILES AT ATHENA, SHE BLACKED OUT.

WHAT CAUSED IT?

DON’T KNOW. SHE WAS EXAMINED AND FOUND HEALTHY. YOU KNOW KAYLA. HARDLY EVER SICK. SHE JUST…PASSED OUT. NO WARNING.

The near-memory tugged at Sam’s attention again. Something was there, but she couldn’t get hold of it. Mysterious blackouts and failed seat belts tied together somehow.

YOU’LL LET ME KNOW WHAT THEY FIND OUT?

OF COURSE. WANT TO HEAR SOME NEWS THAT WILL WANT TO MAKE YOU BARF?

NOT REALLY.

WELL, YOU’RE GOING TO ANYWAY. GUESS WHO SHOWED UP AT THE FUNERAL?

Sam remembered the vast number of people. The possibilities were staggering. DON’T KNOW.

SHANNON CONNER.

The memory twisted through Sam’s mind. Shannon had been a student at the Athena Academy, too. She’d started the same year that the Cassandras had, and had been part of another orientation group led by Allison Gracelyn. In their junior year, Shannon had tried to frame Josie for theft and create a black mark against all of the Cassandras. Tory had proven that Shannon had staged the theft. As a result, Shannon had gotten kicked out of the academy, the first and only girl to ever be expelled from the school, as far as Sam knew.

Shannon had gone on to success, though. Oddly enough, she’d become a TV news reporter—as had Tory. Occasionally, Sam had seen Shannon on cable anchoring news for ABS, Tory’s rival station. Tory was a reporter for UBS and covered world news, seeking out headline stories. The rivalry that had begun at the academy had continued out into the world of news. Shannon seemed to be constantly on Tory’s trail, on the verge of getting stories that Tory scooped her on.

WHAT WAS SHANNON DOING THERE? Sam asked.

SOMEHOW SHANNON HEARD ABOUT THE EGG-MINING POSSIBILITY. WE STILL DON’T KNOW HOW. SHANNON SHOWED UP AT THE CHURCH RIGHT AFTER THE SERVICE AND STARTED ASKING ALL KINDS OF QUESTIONS ABOUT SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENTS BEING DONE ON RAINY AND OTHER ATHENA STUDENTS.

YOU’RE KIDDING.

NO. ALEX TOLD HER OFF, BUT IT DID HIT THE NEWS.

The cursor blinked for a moment while Sam gathered her thoughts. She was having to deal with way too much in a short amount of time.

OOOOOOPPPS! Josie wrote. GOTTA SCOOT. GOT ANOTHER MEETING TO ATTEND THAT I’M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR, AND I’M THE ONE HOSTING IT. GOOD TALKIN’ TO YA. STAY IN TOUCH, SPYGIRL.

I WILL.

I’LL BE CHECKING IN ON YOU FROM TIME TO TIME.

DO THAT, Sam typed, and hoped that her friend would. The contact with the outside world, brief as it was, made her situation easier to bear. She logged off the computer.

Without a word, the two CIA agents bundled the computer, the chair and the cart up and departed.

Filled with nervous energy and frustration that she wasn’t there with her friends, that she wasn’t helping look into Rainy’s death if they all felt something had warranted the attention, Sam started pacing. Once she caught herself doing that, she took a couple of quick breaths, then launched into her martial arts forms, hoping to find temporary peace there.

Riley McLane had been missing for the past three days, which bothered her, as well. Her nights rotated nightmares about finding Rainy in her wrecked car and unsettling dreams of naked racquetball games with Riley. The nightmares had disrupted her sleep with fears and pain and loss. But the nude dreams had left Sam frustrated in ways she’d never before experienced.

SOMETHING TRULY WEIRD IS GOING ON, SPYGIRL.

Trepidation oozed through Sam as she read Josie Lockworth’s message.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Sam typed.

ALEX HAD A FAINTING EPISODE, TOO. LIKE KAYLA. ALEX, WHO’S HARDLY HAD A SICK DAY IN HER LIFE.

Sam stared at the screen. Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d first chatted with Josie over e-mail. She’d been locked up for a month. Personally, she knew she was a surprise to the CIA who were keeping her under observation. Only the resiliency she’d learned as a child served to keep her physically, mentally and emotionally away from the abyss of loneliness and despair.

None of the other Cassandras had been cleared for contact. Sam had the impression that Mitchell wasn’t going to make that happen unless he was forced to. However, Mitchell had allowed Howie Dunn to search for possible enemies among Rainy’s clients. There hadn’t been any, and she had let Kayla know via Josie.

HOW DID THE BLACKOUT HAPPEN? Sam asked.

ALEX WAS DRIVING HOME FROM WORK. DRIVING. JUST LIKE RAINY.

Sam automatically fit the details to the scenario she had created about Rainy. WHAT ABOUT THE SEAT BELT?

IT HELD. SO IF SOMEONE WAS BEHIND ALEX’S BLACKOUT, THEY DIDN’T WANT IT TO LOOK TOO MUCH LIKE RAINY’S ACCIDENT.

ALEX IS OKAY?

YES, THANK GOD. SHE WAS REALLY LUCKY.

Sam’s throat closed up, Someone was after her friends…and she couldn’t help them.

ALEX FOUND OUT MORE ABOUT THE MYSTERIOUS FBI AGENT. I JUST FOUND OUT TODAY MYSELF AND WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW.

TELL ME.

HIS NAME IS JUSTIN COHEN. REMEMBER THE LEGEND AROUND ATHENA ABOUT THE DARK ANGEL?

Sam did. And back in school, Alex had actually seen him from a distance. The young man had broken in to the academy twice, the second time being while the Cassandras were there. He’d claimed the academy had killed his sister. Over the years, the Dark Angel had become something of a Robin Hood figure to the school, a legend the girls giggled over late at night.

JUSTIN COHEN IS THE DARK ANGEL. HIS SISTER DIED ABOUT NINE MONTHS AFTER RAINY’S “APPENDECTOMY.” DOING THE MATH ON THIS ONE, SPYGIRL?

YEAH.

TURNS OUT THAT JUSTIN’S SISTER, KELLY, ACCEPTED FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO BECOME A SURROGATE MOTHER. UNFORTUNATELY, SOMETHING WENT WRONG WITH THE PREGNANCY AND SHE DIED.

WHAT ABOUT THE BABY?

HOSPITAL RECORDS SAY IT DIED AS WELL. DARCY IS CHECKING UP ON THE POSSIBILITY OF OTHER SURROGATE MOTHERS. RAINY MIGHT HAVE A CHILD OUT THERE. IN A STRANGER’S HANDS.

That thought chilled Sam. WHO DID THIS? she asked.

WE DON’T KNOW YET. BUT HERE’S WHY JUSTIN BELIEVES ATHENA ACADEMY HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH HIS SISTER’S DEATH. THE NURSE WHO TOOK CARE OF HER AT THE HOSPITAL WAS BETSY STONE. KAYLA’S GOING TO TALK TO HER.

Sam sat, stunned. Betsy Stone had been Athena’s resident nurse since the academy began. Sam chatted with Josie a little while longer, batting around possibilities, that Betsy Stone or Athena Academy were in on whatever had happened to Rainy. All too soon, their chat time was up.

When she was alone again, Sam’s thoughts turned dark. Someone had claimed the life of one of her friends and nearly taken the life of another. As long as the Cassandras saw fit to pursue the mystery, Sam felt certain that all of their lives were potentially forfeit.

And she was stuck in a damn cell on bogus charges that she couldn’t disprove and couldn’t begin to understand. She couldn’t help them. Most of all she hated the helpless feeling that filled her.

However, the past two weeks hadn’t gone unrewarded. She’d finally remembered the elusive memory involving failed seat belts and blackouts. Now all she had to do was get someone to listen to her.

Riley stopped in front of the security door to Sam’s private holding cell and pushed his hand against the palm scanner mounted to the right. The screen pulsed and the reader read his palm print. Three seconds later after the ID had been confirmed by the automated system and the agent manning security on the video camera overlooking the hallway, the locks clicked open.

He started to enter, then felt uncomfortable just barging in. Sam was waiting for him. He knew that because he’d stopped off at the observation room after his arrival. And she had sent for him. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that just walking in was an invasion of whatever privacy she had left.

He closed his fist and knocked. The thumps sounded hollow and lonesome out in the hallway. She’d been inside for five weeks, more or less in solitary confinement. He knew he couldn’t have gone as long as she had and still remain as sane as she was. It was almost as if she thrived on the solitude.

“Come in.” Sam’s voice sounded surprisingly normal.

Taking a deep breath, Riley pushed the door open and followed it inside.

Sam stood across the room, leaving plenty of space between them. She wore sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt that muffled her natural curves somewhat.

“You knocked,” Sam pointed out.

Riley nodded. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.” Out of habit Riley swept the room with his peripheral vision. He spotted the white rose beneath the bed. The flower looked fragile and delicate.

“Thanks for coming, too,” she added. She wrapped her arms around herself, showing a hint of insecurity.

“I was told it was urgent. If Mitchell hadn’t okayed the meet, I wouldn’t have been able to come.”

“I think he expects me to confess everything to you.”

Disappointment flooded Riley. He didn’t want to be the confessor figure. If Sam had really worked with terrorists smuggling arms, he didn’t want to be the one to go on record as a witness, didn’t want to hear it from her lips. But he would, and the room’s surveillance systems would keep track of her every word.

“Don’t worry, McLane,” she said. “I’m not confessing to anything.”

Riley felt immediately relieved, then got frustrated with himself. He didn’t like the fact that she was able to see through him so easily.

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“If you say so.”

Her casual dismissal of his brief defense irritated him. “What did you want, St. John?” His tone came out harsher than he’d intended.

Sam dropped her arms to her sides and placed her right foot behind her left at a ninety-degree angle. The movement was unconscious, and Riley felt she hadn’t even noticed her own movements. He felt bad about her response. He couldn’t help wondering how many harsh voices she’d endured in those foster homes, and how many of them led to other forms of abuse.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you had planned,” Sam said.

“I didn’t have anything planned.”

An eyebrow arched over one ice-blue eye. Her look took on a sardonic cast. “Rumpled slacks, ditto on the shirt and tie and a sports coat. I don’t think you were at home watching ESPN with the guys.”

“I was out.”

“And unless my eyesight is failing me, that’s a lipstick smudge on your shirt collar.”

Riley resisted the impulse to reach for his shirt. He had been out with someone he occasionally dated and slept with while in the Langley area. The woman was a fellow agent he’d developed a casual relationship with in the field and had tracked that back into the occasional hotel room. Neither of them took the relationship home or took the involvement as anything more than physical release.

“I was out,” Riley said.

For a minute he thought she was going to press him on the issue.

Then she broke eye contact. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life.”

“You didn’t.”

“Maybe the woman you were with felt like I did.”

“It’s a friendship, St. John.” Agents who spent most of their time out in the field undercover or beating the bushes learned to have liaisons rather than love affairs, one-night stands instead of meaningful relationships. Riley had seen too many agent marriages crumble under the pressure of long-distance relationships and a job that was anything but nine to five. Of course, there were exceptions to the rule, but he’d never wanted to buck the odds, or found a woman worth taking the chance with.

“You have many friends like that?” Her tone was sharp.

Riley thought about how he should respond. The answer was no, but the woman he’d been with was truly a friend. They shared themselves when they could and when they needed to let someone in who understood the dark and dangerous world in which they lived. But it had to be someone who wouldn’t take it personally when each of them chose to shut down and deal with personal crises and issues when those times came.

There had been other women over the years. Some had moved on. Two of them were dead, and one of them Riley had killed when she’d tried to murder him.

“Forget it.” Sam raised her hands and brushed the question away. “What you do isn’t any of my business.”

Riley wanted to tell her that, no, it wasn’t any of her business, but he was too surprised. Is that just a little jealousy, St. John? Is that what’s going on here? The thought took him totally by surprise. Still, it was understandable because he hadn’t been able to be as cold and strict as Mitchell during the few times they’d encountered each other.

“She’s just a friend,” Riley said, before he could stop himself.

“Okay. You have a friend. I got that.” Those ice-blue eyes flashed angrily.

Riley felt even more uncomfortable and grew increasingly irritated with himself. Her reaction to the situation wasn’t logical, but she had a reason not to be logical. She’d been locked up for five weeks with limited human contact and a hell of a stress load on her. He, on the other hand, had no excuse for the way he felt. He’d abandoned a warm and willing woman in a hotel she had paid for to come and stand before another woman who was probably the most trouble he’d ever seen. All so he could feel guilty and mad at himself.

“My friend has nothing to do with this, St. John,” he growled.

“Good. Then I’m happy for you and your friend.”

“Is that what you called me here for? To pick a fight?”

“I’m not picking a fight.”

“You should try standing on this side of the conversation.”

Sam looked at him. “Try being locked up for five weeks.”

Riley held his hands up at his sides. “Okay. You win. You’ve got it worse than I do. I hope calling me here and reading me the riot act about the fact that I have a life and you don’t helps you out.”

“I don’t need help.”

“And I don’t need the grief.” Riley turned toward the door, cursing himself out for not simply staying away. When Mitchell had called about Sam’s request, the director had advised him to stay away, but they both recognized the fact that Sam had more resources to survive in her situation than just about anyone they knew. That was saying a lot. So Riley had come and Mitchell had allowed it because Sam had them both over the barrel. Riley needed to exorcise some of his guilt, and Mitchell still needed answers regarding the terrorist activity in Berzhaan.

“Riley.” Her voice was softer, more vulnerable. “Wait.”

Standing still, one hand on the door, Riley said, “I can’t help you, Sam. You’re going to have to help yourself out of this mess. I don’t have any answers.”

“Please.” Her voice broke.

“Mitchell’s not going to listen to me,” Riley said. “And I don’t have anything to tell him.”

“It’s not about me.”

He waited, not knowing what she was going to say.

“I think my friends might be in danger.”

That caught Riley’s attention and came far enough out of left field that he turned around. “What friends?”

Sam glanced pointedly at the lipstick mark on his collar. “Obviously not the same kind of friends that you have.”

He looked at her, not knowing how to respond but unwilling to leave her. Damn, but she looked so vulnerable with her arms wrapped around herself. Just the same, he knew she’d try to kick his ass if he mentioned it.

She broke eye contact and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I intended to say. I apologize. I’m just not very good at being helpless.”

“It’s okay. If I was in your shoes, I don’t think I could handle five weeks of solitude.”

Her eyes flashed again. “Being trapped in here isn’t the problem, McLane. I can do this. Sooner or later I’ll get out. No matter what Mitchell says or does, I know that’s true. Believing anything else just won’t work. I’ve been in lots of places worse than this.”

For a split second Riley got an image of what Sam St. John had been like as a foster child. Quiet and willful, she’d learned to bide her time even when she was very small.

“The problem is I can’t help them,” she went on.

“Your friends?”

Sam nodded.

“Are they in trouble?”

“I think so.”

“What makes you think that?”

“From the information Josie has been giving me.”

“Josie?” Then the name clicked. “You mean Captain Lockworth.” Riley hadn’t been part of that information loop.

“Yes.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I think they may be in danger.”

“From what?”

“Not what,” Sam corrected. “Whom.”

Riley pointed to the bed. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead.”

Crossing the room, Riley sat on the edge of the bed. He tried not to remember that she slept there, all curled up tight in a ball against the wall in the corner. The bed was neatly made, with military precision corners. One of Sam’s earliest foster parents had been an army drill sergeant. Evidently he’d taught her how to make beds.

“Whom do you think your friends are in danger from?” he asked.

Sam held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I don’t know.” Before Riley could say anything, she hurried on. “I also think Rainy was killed. I don’t think she died in a traffic accident.”

Surprised, Riley looked at Sam. “You’re saying she was murdered?”

Sam took a deep breath. The answer came hard. “Yes. My friends think so, too.”

“Why?”

“You’d have to have known Rainy,” Sam said. “Dying in some kind of accident—” Emotion took her words.

Tears gleamed in her ice-blue eyes, and Riley knew it took a real effort of will not to let them fall.

When Sam continued, her throat was husky with pain. “Rainy—Rainy just wouldn’t have died in an accident. She was one of the most complete people I’ve known.”

Riley spoke softly, wishing he could ease Sam’s pain. “Accidents happen, Sam. Life has a habit of not turning out the way we think it should.”

“Rainy’s death wasn’t an accident. Her seat belt failed.”

That caught Riley’s attention. “Failed?”

“Yes. And that isn’t all.”

Though Riley was certain that Sam didn’t know what she was doing, she started to pace. He watched her, trying to figure out what her angle was, what she wanted from him. His attention kept wandering to the taut flesh that rippled beneath her sweatpants. Even the loose material couldn’t disguise the coiling and bunching taking place.

In terse sentences, Sam briefed Riley on the information about Rainy and the blackouts that had befallen two of her other friends. Her report was nearly emotionless as she stayed centered.

When she stopped her report, he asked, “If we accept that your friend was murdered, your other friends’ blackouts were caused by the same source—”

“Kayla and Alex,” Sam said.

Riley looked at her.

“Their names,” Sam said.

“Kayla’s the police lieutenant?”

“Yes.”

“And Alex is the forensics expert with the FBI?” Riley remembered the woman from the research he’d done with Howie Dunn.

Sam nodded.

“She sat in on the autopsy before the funeral?”

“That’s what Josie said. The Cassandras—”

“Cassandras?”

An embarrassed look flashed on Sam’s beautiful features. “A name we gave ourselves. The academy was big on breaking the new students into groups that worked together. We were the Cassandras.”

Riley waited. She didn’t continue, so he prompted her.

“And Josie’s working on a spy plane.”

Sam shot him a quick, suspicious look. “I didn’t tell you that.”

But Riley knew from the disoriented flicker in her eyes that for just an instant she thought she might have. “You didn’t tell me that, Sam. I did background checks on all the women you went to school with. I don’t know the particulars of what Josie is doing, but I know what program she’s attached to.”

“That’s privileged information.”

“Yeah, but when you’re dealing with someone who might be assisting terrorist activity against the United States, a lot of doors get opened damn quick.” Too late, Riley realized the pain his words caused Sam. “I didn’t mean anything by that, Sam. It was just a statement of fact. Once you were labeled a threat, I was given a blank check to prowl.”

Taking a deep breath, getting rid of the emotion, Sam nodded. “Okay. Fine. We’ll make that work for us.”

“We?” Riley repeated. “Us?”

She looked at him in exasperation. “I need help. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Sure I’ve been listening. But all you’ve trotted out is a lot of supposition.”

“Supposition didn’t get Rainy killed. Neither did a failed seat belt. There’s an assassin out there.” Sam drew a breath. “He’s code-named the Cipher.”

A chill touched Riley then. He’d heard of the Cipher. No intelligence agency knew much about the man. Or if he was a man for certain. He was a phantom, supposedly able to walk through solid walls and assassinate targets.

“No one even knows if the Cipher exists,” Riley said.

“Then give me the chance to find out.”

“How?”

“Let me have the files on every assassination that the Cipher’s name has turned up in. Let me research him.”

“I thought he was a myth. A bogeyman the intelligence community dreamed up to challenge new recruits.”

“Do you remember what his signature is? The thing that all of his kills reportedly have in common?”

Riley shook his head.

“All of his victims fall asleep before they die in what is supposed to be an accident.”

“How do you know this?”

“He’s mentioned in the files on Berzhaan. I read about him—or her—while I was working the op in Suwan last year.”

“You read this a year ago?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t forgotten it?”

“I forget very little of what I read or see or hear,” Sam replied. “Gift for languages, remember? That’s part of how it seems to work for me.”

Riley was impressed. Mostly he operated by garbage in, garbage out. If he attained knowledge but didn’t use it at least every now and again, he lost it.

“Let’s go with that for a moment, then,” he said. “Let’s assume there is some master assassin lurking out there in the deep shadows between nations. Why would he be interested in your friends?”

“Have you been keeping up with the news?”

“World events. Baseball scores.”

“You researched the Athena Academy.”

“Yes.”

“Have you heard about the potential scandal going on there? About students being used for scientific experiments without their knowledge?”

That caught Riley’s attention. “No.”

“The story was reported by Shannon Conner.”

“Who’s she?”

“A reporter for the ABS network. She was also a student at Athena for a time.”

“Is there any truth to the scientific experimentation accusation?”

“Not that I know of. But the academy does have a medical facility and a lot of lab space.”

“If there’s no scientific experimentation going on—”

“Listen to me.” Sam’s face took on a hard cast. “All the Cassandras made a vow—a promise to come, no questions asked, if any one of us called. It was only to be used in dire circumstances. Rainy made that call while I was in Munich in August. She died on the way to the meeting. I’m not buying for a minute that it was some tragic accident. I think she discovered something. And was killed for it.”

“Sam—”

“Riley,” Sam pleaded, “I just need you to get me access to those files. That’s all.”

Staring at her, Riley turned the situation around in his head, trying to find what it was Sam hoped to gain by convincing him of the reality of the hit-and-run assassin. Even if she proved the Cipher was after her friends, she wasn’t going to get out of solitary confinement. She still had the terrorist charges to answer.

“Mitchell’s not going to go for it,” he said.

“Make him.”

“I’ll tell him to talk to you.” Riley stood to leave.

“He won’t listen to me.”

“That’s up to you.” Riley started for the door.

In a quick blur of motion, Sam intercepted him. She put one firm, small hand against his chest. Her touch seared his skin. Her musk and traces of soap and shampoo, a hint of cologne, filled his nostrils. The urge to take her in his arms and crush her to him filled him.

And then she’d break your neck for trying anything, Riley chided himself. He had to steel himself. “What are you doing, St. John?”

Those ice-blue eyes peered into his soul. “Trying to convince you to help me help my friends.”

“By bucking Mitchell?” Riley shook his head. “That’s not going to—” Before he could say anything further, Sam snaked a hand behind his neck and pulled his face down toward hers. At first he almost resisted, thinking she was going to put him in some kind of martial arts hold.

Then he felt her hot lips colliding with his with bruising force. Control slipped through his fingers in the space of a single, ragged breath.

Chapter 10

Sam couldn’t believe she was doing what she was doing. Or with whom. All those evenings she’d sometimes thought of Riley McLane after a racquetball game, or after a briefing or debriefing she’d attended that he’d been involved in, seemed to come alive in her mind as she kissed him. Worse than that, all those nights she’d dreamed of him in the nude came to the forefront of her mind.

Electricity passed through her body, filling her with a heated rush of liquid desire. At first he didn’t kiss her back. Maybe he doesn’t find you attractive, she told herself. And maybe if you didn’t have your face glued to his and you were in better control of yourself, you’d worry about that.

But she wasn’t worried. At least, she definitely wasn’t worried enough. More than anything, she was amazed at how easily her body responded to his. She’d never done any heavy kissing before, never been involved with a male at all before. There hadn’t been a need, and she’d never experienced more than a fleeting desire. She’d always judged the cost too high.

She didn’t want to end up wrecked like some of the women she knew had. In their last year at Athena Academy Kayla had fallen for Mike Bridges, a young officer she’d met, and ended up raising a child on her own.

Sam had always had her hands full keeping herself together. There had always been lines that she wouldn’t cross, chances that she wouldn’t take. It had been one thing to pit herself against a physical exertion—she’d known her abilities, and she’d had to trust only in herself. But a relationship? No way. That had never felt safe. She would have had to place too much trust outside herself.

However, at the moment, she was surprised at how right everything felt, as though this was something she barely remembered but still had the knowledge to perform.

The lack of response from her partner shook her confidence, though. Embarrassed, she tried to think of a way to disentangle herself from Riley with at least a shred of self-respect and dignity. Stepping away from his lean, muscular body was going to be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

Through sheer willpower, she forced herself back. Their lips parted for an instant. Then Riley swept over her with a cry that was part pain and part passion. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her from the floor. A dozen martial arts moves flickered through her mind, all of them ways of breaking his hold on her, of escaping his grasp.

But that was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.

His mouth pressed against hers. His lips melded to hers, blowing her mind and tearing apart her doubts. This moment was crystal clear; it was right and she seized it. His kiss was hot and couldn’t be denied. Her lips parted involuntarily and she felt his tongue invade her mouth. She craved the taste of him, the strength and determination of him, and she blended it to her own. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d doubled her fists up in his jacket and pulled herself up his lean frame. Her legs lifted and wrapped around his hips, pulling him against her.

He held tight. She held him just as fiercely, as though if she let go she would fall a million miles.

Stumbling, he reached the wall beside the door. He put a hand behind her head, cupping her neck and turning her face more up to his. Braced against the wall, she released her hold with her arms and put her hands on the sides of his face. Whiskers felt like fine sandpaper to her touch, and the rough texture sent another wave of desire thrilling through her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, worse than it did when she put herself through her forms.

He moved against her, his hips grinding into hers. She felt his erection through his clothing and hers, hard and insistent, and knew what it was instantly even though she’d never had the pleasure before. And it was pleasure. She couldn’t believe how much pleasure was involved in the contact. He rubbed against her, and she felt incredibly exposed. Wanted to be even more exposed.

His hands slid under her shirt. His callused palms caressed her back, spanned her shoulders, then slipped around to her breasts. He covered her breasts with his hands, and her erect nipples scraped against his flesh. An ache like nothing she’d ever experienced shot through her. Part of her, that small part of her mind that remained civilized, screamed at her that what she was doing was wrong.

Sam didn’t care. Maybe what she was doing was wrong, but it felt right enough at the moment. Her hips bucked against his, increasing the pressure against both their bodies. She felt his response as he grew even harder.

“Sam,” Riley croaked, breathing into her mouth, then inhaling and taking her breath away. His voice was hard and tight, totally male. He turned his head, breaking the kiss. His body surged against hers. “We can’t do this.”

She wanted to scream, Why not? But she couldn’t be distracted that long. Her mouth sought his again. Maybe he whispered no, but his body screamed yes.

“Sam. No.”

No? Even that only barely penetrated. Her mind seemed as if it had shut down, gone nuclear and suffered one hell of a meltdown.

“Don’t.”

Sam wanted to speak. She wanted to tell him that it was all right, that they couldn’t stop, that she couldn’t even possibly imagine wanting to stop.

He pulled back from her, but he couldn’t step away with her legs wrapped around her hips. His hands left her breasts and she instantly missed the pressure and strength of him holding her. Her breasts felt heavier than they ever had in her life. She wanted him to touch her.

“Sam, I mean it. This can’t happen.” Riley’s face held anger and disgust.

Looking at him, Sam couldn’t believe it. What the hell was he thinking? This can’t happen? It is happening! She instinctively gripped him, maintaining contact. Some of that was from her martial arts training, not wanting to get out into easy striking range now that she was up against him. Inside his reach, she could use his own size and strength against him. But she wanted to be against him for more than that reason.

“Sam.” Riley put his hands on her again, but this time he gripped her shoulders and pushed her back from him. His face was suddenly serious. “Sam! Dammit! Stop!”

Surprised and hurt, and more than a little embarrassed now, Sam dropped her legs from around his hips. Her feet hit the floor, but she didn’t think her knees would hold her up. Cool air against bare skin let her know that her top had crept up way past any point of decency. Mortified, she pulled the shirt down where it belonged. Her nipples stood out prominently against the material. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms to hide them.

Someone banged on the door outside.

“Special Agent McLane,” a male voice called through the door. “Special Agent McLane. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” McLane said. His eyes never left hers.

Sam stood straight and tall, defiant. Inside, she just wanted to hide. If she hadn’t needed his help—if Alex and Kayla and the others—hadn’t needed his help, she knew she would have demanded that he leave immediately. She hated the way she could still feel his touch and still long for it at the same time.

“Are you sure, Special Agent McLane?” the man asked through the door. “Because it looked like—”

“Pete,” Riley growled, still gazing at Sam.

“Yeah,” Pete responded.

“Go away.”

There was a hesitation. “All right. But if you need anything—”

“I won’t.”

Sam returned Riley’s gaze.

“What the hell do you think you were doing, St. John?” he demanded.

Now we’re back to St. John, Sam thought angrily. She could still hear her name whispered in a warm, ragged breath in her ear. “I was trying to convince you to help me. To help me help my friends.”

“What?” He shot her a look of disbelief.

“I thought maybe you might be more inclined to help me if—” Sam couldn’t finish. Her face burned with embarrassment.

“You thought I’d be more inclined to help you if you seduced me?” Riley blew out his breath and paced.

Sam didn’t know what to say, but she felt she had to say something. Usually she got along with silence just fine, but this silence between them was unbearable. “I didn’t think things would get so out of control.”

“What did you think would happen?”

“I thought you would help.”

“Because you offered me sex?”

His words stung her. Calling what she’d offered, what she’d never offered before, sex made her sound cheap and childish. She wanted to turn away from him. She wanted him out of her prison.

“Damn it, St. John. I’m not that kind of guy.”

She reached for her own anger out of defense and found it. “You couldn’t have convinced me. Not with that lipstick smear on your collar.”

“You’d break up a relationship to get what you want?”

She frowned at him. “If you’d had a relationship, I’d have known it.”

“How? ESP?”

Sam didn’t want to explain. Couldn’t, really, she just…knew.

“Is that it, then, Riley?” she asked him. “Are you in a relationship? Did I step over some moral barrier? Because just a few minutes ago it didn’t seem like it was just me caught up in what was going on.”

Obviously struggling to get control of himself, Riley paced. “That was real. Too real. But I’m not for sale, St. John. Not to you. Not to anybody. I hold myself accountable for my actions.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I want to help my friends,” Sam said. “I can’t do that from in here. You and Mitchell have walled me off from everything I could do. I can’t just sit in here and pretend everything’s all right when everything inside me is screaming that it isn’t.”

“So you decided if you jumped me, delivered a sexual payoff, I’d do whatever you wanted?”

Actually, Sam had fostered hopes.

“Do you know how calculated that sounds?” he asked.

It had been calculated. Sam acknowledged that. But the results, her heated involvement and response, had been totally unexpected.

Riley ran a hand through his hair. He cursed. A crooked, mirthless smile fitted itself to his lower face but never reached his eyes. “God, St. John, you’re some piece of work. Were you trying to throw my career away, too?”

The accusation stung Sam on several levels. She tried to answer but her voice got stuck in her throat and wouldn’t come out.

Exhaling, Riley pointed at the walls. “They’ve got cameras viewing your room 24/7, St. John. That little attempt at seduction you just threw was recorded. We’ll be lucky if it’s not plastered all over the Internet tomorrow.”

Sam groaned inside. She’d forgotten all about the damn cameras once the fireworks had ignited inside her. “I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t think—about the cameras.”

“That was pretty damn stupid, wasn’t it?”

“I just wanted to get…get your attention.”

“Damn straight you got my attention, St. John. How do you like my attention now?”

Sam didn’t. Not one little bit. She was frustrated; how could he go from desirable one second and turn into a complete jerk in the next? A change that drastic could give someone whiplash.

“I need help,” she repeated. “I want to help my friends. I can’t do that from in here.”

“So you offer me sex?” Riley cursed, ran his hand through his hair again, and cursed some more. “You could have given me all the sex in the world and I still couldn’t get you through that door without Mitchell’s okay.”

“Things…got out of hand,” Sam said.

“Man, that’s the understatement of the year.”

Sam felt the harsh burn of tears at the back of her eyes. She clamped down on her feelings, pushing them again and creating space so they wouldn’t touch her until she was ready.

“I need help for my friends,” she insisted.

Riley shook his head in disbelief. “Because you think some mythical assassin is after them?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told your friend the air force captain about the Cipher?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would cause problems.”

“What problems?”

“They would want to know why I wasn’t there to help them. They would want to know why I couldn’t get more information for them. They would investigate, and they’d find out I’m not on a mission.” Sam took a deep breath, feeling a little more in control of herself now. “Besides, Mitchell’s cyberwatchdogs wouldn’t let a message like that go through to Josie.”

Riley took his tie off and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “No. They wouldn’t.”

Sam thought frantically. There had to be a way to turn the situation around. Seducing Riley had been a desperate move, but there was still another angle she could play.

“Tell Mitchell that the Cipher is my contact in Berzhaan,” Sam said. A chill filled her as she made the statement. Once she’d spoken, she knew she couldn’t take the false confession back. Mitchell would use that against her, and if he could, he’d hang her with it.

Riley looked at her. “Sam,” he said in a quiet voice, “don’t do this.”

For a moment Sam reconsidered what she was doing. In the end, though, she knew there was nothing else she could do. She’d failed miserably at seducing Riley over to her side. Worse than that, she’d made a fool of herself. The camera’s digital recording had captured every moment of it.

“It’s done,” she said. “Tell Mitchell.”

“Sam, you don’t know the Cipher.”

“No,” she agreed. “He contacted me through a blind drop. That’s why I’ll have to help the Agency find him. And to do that, I’ll need access to his records.”

She knew the ploy was one born of desperation, but “desperate” was her zip code at the moment. After she’d learned of the mysterious blackouts, tied in to the fact that some kind of medical procedure had been performed on Rainy all those years ago, and that Kayla, Alex and Darcy were now following up on one lead they could find, Sam knew that she couldn’t sit idly by anymore.

Her friends didn’t have the resources of the CIA, and only Sam was in a position to give them access to that information.

“This is stupid,” Riley said.

More stupid than trying to seduce you? Sam wondered. But she didn’t give voice to the question. She was afraid of the answer.

“Mitchell’s not going to buy it.”

“Tell him if he doesn’t, he’s going to be partly responsible for the problems that come up in Berzhaan,” Sam said in a flat voice.

Riley glowered at her. “Damn you, Sam.”

In control of her emotions once more, Sam looked at him. “I’d like you to leave, Agent McLane.”

“You’re digging yourself in too deep.”

“I’d like you to leave now,” she repeated.

Riley stood still. He looked frustrated and worried and confused.

Sam raised her voice. “Guard.” She didn’t know what else to call the agents who watched her. “I want Agent McLane out of here now.”

“Sam—”

“Don’t,” she whispered with cold neutrality, “don’t tell me that I’m stupid one more time, McLane, or they’re going to pull me off you when they get here. I swear I’ll put you right back in the hospital.”

Footsteps sounded out in the hall. “McLane. McLane, you’ve got to get out of there.”

Without a word Riley walked to the door.

Sam turned away, unable to watch him walk away from her. She thought she’d gotten over the pain that accompanied people walking away from her years ago. She was surprised and disappointed in herself to find that such a simple act could still hurt her.

She stood still until the door locked. She closed her eyes and felt the lonely emptiness of the cell. After a moment she made herself walk to the bed. Agents were going to be watching her. She didn’t want them to see any more of what she was going through than they had already seen.

Quietly, just as she had when she’d been a little girl in all those strange and unfriendly houses, she drew into herself and walled the world away.

“What do you think, Agent McLane?”

Riley kept his eyes locked on the image of Sam sitting quietly in her cell. From what he’d been told, she hadn’t moved since last night.

“McLane,” Stone Mitchell called from his desk.

“Sir,” Riley said, “she’s lying.”

“About being involved with the Cipher?”

“Yes, sir.” Reluctantly Riley faced the director.

Mitchell sat at his desk in a dark suit. His face was set, somber. In addition to seeing the digital footage of Sam’s “confession,” Riley knew Mitchell had also seen footage of her attempted seduction of him. They hadn’t talked about that yet, but Riley was certain they would.

“Do you know that she’s lying?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes.” Riley answered without hesitation.

Mitchell thought about that for a moment, then rephrased his question. “Can you prove that she’s lying?”

“No, sir.”

Mitchell leaned back in his chair. “Then we have a problem.”

“Sir, with all due respect, you can’t possibly believe Sam St. John has any kind of connection to the Cipher.”

“Why not?”

Riley drew in a deep breath. “Because, despite that damned footage MI-6 sent over, Sam is a good agent. An agent you can trust.”

“You were reluctant to add her to the Munich operation.”

“That wasn’t a trust issue. She’s green for that kind of op.”

“From the evidence suggested by the firefight she was involved in while in Suwan, I’d venture to say that she’s not as green as you believed. Or anyone believed. She took out the Kemenis without hesitation, and with skill that few agents would exhibit under similar circumstances. Not many of our people have been under fire like that.”

“If you believe her, sir, you’re making a mistake.”

“And if I don’t follow up on her confession, I’d be remiss in my duties.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that, sir. But there’s a greater problem here.”

Mitchell looked at him.

“St. John believes the Cipher was responsible for the death of her friend.”

Mitchell tapped the computer keyboard and glanced at the screen. “Lorraine Miller Carrington.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t think the Carrington woman was killed by the Cipher?”

“No, sir.”

“Why?”

“St. John is grieving, sir. I took her away from that funeral, and from her friends. She never even had the chance to speak to them. You’ve seen St. John’s background. She’s never known family. The women she went to school with at the academy are the closest thing she’s ever had to one.”

“So, in your opinion, if her friend hadn’t gotten killed in a car wreck, St. John wouldn’t have confessed?”

“No, sir.”

“That still doesn’t mean she’s not guilty.”

“No, sir.”

“In fact, based on the footage I’ve seen of St. John in action, I’d say she’s very guilty. Maybe she’s playing the sympathy card, angling for some kind of breakdown to use in her defense.”

“I don’t think so. I think she really believes—”

Mitchell tapped another key and the monitor flickered as new information filled the screen. “Would it surprise you to know that Police Lieutenant Kayla Ryan of the Youngstown, Arizona, PD has been requesting files regarding the Carrington woman’s accident? After the funeral?”

“I don’t think any of those women were prepared to lose one of their own.”

“Would it surprise you to know that Alex Forsythe, a forensics expert for the FBI—and also a graduate of the Athena Academy—has been investigating the Carrington woman’s death as well as medical practices at the academy?”

“Same answer,” Riley replied. “When a team loses an agent in the field, the people who live through it go through similar things. It’s survivor’s guilt. Nothing more.”

Mitchell folded his hands in front of him, and Riley knew he was in for hell.

“I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, Agent McLane,” Mitchell said. “Because I’m not at all certain that it’s not true.”

“You think the Cipher killed the Carrington woman?”

“Let me walk you through a scenario.” Mitchell sipped his coffee. “We have a young CIA agent—we’ll call her St. John to keep things simple.”

Riley bit back a retort.

“St. John is young and ambitious. She gets to be a CIA agent, but she’s not advancing as quickly as she thinks she should. Or maybe the job isn’t as financially rewarding as she thinks it should be. Or maybe her interests haven’t been pro-American from the beginning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you didn’t read St. John’s background closely enough,” Mitchell suggested. “Did you know that her first language was Russian?”

Riley stayed silent. How the hell had he missed that?

“Whatever the case,” Mitchell continued, “St. John decided that she could get financially more secure or complete her real mission, however you want to play it out. So she hooked up with the Cipher to—”

“She only gave that confession because she thinks she’s protecting her friends.”

“Maybe she is protecting her friends. Have you even considered that? She could have betrayed the Cipher. Maybe killing one of her friends was his way of getting back at her. Or chasing her out into the open.”

“You think the Carrington woman was murdered?”

“The seat belt failed,” Mitchell said. “It happens. But how often does a driver fall asleep at the wheel and have a seat belt fail?”

“It could happen.”

“Again, I’ve got St. John’s confession that she’s been working with the Cipher.”

“She’s lying.”

“Which time, Agent McLane? When she told us that wasn’t her in the MI-6 footage? Or when she told us it was her?”

Riley stared at the director. “You’re going to try to railroad St. John on this, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t lay the tracks for this pileup. I’m just following what’s there.” Mitchell stared up at him without expression. “I’m going to do my job. I suggest you do the same. You’ve already stepped way over the line in this operation.”

Chapter 11

“Knock, knock,” Howie Dunn called from the other side of the security door to Sam’s personal prison. As he had for the past four days, he sounded cheerful.

Sam stopped her morning tai chi exercises and turned toward the door. “Come in.”

The electronic locks snapped in their housings. A moment later Howie stepped through the doorway with a bag of coffee and bagels in one hand, a notebook computer and a briefcase tucked under his arm. If he hadn’t been so large, he would have looked overburdened. He wore a jacket over a dark-green turtleneck.

“Breakfast.” Howie shook the bag gently. “Hope you haven’t eaten the sawdust they usually try to pawn off on you.”

“No,” Sam said. “I was hoping you’d bring breakfast.”

He took a look at her and shook his head. “Man, have you tried sleeping?”

Despite the seriousness of her situation and the very real danger she thought existed for her friends, Sam couldn’t help being slightly cheered by the CIA agent’s concern. Howie Dunn was one guy who wore his heart on his sleeve.

Rainy would have said, One of the keepers. Locked up as she was in the cell, Sam often found Rainy in her thoughts. She’d wished time and again that she could have talked to her friend. If anyone could have made sense of the emotions rolling loose inside her, it would have been Rainy.

“I tried sleeping,” Sam said. She rolled her head and tried to loosen stiff neck muscles. “It’s overrated.”

Howie put the bagels and coffee down carefully, then did the same with the notebook computer. The smile left his face and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

“Hey,” he offered quietly, “in all seriousness, I can talk to Mitchell. See if we can’t get some slack cut and get you something that will help you rest at night.”

“No. Any kind of medication leaves me groggy.” She noticed the concern in Howie’s eyes. “I’ll be all right.” God, but that was stupid. You’re an admitted traitor to the United States. So you’ll be healthy for the lethal injection or the firing squad.

“What about warm milk? My mom used to swear by it. I could maybe arrange a glass of warm milk for you before bedtime. Nothing there to leave you groggy.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Howie didn’t look happy.

Sam stood her ground and crossed her arms. For the last two days, she’d felt convinced that having an agent other than Howie would have been in her best interests. Howie just came across too…honest, like he tried too hard to get along. His behavior was bringing out a guilt in her for her own subterfuge that she hadn’t expected and could ill afford.

“Maybe we should get to work,” Sam suggested.

Howie handed her the coffee and bagels. “Divvy. I’ll get us set up.” He ambled to the door and knocked. Immediately, a rolling cart and two folding chairs were passed through by guards outside.

The bag contained four lattes and a dozen bagels. Sam matched Howie when it came to caffeine, but she only kept two of the bagels. The fact that Howie could eat so much and not show it offered mute testimony to his size and dedication to fitness. The fact that he was built like a small mountain helped.

Working with obvious familiarity, Howie set up the computer, plugged in the encrypted wireless networking card that gave them access to the Agency’s computers and brought the unit online.

Sam opened the briefcase and took out the discouragingly thin files regarding the master assassin known only as the Cipher. For the past four days, she’d scanned through the files looking for some clue that she and previous criminal profilers had missed before. The task was daunting. She’d only remembered the Cipher because of the unusual method of killing that he’d evidently perfected. No one had been able to advance a theory as to how the killer was able to make so many executions look accidental.

The computer peeped as the Internet service came online.

“I’m really starting to get some pressure from Director Mitchell.” Howie spoke without looking at her.

“What kind of pressure?”

“He wants results.”

Sam peeled the top from her first coffee. Howie always brought the best, and even stopped to microwave it before bringing it to her cell. She still felt guilty that she wasn’t able to repay him or at least kick in toward the cost. She didn’t like charity; she never had.

“We’re working on it,” she said defensively.

“I know.” Howie sat in front of the computer. “I think the director is starting to come to the conclusion that maybe you’re leading him on a wild-goose chase. That you weren’t telling him the truth about your connection to the Cipher.”

“How’s he doing on thinking I’m totally innocent of everything I’ve been accused of?”

“Now that is a different matter. Even before MI-6 came up with digital records of you—er, someone that looked like you—the Agency had lost people over in Berzhaan. Our position there is tenuous at best because of the Kemenis and the terrorists.”

Sam pinched a small piece from her bagel and raised it to her lips. “And what do you think, Howie? Do you think I’m wasting your time?”

Howie shook his head and grinned. “I love catching bad guys.” He tapped the notebook computer. “And this is my weapon of choice. Bloodless and devastating, all rolled into one convenient package for the spy-on-the-go.” He paused and continued staring at the screen. “However this arrangement goes, Sam, we’re going to make a difference with what we’re finding out. Believe me. We’ve already added to some of the profile that the Agency had on the Cipher.”

The strange thing was, Sam did believe the big man. Now that he was working with her rather than coming after her and taking her into custody, she couldn’t help responding to the positive atmosphere he constantly exuded. Howie Dunn was an immensely likeable guy.

“I do believe you.” Sam popped the piece of bagel into her mouth, chewed and washed the bite down with her latte. “So you never have said what you think.” As soon as she had the words out of her mouth, she regretted having asked the question. It put both of them on the spot.

“About whether or not you cut a deal with the Cipher?”

Sam hesitated, but now that she’d invested this much, she couldn’t not ask the real question. “Do you think I’m a traitor?”

Howie was quiet for a short time. He studied her. “Answering that question either way might compromise my presence here,” he said. “I hope you understand.”

Sam nodded. “I do.” Understanding dawned in her. If he said he didn’t believe she was a traitor, Mitchell might pull him so that sympathy wouldn’t result. If he said he believed she was a traitor, maybe the working relationship they had found wouldn’t come so natural.

“I can’t do my job properly if I start looking at that,” Howie said. “I have to remain outside your problem and work on the one I’ve been given.”

“I know. I appreciate that.” The bite of bagel was almost tasteless in Sam’s mouth. Under other circumstances, she didn’t know if she’d be able to remain as neutral as Howie was. She tried to make light of the situation. “I suppose Riley McLane is the only one still holding out for my innocence. At least, where the Cipher is concerned.”

“He does do that.”

“I haven’t seen him lately.” Actually, she hadn’t seen Riley in four days. Not since her awkward attempt to seduce him. She hated remembering how she’d practically thrown herself at him. But sometimes, in the night, she half dreamed and half fantasized about that encounter, and sometimes—when she felt she could safely deny control over her thoughts—things progressed much further than they had in real life.

Unfortunately, dreams like that provided a lot of discomfort later. On mornings after those dreams she’d felt the pangs of loneliness close around her like the steel jaws of a bear trap.

“Riley’s not here,” Howie said as he opened files they’d earmarked the previous day.

That surprised Sam and yet it didn’t. She had noticed Riley’s absence and wondered how he’d been able to stay away so long. Not that she believed he was so attracted to her, but he would have come by to put more pressure on her. Riley McLane wasn’t the kind of man to leave a situation alone.

“Riley’s not here at the Agency,” Sam repeated. “Today?”

“For the past four days.”

“What happened?”

“Director Mitchell gave Riley some time off.”

“Because of me?” Although Howie hadn’t brought it up, Sam felt certain the agent knew about her attempted seduction. She felt embarrassed and vulnerable, and she hurried on. “What happened four days ago wasn’t Riley’s fault. He was a…an innocent bystander. I was just trying to get him to…”

“Sam,” Howie interrupted gently. “Sam.”

She quieted and looked at him.

“Riley took some time off for medical reasons.”

“Oh.” Sam felt her face burn. She hated that. As fair complexioned as she was, her face always showed red. “Is he all right?”

“Medical cleared him. He chose to take time off.”

“Why?”

“He said his shoulder was still bothering him.”

That didn’t make any sense. Riley had been chafing to get back into the field.

Or maybe what I did got back to whoever left the lipstick on Riley’s shirt collar. If she’s in the business, and she probably is, then she probably heard about it. Maybe he’s off trying to save that relationship. Sam felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Guilt over possibly interfering with a personal relationship assailed her. The image of Riley in the arms of other woman, someone dark and sultry and exotic, filled her mind.

“You okay?” Howie asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “Why?”

“You look like you ate something that disagreed with you.”

“Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Yeah.” Howie tapped the keyboard. A pleasant ding sounded. “I’ve got some pictures I want you to see.”

Capturing her latte, Sam walked over to stand behind Howie. She peered at the notebook computer’s monitor over his shoulder.

A series of picture icons popped up on the screen with metallic pings. Howie put the cursor over one of them and double-clicked to open the .bmp file.

The picture opened, filling the screen and revealing a man’s image. The man was obviously Middle Eastern, judging from the hooded eyes and large nose, but his complexion was more buttery than coffee. His beard was short, a ruffle of tight curls.

“Know him?” Howie asked.

Sam studied the face, wondering if the image was a trap of some sort. “No. Who is he?”

“A guy named Faisal Hamid. Supposed to be linked to the new arms trade that’s shaping up in Berzhaan.” Howie tapped keys. “Faisal is making the rounds throughout Suwan, trying to set up business with the Kemenis and the Q’Rajn.”

“Those people don’t deal with the same suppliers,” Sam said. She knew that from the background reports she’d read.

“Only if the suppliers have political aspirations,” Howie corrected. “Faisal, here, is totally apolitical. A dollar is a yen is a deutsch mark to him. Guy’s totally about the bottom line.” He paused. “You sure you don’t know him?”

“No.”

“That’s strange,” Howie said, “because he was one of the guys who got identified at the shootout when MI-6 filmed you in action.”

Sam went very still, thinking quickly.

Howie looked up at her expectantly.

“The Cipher is very cautious about the work he’s doing there,” Sam said. “Most of us didn’t know the others.”

“So what capacity did you serve in?”

“Just support.”

“Interesting.” Howie turned back to the screen.

“What do you mean?”

“According to the new Intel we’ve gotten, a woman was arranging for the Russian weapons that were being delivered that day.”

My mysterious double is the ringleader of the arms suppliers? Sam couldn’t believe it. “There was more than one woman in the group.”

“In a Middle Eastern theater?” Howie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s a chancy play.”

“Berzhaan’s not the typical Middle-Eastern country these days,” Sam pointed out. She’d seen the country and knew that what she was saying was true. Suwan was becoming something of a crossroads of Eastern and Western business and tourist travel. “I worked undercover there for the Agency a couple times.”

“Not in a high-visibility capacity.”

“Selling black-market arms to a country’s guerrillas and terrorists isn’t exactly a high-visibility occupation.” Sam remembered the digital sequence she’d seen. “I wasn’t supposed to be seen at all. I was just in a support capacity.”

“All right.” Howie clicked more buttons, shifting through the pictures. He asked her about several other people sitting at tables in open-air restaurants or going into and out of homes and businesses.

Sam didn’t know any of them. “Who are these guys?”

Howie stopped on the picture of a tall man leaning against an alley wall. The man wore khaki pants and a white shirt rolled to midforearm. His hair was black, shot through with gray, and he wore a long mustache that nearly reached his jawline.

“Sergei Ivanovitch,” Howie replied. “He’s a colonel in the SVR.”

That made Sam curious. The SVR was the Russian equivalent of the CIA, an espionage agency that operated outside the country to collect information on potential international threats.

“Russia’s very interested in Berzhaan’s political future,” Howie said. “Whichever way the political leanings and sympathies of the government in charge of the country goes, so goes the untapped oil reserves Berzhaan is sitting on.”

The oil reserves promised to make a huge impact in the Middle East as well as the Western world and Russia. China was starting to make inroads into Middle-Eastern oil to answer that country’s own growing energy needs. Unfortunately, with the oil reserves nearing capacity production, China’s interest threatened the Western interests as well as Russia’s.

“I don’t recall Ivanovitch on the debrief,” Sam said.

“He’s not,” Howie said. “He’s a new addition to the Berzhaan scene.”

“How new?”

“We’re not certain. An…operative in Berzhaan just spotted Ivanovitch there.”

Sam noticed Howie’s hesitation but didn’t say anything. It bothered her that Howie might not want to trust her with sensitive information. But she understood completely; she was quite certain under similar circumstances that she wouldn’t have trusted her, either.

“Ivanovitch keeps a low profile.” Howie pressed more keys.

The pictures on the computer monitor flickered. There were two more pictures of Ivanovitch lighting a cigarette and smoking it, then the man was gone.

“Did Ivanovitch make our agent?” Sam asked. Too late, she realized that she’d referred to the agent as our. There was nothing our about the operation.

“We don’t know,” Howie said.

“Did the agent get a feeling?”

“The agent didn’t say.”

“You’re still in touch with him?”

“With the agent? Yes.”

“What is Ivanovitch doing there?”

“We haven’t ascertained. In the past, the SVR have actively sought an American government link to the weapons the Kemenis are being supplied with. They still contend that the CIA is supplying those weapons.”

“Are we?” Sam asked.

“No.”

Even though Howie sounded certain and probably believed it, Sam knew the possibility still existed. “When did these pictures come in?”

“This morning.”

“Why did Mitchell decide to show them to me?”

“Because he wants results.” Howie sipped his latte. “Director Mitchell also felt there might be a Russian connection.”

“Why?”

“Because the first language you spoke as a child was Russian.” There was no accusation in Howie’s look.

Sam let out a slow breath. “Understood. But you need to know that I don’t remember anything about that. I had to learn Russian again later in school.” But learning that language had come more easily than any of the other languages she spoke. The spoken language was there almost instantly, but the written portion of the language had come with difficulty.

“Who are these other people?” Sam asked, watching the pictures as Howie flicked through them as steady as a metronome.

“Our agent has identified them as part of a group of weapons dealers who have been in Berzhaan for the last few months. Do you recognize any of them?”

“No,” Sam answered. She grew agitated. The lie she’d told about being involved with the Cipher wouldn’t hold up under stiff scrutiny for long. She didn’t know enough to make the story stick. She was beginning to think Mitchell suspected that, though she was certain he wouldn’t let her go, either. If anything, with the video proof he had of her guilt, the director would say she was bluffing to buy time for herself or her partners. “Let’s get back to the Cipher.” Despite her own predicament, she still wanted to protect the Cassandras if she could.

“Sure.” Howie tapped the computer keyboard again and brought up the master file they’d created on the assassin. “Looks like we were right about the yacht crash along the Turkish coastline two months ago.”

“The Cipher?”

Howie brought up the news stories they’d ferreted out at Sam’s insistence. During his career, the Cipher had become a shadow, never leaving behind anything that would identify him. Ultimately, though, the leads to the Cipher came from the people who hired him.

Despite a clean murder scene and an “accidental” death, the people who had contracted the Cipher had sometimes still fallen prey to law enforcement agencies and insurance investigators. They’d talked of the mysterious assassin-for-hire who promised a death no one would investigate.

If the Cipher had only killed people without wealth or corporate stock or political influence, his crimes might never have been discovered. But killing those people didn’t pay.

“I accessed the police and maritime reports concerning the crash,” Howie said.

The newspapers and television media had published the yacht’s sudden veering out of control as the result of the boat pilot’s inebriated state at the time of the collision. The yacht had rammed two fishing vessels, resulting in four deaths besides the owner’s. All three vessels had gone down.

The owner had been a fifty-year-old man newly promoted to CEO of his father’s oil concerns under development in Berzhaan. Six months previously, the man had inherited his father’s controlling interest in the corporation. Upon his death, the controlling interest was disseminated among his four sons, splitting the vote and leaving the corporation open to a hostile takeover that had just happened.

That takeover had alerted Sam to the possibility that the Cipher might have had a hand in the man’s death. Usually, the assassin’s targets had been men whose removal would trigger events favorable to governments, world leaders, political groups or financial empires. The man did not work cheaply.

But if that was the case, why would the Cipher murder Rainy? What was there at the Athena Academy that would interest the assassin or his employer?

She thought about the egg-mining operation that Rainy might have been subjected to while under the care of the Athena Academy staff. If she assumed Rainy had uncovered the theft of her eggs and was pursuing the truth when she was murdered, the hardest part of the whole scenario was realizing that someone from the academy might have hired the Cipher to kill Rainy.

Sam was convinced someone had. The MO fit too tightly, and the stakes were evidently high.

“Going over those reports last night after I left you,” Howie said, “I found details that had been omitted from the international news.” He tapped keys, and documents showed up on the monitor.

“What am I looking at?” Sam asked.

“Eyewitness accounts. One’s in Farsi and the other is in Italian. I know you read Italian.” Howie tapped the keys again. “I thought you might pay close attention to this section.”

A highlighted segment of text appeared on the monitor.

Sam read the handful of sentences quickly. “This person—”

“One of the sexual entertainers hired to accompany the yacht,” Howie said.

“—mentions that the pilot apparently had some kind of seizure just before the boat went out of control,” Sam said.

“I know.” Howie tapped the keys again. Both sections, one in Italian and one in Farsi, shimmered and became sentences in English.

Sam read through both sections. “The second statement confirms the first. The victim went down only seconds before the yacht slammed into the fishing trawlers.”

“Right. Sounds like the Cipher’s MO, doesn’t it?”

Sam nodded. “Was the boat owner autopsied?”

“Yes. So were the other bodies. All of them were posted because they died a questionable death unattended.”

“And?”

Howie shook his head. “The tox screens came back negative. The guy had been drinking, but not enough to cause him to pass out.”

“Was there any other physical evidence that might have caused the fainting spell?”

“No, but there is this.” Howie tapped keys again, and a new picture filled the screen.

The photograph on the monitor was clear, obviously taken by a professional. It showed a harbor rescue team pulling a body from the water onto a boat.

“This was shot by a travel reporter from a helicopter,” Howie said. “She lucked onto the shot and it was used in a chain of newspapers. I found out about it and got a copy.”

“We’ve seen this picture,” Sam said. She remembered the picture from several newspapers and magazines they’d gone through.

“Yeah,” Howie agreed. “But we never saw a copy of the original. The guy’s death wasn’t earth-shattering, so we only saw the reduced version. Watch what happens when I blow it up.” He tapped keys again.

Sam watched silently as the image multiplied several times. The view focused on the dead man’s left ankle. A shadow took shape there.

“Know what it could be?” Howie asked softly.

Studying the shadow wrapped around the dead man’s ankle, Sam recognized the image with a start. “Fingers.”

“Yeah. Those are bruises. Evidently somebody grabbed hold of this guy’s ankle and held him under till he drowned. He must not have been completely out when he went into the water.”

“The Cipher was there,” Sam whispered, understanding at once.

“Right,” Howie said. “He got to the pilot somehow, with some fast-acting agent, knocked the guy out, then managed to survive the wreck and made sure of the kill he’d been hired for.”

“We’d assumed he didn’t like to be there for the kill,” Sam said.

“Everybody did,” Howie agreed. “Obviously the guy doesn’t take a lot of chances when he’s working a contract, but when it comes down to it, he’s not afraid of going head to head with a situation.” He paused. “That makes this guy a lot more dangerous than anybody had ever thought.”

“I know,” Sam said, feeling excitement grow inside her, “but it also means that the Cipher was part of the group on the yacht. We’ve got copies of the film and pictures that were shot aboard the boat prior to the wreck, right?”

Howie nodded.

“Break it out. If we got this lucky, we might be able to identify him.”

Riley McLane felt naked without a weapon. But getting a weapon in Berzhaan was impossible to do without drawing too much attention to himself. On guard against the Q’Rajn and the Kemeni guerrillas, the national military teams policing Suwan seemed to be everywhere. If he’d had enough cash, he could have bought a pistol from a black-market dealer. But bringing a lot of cash out of the United States and into Berzhaan was a problem, as well.

He sat at a small table in an open-air café a few blocks from the city’s main tourist drag. The morning sun slanted across the street and left shadows pooled at the feet of the buildings on the east side. Inside the shadow of the café, the temperature was fairly moderate for the desert environment, but the heat of the day was coming.

“Anything more I can get for you, sir?”

Riley glanced up at the server coming over to his table. The man was young and lean, nut brown from a lifetime in the harsh sun.

“No,” Riley replied. “I’m good.” His sweating tea glass was still half-full.

“Of course, sir.” The server retreated to the next table, asking the same question in his broken English.

Lounging in the chair and checking his watch frequently, Riley looked like a guy who was awaiting his wife’s return from a morning of shopping. He even wore a wedding ring to carry off the appearance. The khaki trousers and pale blue shirt featuring exotic birds completed his disguise. Wraparound sunglasses and a four-day growth of beard subtly changed his features.

There were people in Berzhaan who could recognize him. Some of them wanted him dead, not from things that had happened there, but for things that had happened elsewhere that couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten. Riley wanted some of them dead, as well.

He kept his attention on the man across the street. Riley’s quarry was of medium height, of Middle Eastern origins, and—by all accounts—a dangerous man. Riley had staked the man out for the last day and a half.

Faisal Hamid, his identity confirmed through a phone call to Howie Dunn, talked on a satellite phone. He’d been caught up in his conversation for almost three minutes, doing more listening than talking.

One of the contacts Riley had used on earlier ops in the country had pointed Hamid out as a man who was setting up munitions deals. According to the man Riley had talked to, Hamid was trying to undercut the CIA sales of weapons to the Kemenis.

As far as Riley knew, there were no CIA-sanctioned sales of weapons to the Kemenis. Or to the Q’Rajn. The United States was actively supporting the present government in Berzhaan.

Finished with his conversation, Hamid drained his coffee and stood. He crossed through the tables and walked to the street.

Riley dropped money on the table to settle his bill, then followed Hamid. From what he’d been able to find out from his source, there was a woman in Hamid’s organization. Riley’s source had mentioned that she hadn’t been around in a couple months. But the contact’s description of the woman matched Samantha St. John to a T.

CIA involvement within Berzhaan was limited. Most of the U.S. support came in the form of troops and economic advisers and an infusion of low-interest loans garnered from American oil investors hoping to close a deal. That was why Sergei Ivanovitch’s presence and operation had gone largely undetected. The military teams didn’t share a history with Ivanovitch.

Hamid stayed on the street, walking under the thick awnings of shops and businesses.

Riley followed. Behind him, his hired car and driver tailed at a discreet distance. If Hamid decided to get into a vehicle at any time, Riley had that angle covered. The driver was a man Riley had used before, a guy who would stand up if things went badly, and would know enough to save himself if things turned really bad.

A short distance farther on, Hamid turned right and stepped into an alley.

An alarm bell went off in Riley’s head. For the last two days, he’d tailed Hamid. Without a team to work the rotation with, Riley knew he risked exposure. Even changing his appearance every day wasn’t a guarantee. During that time, Hamid hadn’t done anything more than talk on the phone. Whatever business dealings he’d had, they’d remained secret.

Riley approached the alley, his mind rushing. The safest thing to do was keep moving and pass by without a second look. It was what he should have done, what every bit of training he’d had and every bit of field experience had taught him to do.

But safe isn’t going to do Sam St. John any good, is it?

During the past four nights, memories of Sam in his arms had haunted him. No matter what the digital record Mitchell had gotten from MI-6, Riley couldn’t buy the fact that Sam was guilty of treason. She’d been willing to put herself on the line to help her friends, even admitting to treasonous activity.

Or maybe she just wanted you to think that, his more jaded side suggested. Maybe she knew that you weren’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a situation like that. Or maybe even if you had, she wouldn’t have cared.

Those reasons and his own feelings about Sam St. John, as confusing as they were, had prompted him to cling to the medical cover long enough to get out of the U.S. and go to Berzhaan four days ago. Even then, the hope that the answer to the digital footage British intelligence had shot remained thin. Until he’d picked up the nearly invisible trail of Hamid and the woman who sometimes worked with him.

Pass by or turn in? That was the question Riley faced in three short strides. If Hamid was securing a weapons drop, Riley knew he needed to see that, in order to figure out who the players were. Information was hard to come by in Berzhaan of late.

Omar Razidae, the prime minister of Berzhaan, had withdrawn some of his open-arms treatment of the United States over the past couple months. No explanation was given in the news, but Riley felt certain that the British intelligence service had passed their damning record of Samantha St. John in action to the prime minister. The obvious conclusion was that St. John and the Agency were working to supply the Kemenis against the present government.

In the end Riley had no choice and he knew it. He turned at the alley and entered the long tunnel.

Smooth-sided buildings rose to three stories on either side of him. One of them had a zigzagging fire escape ladder that ran up the side. Lines of clothing hung between the buildings at ground level and at the second and third floor. The fabric drifted in the slight breeze and created moving shadows on the ground.

The alley ended in a cul-de-sac, which was a frequent occurrence in the city’s design. Riley saw that from the way the buildings rose at the other end of the alley. Suwan was an old city, but had been added to and rebuilt a number of times since it had risen from the desert sands hundreds of years ago. The architecture varied throughout the different sections of the city, as well.

Riley’s experience kicked into threat assessment mode as he advanced on the clothesline swaying under the weight of sheets and blankets in the slight breeze. He’d been foolish to follow Hamid. The alley would be a bad place to get caught. Even as he thought that, his peripheral vision caught sight of a slim form dropping through the lines of clothing hanging between the buildings overhead.

Chapter 12

Reacting at once, Riley spun and tried to set himself, bringing his hands up to defend himself. Instead, he caught a kick in the face that sent him to his knees with tears rushing down his face and blood spilling from his nose and split lip. The sudden, intense pain followed almost immediately, but his spiking adrenaline levels kept the discomfort muted and away from him for the moment.

The lithe form fell to the alley floor off balance, but the attacker rolled and came upright almost instantly. A gloved fist pushed a silencer-equipped pistol out toward Riley.

Surging up, Riley lashed out with his left foot and kicked the pistol. The weapon spat a single bullet that shattered brick from the wall behind Riley, letting him know the round was a heavy one. All he heard was a throaty chuff as the long silencer muted most of the noise of the bullet detonating.

The pistol flew from his attacker’s hand and dropped yards away.

Setting himself in a martial arts stance, both hands open before him so he could grab or deflect, his feet splayed into an L-stance, Riley faced his opponent.

She wore acid-stained jeans, a solid green blouse, and had her hair pulled back. Her face startled Riley instantly, because he knew her features at a glance.

“Sam,” he croaked in surprise.

She took advantage of his hesitation, stepping in and delivering a front snap kick that caught him in the center of the chest. Despite her small stature, her strength was surprising. The impact against his chest drove him back in stumbling steps to slam against the wall behind him.

Riley’s mind reeled as he watched the woman go for the pistol he’d kicked from her hand. There was no way that Sam was here. Howie would have told him if she’d been released. Or escaped. And they had talked only hours ago about how things had gone with Sam that day during her quest to identify the Cipher.

Acting on instinct and out of self-preservation, Riley threw himself in pursuit of the woman. She was a half stride ahead of him. He took that away by throwing himself at her. He collided with her just as her fingertips grazed the weapon’s barrel, then they rolled forward over the pistol.

She came up with catlike grace, rolling to a standing position without pause. Riley extended his hand for the pistol, but she squatted and spun with a leg fully extended. Her heel, barely an inch off the ground, smacked into the pistol and sent it skittering away.

Riley cursed as he stood and crossed his wrists to block another kick that came straight at his face. She was amazing, deft and powerful, every move poetry in action.

“Sam!” Riley said.

The woman looked at him. Her eyes narrowed for a moment in perplexion. “Who are you?” she asked.

The voice even sounded like Sam St. John’s. But there was a difference. The pitch was the same, but the cadence was a little off.

“What’s going on?” Riley circled to his left, shifting to his right foot forward, taking a step, then placing his left foot forward again.

“You should have continued playing the tourist,” the woman said.

“Do you know Samantha St. John?” Riley asked. Pain bit into his face where she had kicked him when she’d dropped from the overhead window.

“No. Who are you?”

Too late, Riley heard the scuff of a shoe behind him. Before he could move, warm metal pressed up against the back of his neck.

“I have two pistols, my friend,” a calm voice with an accent stated. “You might be able to sidestep the one I am now holding against the back of your neck, but I promise you that I will shoot you with the other with only the slightest provocation on your part. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Riley said. He froze. If the man had wanted him dead, he would have already fired. “I got it.”

“Stand relaxed.”

Reluctantly Riley dropped his hands to his sides and stood up. The pistol barrel pulled back from his neck.

The man walked around in front of Riley. The man’s dark, hooded eyes regarded Riley with casual disdain. His mustache gave his small smile a sarcastic twist.

“Do you know him?” the woman asked.

“He is an American CIA agent,” the man told the woman. “His name is Riley McLane. I just this morning confirmed his identity.”

Riley stared at the Russian. “You’re Sergei Ivanovitch.”

“Yes.” The man gave a nod of acknowledgment, but he also frowned. “It troubles me that you know me so easily. So what is your interest here, Agent McLane? Are you protecting the CIA’s arms trade with the guerrillas?”

“We’re not trading with the guerrillas,” Riley replied.

Ivanovitch smiled crookedly. “We must all protect our little lies, mustn’t we?”

Riley kept an eye on Ivanovitch, but he stared at the woman. It was Sam St. John, but not Sam St. John.

“I must ask you again,” Ivanovitch said, “what your intentions here today are.”

“I was following Hamid.”

“Yes. So I saw. But why?”

“Because I wanted to find her.” Riley nodded toward the beautiful blonde.

No emotion touched her face as yet. If anything, she only looked curious.

“Why?” Ivanovitch asked. He stood with both pistols still in his hands. The bedding waved on the clotheslines around them, sending shadows scurrying constantly.

“A buy was made a few months ago,” Riley said. “A British agent was killed. However, the support team got digital footage of the firefight that resulted when the Kemenis interrupted the arms shipment.”

“I would deny any knowledge of this,” Ivanovitch said.

“Go ahead,” Riley said. “The fact remains that the Brits caught this woman in the footage.”

Ivanovitch glanced at the woman.

“I saw no cameras,” the woman said.

Ivanovitch stared at her a moment longer, then turned his attention back to Riley. “You still haven’t said why you would come after someone British Intelligence was interested in.”

“MI-6 gets testy when one of their own is gunned down.”

“Understandable. But you are not with MI-6.”

“A woman as beautiful as that,” Riley said, readying himself for action, “you tend to remember. I thought if the Brits were interested in her, then I should be, as well.”

The fact that Ivanovitch hadn’t put away his pistols gave Riley a bad feeling. Normally when two agents of different governments confronted each other and hadn’t been ordered to terminate on sight the other agent, hostilities ended and negotiations began. Ivanovitch showed no sign of doing that.

“Someone is framing the United States regarding the arms deals with the Kemenis,” Riley said. “I was sent here to find out whom it is.”

Ivanovitch showed Riley a shark’s smile. “All by yourself, Special Agent McLane? I don’t quite believe that’s the whole truth.”

“Believe what you want,” Riley replied.

“Of course.”

“If there are no further objections, I think I’ll just take my leave.” Riley took a step backward.

“No,” Ivanovitch said. “You will stop or I will shoot you.”

Riley stopped, weighing his chances.

“Russia is very interested in the outcome of the business dealings of this country,” Ivanovitch said. “My government wants to build a trade agreement with Prime Minister Razidae. My superiors sent me here to get proof of American involvement in supporting the Kemenis. I admit that the task has been somewhat difficult.”

“That’s because it’s not going on,” Riley said.

“Oh, it’s going on all right,” Ivanovitch said. “But proving this has been almost impossible. Or, perhaps, I have no true patience. I am not a spectator, as this job so often requires. Rather, I am a predator.” He smiled. “Now I see before me the perfect opportunity to meet the demands of my superiors and end my own boredom. You are here without official sanction, Special Agent McLane. Not only that, but I know that there is a woman in your group who is being held for helping transport weapons.”

Riley wasn’t totally surprised at the Russian agent’s knowledge. In addition to the fact that intelligence agencies often couldn’t keep all their secrets, they also sometimes used the same resources inside a country. Information inadvertently got swapped as a result.

“I think the case can be built that you were here to do damage control regarding that compromised agent,” Ivanovitch said. “Perhaps to take over the munitions operations to the Kemenis.”

“I won’t tell the story that way,” Riley said. He was tense. He concentrated on being loose and ready.

“You won’t have to. The body of an unsanctioned CIA agent gunned down at a weapons buy a few hours from now will explain a great number of things to the prime minister and his cabinet. I’ve already had a number of discussions with Razidae. I believe he would be quite amenable after seeing your body.”

The woman reached behind her back. “I’ll secure him.” She took out a pair of disposable handcuffs from behind her back. “Turn around.”

Riley stood his ground. If he let himself be handcuffed he knew he’d never stand a chance.

“Do it,” Ivanovitch ordered.

At that moment the woman stepped forward. Maybe she was inexperienced, though Riley doubted that after seeing her in action earlier, or maybe she didn’t see any fight left in him. Her movement effectively put her in the middle of Ivanovitch’s field of fire.

Riley turned and grabbed the clothesline, holding on to it as he broke out into a sprint. He released the line with a pop and set the line of clothing in motion. By then, he was through the clothes, angling for the other side of the alley and staying low.

A brick in the wall across the alley fragmented. Another only a few feet away suddenly showed a deep score where a bullet had slid along it. Then the sharp reports of Ivanovitch’s pistols exploded the lazy din from the street that filled the alley.

Ivanovitch’s third shot hit the right alley wall, only a few feet behind Riley. The fourth smashed a window in front of him. Then he was out of the alley and on the street. The driver he’d hired to tail him idled just in front of the alley.

Riley waved to the man, hoping that the guy didn’t jump ship to save his own skin. It was possible. Riley had been abandoned before with trouble breathing down his neck. Even if the driver didn’t stay, Riley was in the tourist area. The chances of Ivanovitch or his people catching him were small. There were too many people around and too many places to hide. And Riley felt confident the Russian SVR officer didn’t want to kill a civilian and risk identification later.

The driver eased the older Chevrolet sedan up as Riley reached the street. He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door.

Riley grabbed the door, opened it, and swung inside to drop into the seat.

“Go,” he told the driver just as Ivanovitch and the woman who wasn’t Sam St. John raced from the alley. The Russians had their pistols tucked out of sight behind their backs.

The driver put the car into motion, cutting into the heavy traffic and drawing fire from half a dozen horns behind him.

Riley watched Ivanovitch and the woman walk along the street as they shoved their weapons out of sight. Passersby already gathered timidly at the alley. Gunfire was nothing new in Suwan.

Winded, excited and wary, Riley fell back into the seat. The woman wasn’t Sam St. John. He clung to that fact.

“Where to?” the driver asked. He knew from his previous association with Riley not to ask questions.

“The airport,” Riley replied. As long as he remained in Suwan—even Berzhaan—without sanction, he was a target. His agent’s jacket was big enough that if Ivanovitch had done what he’d threatened to do, the United States and Berzhaan’s relationship would further fragment.

He needed to get back to Langley. More was going on in Suwan than their Intel had indicated. And since Sam St. John might not have been the woman in the digital footage offered from MI-6, she deserved to be released.

Besides that, he had a plan.

“St. John.”

Recognizing Riley McLane’s voice, Sam stopped her forms in midmovement and turned to the door of her cell. Her defenses were up instantly. When she’d last seen him seven days ago, they’d parted under strained circumstances.

“McLane?” she called.

Howie Dunn had left hours ago when they had finished for the evening. They had put in six days on the search for the Cipher, two days since the Russian connection had turned up in Berzhaan and Sam had started figuring out who the agent on the ground was in Berzhaan. If McLane wasn’t there now, she had to think that maybe she was wrong.

“Are you decent?” he asked.

“Yes.” Decent, Sam thought, taking stock of her perspiration-sodden clothing, but not presentable. Then she thought that assessment was stupid. She was totally not happy with Riley McLane and didn’t give a damn what he thought about how she looked.

The door opened and Riley walked in with an armful of clothing.

“Are we going somewhere?” Sam’s heart leaped at the possibility. In almost two months, she’d only been out of the room the one time Riley had taken her earlier. And that had only been to Stone Mitchell’s office, barely five minutes of open air. Even the skills at isolation that she’d developed getting bumped from foster home to foster home hadn’t prepared her for the ordeal she’d faced. A window had made a lot of difference, a constant reminder that a world existed outside of the place she had stayed then.

“No,” Riley said, lifting the clothing. He sounded tired and edgy. “I’m trying to catch up on my laundry.” He laid jeans, a green turtleneck and a black jacket on the made bed. A clear plastic bag contained white, French-cut panties and a bra.

“Well,” Sam said, “I’ll have to question your taste.”

Riley had three boxes of footwear and dropped those on the bed as well. “C’mon. We haven’t got all day.”

She was surprised at the amount of angry rebellion that flooded her. “No.”

He looked up at her and scowled irritably. “What do you mean, no?”

“No means no. I’m not going. I’m a prisoner here. Not someone you can check in and out like a library book.”

Riley growled. “We’ve got a mission briefing and a plane to catch. We really don’t have time for this.”

Sam’s thoughts reeled. A mission? A plane? For a moment she thought she needed to pinch herself, to see if she would wake up.

“What are you talking about?”

Rolling his wrist over so that he was looking at the inside of his wrist, Riley said, “We’re losing time. We didn’t have enough time as it was.”

“I’m not going until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I was over in Berzhaan,” Riley said. “I found the woman who was in the digital recording MI-6 gave us. Mitchell knows it wasn’t you. I took pictures of her with a minicam I wore.”

Sam felt like she’d been hit by a bus. She’d just about been able to get her mind wrapped around the idea that her incarceration was going to last a really long time after her “confession” so she could get a look at the files concerning the Cipher. Now she was free?

“Who is she?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Riley answered.

Anger burst free inside Sam. Someone—some stranger—had taken her life away from her. Only, that wasn’t true. She’d seen the pictures of the woman in the digital footage. The woman had looked enough like her to be a sister.

Sam struggled with her voice, striving to sound normal. “Does she?”

“Does she what?”

“Look that much like me?”

Riley hesitated only a moment. “Yeah. She does. MI-6 made a mistake. We made a mistake.” He hesitated. “We know that now.”

Sam’s eyes burned with frustration and anger and hurt. She refused to cry. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.

“Two months, McLane,” she said in a voice made hoarse by strain and surprise. “Mitchell took almost two months of my life and I spent them in here. After I promised myself I would never be locked down like this again.”

All the times she’d been sent to her room or a corner in foster homes, not to be seen or heard, had haunted her. She had felt powerless and helpless in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child. No one should have to go through what she’d gone through, then and in the past two months.

Riley looked at her. Pain echoed in his eyes. “Sam, I can’t do anything about that. I’ve fixed what I could.”

Her voice broke, and she didn’t speak until she was under control again. “I missed Rainy’s funeral. I wasn’t there with my friends when they needed me. No matter what you do, you can’t fix that.”

“I know.”

“I want out,” Sam declared. “You can’t come in here after two months and tell me everything has been taken care of, but now we have a mission. My apartment has been taken by this time, and my personal property has either been thrown out on the street, locked in storage or auctioned off.”

“Your apartment is still there,” Riley said. “I made the last two payments for you. I took care of your utilities, as well. You don’t have any credit cards. Your car is out in the parking lot here at the Agency.” He looked at her. “Your life is intact, Sam. So is your job.”

“I’m free?” She stated that as if she couldn’t believe it.

Riley nodded. “Free.”

“And what the hell makes you think I want my job back?”

He looked at her. “Maybe you don’t, Sam. I don’t know how I would feel if I were you. I don’t know how you feel right now. However you feel, I’m trying like hell to understand and I’ll help you any way I can. But I need you.” He pushed his breath out. “This woman that looks like you, she’s tied up in the arms shipments in Berzhaan somehow. I’ve convinced Mitchell that I’m the right guy for this job. That we’re the right people for this job.” He paused. “I need you to make this work. The same likeness that exists that landed you in trouble can be used against her.”

His words echoed in the room. The honesty in them was so real they cut like a knife. She discovered that she liked having heard him say that. I need you. Simple and direct, and she was surprised at how good it made her feel. Yet, at the same time, his words and his need—so apparent in him now—scared the hell out of her. I need you was also a trap, a commitment that she didn’t want to have to make.

“Where were you when I needed you?” Sam asked in a ragged whisper. If he saw that what he was asking was more than he had given, surely he would just go away.

He eyed her steadily. “I was here, Sam. Then, when I couldn’t be here anymore, I was in Berzhaan. Maybe if I hadn’t been the one to bring you in I wouldn’t have stuck around. But I was. And I did.” He paused. “I’m also the one who found the woman in Berzhaan.”

Sam crossed her arms and shook her head. “I can’t go. I want to see my friends. I need to see my friends.” I want to be around people who don’t want to lock me up, she thought. Not around someone who might change his mind at any moment. Not around someone I embarrassed myself with.

“I understand that. Let me show you something.” Riley reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable DVD player. “You and Howie were working on the Cipher killing.”

Sam stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be lured into Riley’s trap. What she wanted to do, all she wanted to do, was get back to Arizona and check in with Kayla, Alex, Darcy and the others.

“Howie told me you guys got close to discovering the Cipher’s identity,” Riley said.

“Maybe.”

“Howie told me about the boat,” Riley went on. “About how you picked that ‘accident’ as a contract hit.” He opened the DVD player. “You narrowed it down to what? Fifteen guys?”

“Eleven,” Sam said, still not moving. “There were eleven men on that yacht. Provided the Cipher isn’t a woman with large hands.”

“He isn’t. He was onboard the yacht when it slammed into the docks.”

“Probably not then, but shortly before,” Sam agreed. “He must have dived out of the boat just seconds before the impact. That’s the only way he could have gotten close enough to grab his victim’s foot and hold him under till he drowned.” She studied his features. “We can’t prove that the Cipher was there.”

“Take a look at this.” Riley pushed the DVD player in her direction.

Reluctantly Sam looked. Image after image scrolled through the DVD viewer screen.

“After you nailed down those eleven faces,” Riley said, “the Intel databanks went to work crunching known assassinations carried out by the Cipher. And deaths that potentially related to him. Nearly everyone the Cipher killed was someone high profile. Cameras, media as well as security, cover a lot of those incidents. Computer programs searched thousands of hours of video. We kept coming back to one face. One of those eleven potential faces you identified.”

Then a man stepped into front and center of the view screen. He stood at the edge of a crowd inside a large metropolitan building. At least six feet tall, he was broad and powerful looking. He looked to be in his midfifties, fit and muscular. His head was shaved, gleaming occasionally as the smooth skin reflected light. He passed by the sequence like a man on a mission. He wore a lab coat and carried a small PDA. He could have been a doctor or an intern. The security footage was good, but the man never quite looked at a camera.

“He knew where all the cameras were,” Riley said. “See how he moves? Maybe he mapped them out ahead of time, hacked into the security system and familiarized himself with the layout.”

“Do you know who he is?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Why did you look into this?”

Riley was silent for a moment. “Because I thought you were right about your friend being murdered. I wanted to believe in you.”

“That was a big change. You didn’t want to believe in me at first.”

“No,” Riley admitted. “But that was when I was remembering what I’d seen in that file MI-6 had sent Mitchell. A week ago I saw you lay everything on the line in an effort to help your friends.”

Sam felt herself go cold inside with anger and humiliation. She knew what had happened between them a week ago. Not a night had passed that it hadn’t haunted her.

“What?” she asked in a flat voice. “You’re talking about my offer of sex?”

Riley’s eyes slitted and his mouth turned down. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“That’s all it was, right? An offer to have sex? That’s what you called it.” Sam couldn’t stop the anger she felt. Two months of being locked down, having her attempt at seduction thrown back in her face; it was more than she could take. And Riley McLane had the nerve to walk into her prison cell and expect her to act as if none of it had mattered, that she was just supposed to forget that any of it had happened.

Riley’s face turned neutral. “Yeah. That’s what I called it. That’s what I thought it was. My mistake.” He turned and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“What about me? Am I still free to go?”

Riley stopped at the doorway. “You’re out, St. John. Free to go. Free to stay. Free to do whatever the hell you want to do.” He stepped outside and the door closed behind him.

Sam listened to the hollow click of the door closing. This time, the sound of the lock activating didn’t follow. Emotions swelled within her, almost overcoming her. She tried to push the pain and uncertainty away, but every time she did it seemed to roll back over her and attack her from another position. She couldn’t get away.

He didn’t deserve that, she told herself as she stared at the closed door. He’d only been doing his job.

She drew a shaky breath and looked at the clothes on the bed. Doing his job didn’t excuse him completely. He’d doubted her, and he’d hurt her. She’d shown him her vulnerable side, and he’d cast it away as though it was nothing.

You should have expected that, she chided herself. You can’t leave yourself open to anyone. They’re strangers, not family. They will hurt you if they get the chance, and sometimes even when they don’t mean to. They’re not family—Riley isn’t family. He doesn’t know the first thing about you.

Hesitantly, afraid of what she would find and preparing herself for the worst, Sam approached the door and tried the knob. It really was unlocked. She pulled the door open and felt the slightly cooler air in the hallway push in against her. No one was in the hallway.

She drew a breath of fresh air, then pulled her head back inside the room. She stripped off her workout clothes and showered, turning the spray up so hot she felt certain she was going to be scalded, then switching to cold needle spray.

She toweled off and dressed quickly. She left her prison garb behind in the room. As she strode down the hall, she considered her options. She wanted to return to the academy, to talk to Kayla, Alex, Darcy, Josie and Tory.

Rainy’s possibly mined eggs figured into the mix somewhere, but that also put the Cipher into events, as well.

He killed Rainy. The thought slammed into Sam. He killed her and he’s getting away with it. Before she knew it, tears ran down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. She was mad and hurt and confused.

Going back to the academy sounded good, but it meant relying on the friendships there instead of standing on her own. She’d been locked down for two months, unable to do anything to avenge her friend.

Are you going back to them like this? she asked herself. All busted up and broken? Is that how you want to go back? Let them see that you never really made it out of all those foster homes? Is that what you want, St. John? The sympathy vote? Damn you. You were never a quitter. Not then. Not now. You’re going to finish this.

She shut off the tears and wiped her face by the time she reached the security checkpoint. The young agent manning the security desk looked up at her.

“I need to borrow the phone,” Sam said.

He hesitated for a moment, then set the phone unit on the top of the counter. “Punch nine to get out.”

Sam took the handset and dialed Mitchell’s office.

“Mitchell,” he answered in a calm voice.

“It’s Sam St. John.”

“Hello, Agent St. John. What can I do for you?”

“Does McLane have a cell phone?”

Mitchell hesitated. “Yes.”

“I need the number.”

“Why?”

“Because I changed my mind.”

“You turned him down?” Mitchell didn’t sound surprised.

“You bet your ass.”

“I told him you would. I also told him that wouldn’t be your final answer.” Mitchell read off the cell-phone number. “You’re not someone to leave something unfinished, and the Cipher is unfinished business. So is the woman you were mistaken for.”

Sam tried to respond to that, but nothing came to her.

“Good luck, St. John.” Mitchell broke the connection.

Pushing through the surreal feeling of the moment, Sam punched in the numbers for Riley’s cell phone.

“McLane,” he answered. His voice sounded gruff and rushed.

“Me,” Sam said. Silence filled the line for a moment. “I want the Cipher. He killed my friend. I’m not going to let him get away with that. Where can I meet you?”

Chapter 13

Less than an hour later, Sam was aboard an air force jet transport winging out of Langley Air Force Base. The rest of Commander Novak’s SEAL team was waiting when they arrived. The SEALs were working security and covert ops on the mission.

All of the Navy Special Forces men were young, lean and hard. They exuded confidence and efficiency, but they could have passed as college students or young business executives. They were a mix of white, black, Asian and Middle-Eastern.

Seated at the conference table bolted to the floor, Sam felt the vibration of the jet’s powerful engines.

While en route on the helicopter, the SEAL commander and Riley had stayed busy on cell phones making arrangements. Howie had worked on the notebook computer. Absolved of any duties and not able to hear what Riley was saying because he’d cut her out of his communications loop, Sam had forced herself to sleep for the half hour the trip to Langley Air Force Base took. Sleep was her oldest retreat from events that were out of her control, and from unhappiness that had been too much to bear. She’d woken as soon as the helicopter had begun its descent.

The air force jet was large and set up for handling meetings in-flight. The interior was almost set up like a conference room, complete with coffeemakers, a well-stocked refrigeration unit and a kitchen area.

Novak’s SEAL team members were quiet and efficient, much like their commander. They all ate and sat attentively around the table as Riley provided the briefing.

“Gentlemen,” Riley said, “for almost two years, the United States, particularly the Central Intelligence Agency, has been under intensive scrutiny by Prime Minister Razidae and his cabinet. We are providing arms and acting in an advisory capacity to Berzhaan’s military, but several of that nation’s citizens as well as our own people have gotten suspicious of our efforts there.”

“We will continue in that capacity,” Novak said, “while we follow through on this mission. Our primary mission is to keep Agent McLane’s team alive and in good health while they follow through on their assignment.”

“That assignment is going to be risky,” Riley went on. “We’ve got limited resources, a definite risk of exposure, and know for a fact that our intelligence sources have a leak.”

One of the SEALs raised a hand. He was young and lean and earnest. “How exposed is the operation going to be, Agent McLane?”

“For the most part, we’ll maintain a stationary post,” Riley answered. “However, going into the situation, we’re going to attempt to take down a Russian agent who is probably guilty of arms dealing with the Kemenis and, possible, the Q’Rajn. We expect a lot of resistance to that part of the plan. If we’re caught.”

“Take down?” one of the SEALs asked. “Do you mean, terminate?”

“No. I mean we’ll take the woman into custody.” Riley nodded at Howie, who tapped buttons on his keyboard.

The monitor at the front of the conference area juiced and filled with an image of the mystery Russian woman. Unfortunately, the SEALs thought Sam was the one on the screen. They turned to look at her.

“Wrong woman,” Riley said. “Everybody makes that mistake.” He looked at her, then changed his focus back to the SEALs. He pointed at the image on the screen. “We haven’t identified this woman yet, but we know she’s working with a Russian SVR officer named Sergei Ivanovitch.”

The images on the screen changed again, showing Ivanovitch in a montage of scenes around the Eastern European countries.

“Ivanovitch is currently stationed in Berzhaan with orders to prove that the CIA is delivering weapons to the Kemenis,” Riley went on. “We’ve confirmed that through Intel networks. Until a few days ago, no one knew Ivanovitch was in the area.” He frowned. “Be advised that Ivanovitch is not above doing whatever it takes to prove that the CIA has dirty hands in the arms deals taking place in Berzhaan. If Ivanovitch finds you, he will compromise you and this mission.”

“Is that why the Russians had plastic surgery performed on the woman you showed us earlier?” another SEAL asked. “To compromise the CIA’s presence there?”

“We don’t know,” Riley answered. “Our first stage of this mission is to take this woman and allow Agent St. John to pass herself off as this woman for a few hours. When she’s successful, we can plant a computer virus in their machines that will give us a second look at some of their incoming and outgoing communications. Hopefully by then we’ll know more about the Russian activities in Suwan.”

“Sir,” another SEAL spoke up, “you’re talking about putting your agent into a guaranteed hostile situation. We can’t protect her there.”

“No,” Riley said. “We can’t. But if things go wrong, we will go get her.”

“Second thoughts, St. John?”

Sam glanced up from the sandwich she was making in the jet’s small kitchen area. Riley stood in the doorway to the kitchen area. Concern touched his face, but Sam guessed that he was probably worried about the success of the mission, not her. He’d come back to Langley to get her because she was a better means to finish his mission in Berzhaan. She made herself face that fact, and she embraced it. Getting used for something had been a way of life for her for a long time.

“I’m fine,” she said. She finished assembling the sandwich, then took out a knife and cut it into triangles. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but eating and sleeping were important factors in living through a bad situation.

“You look tired.”

“Look,” Sam said, unsheathing steel in her voice, “you don’t have to worry about me. I didn’t crack for two months while Mitchell kept me sequestered away.”

“You didn’t crack because you didn’t have anything to tell. You weren’t guilty.”

Then why don’t you cut me some slack? Sam wanted to know. But she didn’t ask the question. Instead, she said, “I’ll come through with what I’m supposed to do.”

“What you’re supposed to do,” Riley growled, “is infiltrate a top-notch SVR unit that is trying to undermine CIA ops in a foreign country with an undeveloped oil field. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Is that what this is about, McLane?” Sam seethed. “That I might screw up your mission?”

“Damn, but it’s hard to talk to you.” Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to take on the world by yourself.”

“I’m the only person I trust,” Sam said. “While I was locked up, I looked around every day. I didn’t see anyone else locked up with me.”

“One of your problems is that you don’t open up. You like being the loner.”

Being the loner is safest, Sam thought. Memory of how Riley had turned her away filled her stomach with shards of glass. The thing that hurt her most was how much she’d gotten into the role of seductress. Everything had felt so right, so natural, like some of the chemistry Darcy and the others had talked about from time to time. Sam got as angry with herself as she was with him. She’d been the bigger fool. She should just get over it and be done with it.

“I open up just fine,” Sam said. “A lot of times I’ve found the results just aren’t worth the trouble.”

Riley took in a deep breath.

“I’ll get my part done,” Sam said. “You still haven’t made a believer out of me that the Cipher is in Berzhaan.”

“If he’s not there, Ivanovitch’s team will know how to get in touch with him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“After you and Howie ID’ed the hit off the coast of Turkey, Howie dug into who would profit from the murder. Turns out that one of the brothers is deeply in bed with a Russian investment company. He’s a compulsive gambler, and they’re blackmailing him. Agency Intel knew about that, but no one put the brother’s death into the mix. Until you and Howie developed the investigation, everyone believed the man’s death was accidental.”

“What company?”

“It’s a front for the Russian Mafiya,” Riley said. “A shell company. The investors are Russian organized crime members with an eye toward expansion. Howie’s efforts turned up some possible links to American organized crime. A meeting of criminal minds.”

Sam considered that, not surprised. Since Russia had declared Communism dead after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the whole country had gone into the business of free enterprise. Crime families there had already made giant strides in the black market, drugs, white slave trade, and illegal weapons sales.

“The day of the murder,” Riley went on, “one of the criminal families the CIA has been monitoring regarding arms sales moved a hundred thousand dollars into a private account in the Cayman Islands,” Riley said. “Howie lost the trail there, but the money was obviously a payoff for the murder.”

“That’s thin,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re the one who brought up the fact that Intel has placed the Cipher in Berzhaan lately. Seems like that angle bears investigation.” Riley shifted.

“There’s more,” Sam said.

Riley crossed the room and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Then he leaned a hip back against the counter. “Sergei Ivanovitch is more of a wild card than we thought.”

Sam took a bite of her sandwich. For the first time she saw how tired Riley was. The last week hadn’t been kind to him, either.

“Ivanovitch has been linked to the crime families,” Riley said. “One of the double agents we use for information has indicated that lately Ivanovitch has decided to use his position to influence events in Berzhaan to help the Mafiya gain a foothold in that country.”

“For the oil?”

Riley nodded. “The oil is a big draw for anyone. But Berzhaan is something of an open market. Gain Prime Minister Razidae’s trust and confidence, and you can move a lot of product through the city. Any kind of product you want to move.”

“Does it matter whether Ivanovitch is there for the Russian government or the Mafiya?”

“Yeah, it does.” Riley squinted and didn’t look happy. “He’s in the same boat you are, St. John. He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s going to be looking ahead and over his shoulder at the same time. Someone like that, they’re going to hurt someone before they even know it.” He paused. “If we’re successful in putting you inside Ivanovitch’s operation, you’re going to be stepping inside a viper pit. The only plus we have is that you look so much like the woman in his operation.”

Enough to fool Ivanovitch? A cold chill slid down Sam’s back. Even if she could make herself up to look like her doppelganger, there were a thousand things that could go wrong. Maybe even a million. Any one of them was enough to get her killed.

“You still don’t know who the woman is?” Sam asked.

“Not yet. We will. We’re going to flip a source in Suwan that Intel has identified as one of the assets Ivanovitch has had in the city. We’re going to own him. Then we’ll find out enough to get this operation up off the ground. In the meantime, we know where to find the woman.”

Riley turned to rinse his coffee cup out in the sink. For the first time Sam saw the days-old bruise that still lay faded and yellow under his cheekbone and across his nose. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch his face.

He turned into her touch so that her hand lay along his face. His gaze consumed her, stirred up those memories that had haunted her for the past week. She throttled those feelings and took her hand back.

“Where did you get the bruise?” Sam asked.

“The woman,” Riley answered. “Like I said, she’s good at hand-to-hand. That’s another thing the two of you have in common.”

One of the Navy SEALs stepped into the kitchen area, then quickly stopped. “I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Sam said before Riley could point out that nothing was going on between them. “I was just leaving.” She gathered her plate and bottle of water and did just that, returning to the main conference room where Novak’s men continued briefing on the mission.

Sam took a seat at the back, listening but not hearing. Seated in the middle of the men, she was effectively alone. She’d learned how to do that in public school before she’d gone to the Athena Academy.

Riley came out of the kitchen area, gazed at her for a moment, then took a seat near Novak. The briefing continued and Sam tried to keep from thinking that the plane was hurtling through the night toward certain death. She just hoped whatever disaster waited ahead didn’t take any of them. Let it be someone else’s death, she thought. Someone like Rainy’s killer.

Chapter 14

“There she is. I’ve got her.”

Sam stood in front of a shop a block from the hotel where the mysterious woman who looked like her was staying. Sam put a hand to her face to cover her communications. She wore a radio earplug to stay in touch with the rest of the team.

“Which way?” she asked.

“North.”

Sam turned and started walking, threading through the tourists and shopkeepers scattered along the street. Cross streets surrounded the hotel as if it were the center square of a tic-tac-toe board. Down the street fronting the hotel, the main drag was apparently into the shopping area where Sam was. North was toward the Old City, and it was also toward Riley McLane.

“I’ve got her,” Riley said.

“Careful,” Novak advised. “Everything we’ve seen on her suggests that she’s decisive, quick and deadly.”

“Affirmative.”

Sam put more haste in her steps. Twilight closed in over Suwan, bringing up pools of neon lights where the city had started a slow conversion to Western decadence. There were few of those, but that was where most of the tourists went in the evenings.

They do not head into Old City, Sam told herself. Not for any good reason.

“This might not be a good time to pick her up,” Riley said.

“We might not get another chance,” Sam said. “She could vanish and we’ll never have this opportunity again.”

“I know.”

Howie Dunn had broken into the hotel’s guest records and discovered the woman had been staying for more than two weeks. She was also a frequent visitor under the name Elizabeth Harris and had traveled to Suwan a number of times. Looking back over the times, Howie had discovered matches to several instances when incriminating evidence against the CIA had been discovered, or when the Kemenis had gained increased firepower, causing more damage to government buildings and carrying through assassinations.

“It’s your call,” Novak broke into the communications link. “We’re in position.”

“She could be heading for a meeting with someone,” Riley said.

“I’m not going to get inside their organization without meeting people,” Sam said. She put more effort into her stride.

“She has a point,” Novak replied.

“Damn it,” Riley said. “I know.” He paused. “You’re ready?”

Sam knew he was talking about her. “Yes.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Sam reached into the shoulder bag she carried and closed her fist around the S&W .40-caliber pistol there. She slid the safety off with her thumb and stepped across the street.

Riley’s heartbeat picked up speed as he saw the woman walking toward his position. Even knowing that she wasn’t Sam St. John, that she was a Russian agent whose real name they still didn’t know, he couldn’t believe the similarity. They even had the same kind of aggressive walk, complete with a hip roll that was mesmerizing.

“Watch her,” Riley advised the young SEAL who flanked him. They stood in the alley outside a small café that had been constructed in the building’s basement. A nearby window stood a little above ground level. “She’s deadly at hand-to-hand. Don’t underestimate her.”

The SEAL grinned. “I was top of my class in unarmed combat. And I’m more than twice her size.” He stood leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest. “The trick will be to take her down without hurting her.”

“She knows me,” Riley said, turning away from the approaching woman.

“It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

In the multi-paned café window Riley watched the grayed-out reflections of the young SEAL approaching the Russian agent. His stomach tightened. The woman was stepping into exactly the kind of trap he was going to push Sam into in just a short time.

“Hey, Elizabeth,” the young SEAL said in a pleasant voice.

Riley watched as the woman swiveled her head up in the SEAL’s direction. She smiled, but the effort never reached her eyes.

“Bill,” she said, veering toward him, acting surprised and puzzled at the same time. “Is that you?”

It was a good act. For a moment the SEAL must have questioned if he had the right woman, because he hesitated.

At that instant Riley knew the wheels had come off the operation. The woman hadn’t been fooled for a moment. He started to turn, reaching for his pistol at his waistband.

The young SEAL was caught flatfooted. He hadn’t been disarmed by her smiling approach so much as he had by her delicate appearance. With the SEAL standing between the woman and himself, Riley couldn’t see exactly what she did, but the SEAL jerked back, his face suddenly a mask of blood. Then he flew backward and crashed into Riley. Outweighed by the bigger young man, Riley went backward as well. Both of them crashed through the café’s window and went down across a table in a shower of splintering wood and shards of glass.

Riley shifted the SEAL’s unconscious bulk from him and tried to get his feet under him as the café’s patrons scattered. The woman looked at him through the window. Interest showed on her beautiful features but no fear. Riley knew she had to be trying to figure out who had given her up, and how much the CIA knew.

“Man down,” Riley called over the earplug. He pointed his weapon at the woman. She moved immediately, as elusive as a ghost. “Man down. Confirm?”

“Affirmative,” Novak’s calm voice replied. “How bad?”

“He’s still breathing.” Riley clambered through the window. “She’s getting away. I’m in pur—”

The woman hadn’t run. She stood just to one side of the window. When Riley turned to face her, she kicked the pistol from his hand, then, in an extension of the same movement, kicked him in the face hard enough to drive him back against the window frame.

“You should have stayed away, Special Agent Riley McLane,” she said in a voice that sounded so much like Sam St. John’s. “Now we’re going to have to talk more intimately.” She reached out and caught hold of his hair, yanking with enough force to cause agonizing pain. She was surprisingly strong.

Riley surged up from the café, intending to bowl her over before she could set herself. Instead, she dodged to one side and swept his legs out from under him with one foot. He went down hard, smashing his chin against the paved surface of the alley so hard he almost blacked out. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. He struggled to focus his double vision.

“Why did you come here?” the woman demanded. She still had hold of his hair. She glanced around quickly.

“We’re coming,” Novak said. “Close the perimeter, Red Team. Close the perimeter.”

There were eight points of confrontation spreading out from the Hilton, a circle set within a circle, all designed to stick with the woman and overwhelm her. If Ivanovitch had put anyone on the woman to back her up, the SEALs wouldn’t have been able to get that close to her.

Curious men and women lined the two windows of the basement café. Heads poked out the broke window. None of them, Riley saw, belonged to the young SEAL.

Riley tried to get up. The woman pushed his face back into the alley floor. Pain exploded throughout his skull.

“No,” she chided. “Now that you have begun this little sortie, we’ll do things my way. Answer my questions or I’ll snap your neck.”

Riley believed her. He flailed at her as she seized his chin and the back of his head in her hands. She stood with a foot on his hand nearest her, pinning it to the ground and staying too far back for him to reach her with his other hand.

Metallic tings sounded overhead. Then Riley spotted a lithe shadow moving amid the twilight darkness gathered on the alley floor. The woman responded to the sound and the sight, as well, dropping his head and turning to face the latest threat.

Sam St. John reached the second-floor landing on the metal fire escape she’d evidently used to climb down from the rooftop, then she launched herself over the railing.

Sam was already in the air before the woman holding onto Riley McLane glanced up. When the woman did look, moonlight played over her pale face. The fact that she did look so much like her in person surprised Sam. Then she hit the woman in a cross-body block that took them to the alley floor.

Ribs aching, bruised if not broken, Sam rolled and came up on her feet. She lifted her hands before her automatically and came set in a defensive position, feet set in the L.

Amazingly, even after taking out two opponents, her look-alike did the same. Their martial arts styles were different, Sam noticed. The woman’s looked more like a Korean style, tighter and more aggressive. Sam’s was Chinese, loose and flowing. Only a true expert would have known the difference.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. Surprise widened her eyes.

Sam circled to the left, shuffling her feet and never crossing one foot over the other so she could be caught off balance. The woman mirrored her, moving her feet with the same caution.

Sam said, “Surrender.” Only after she’d spoken did Sam realize they were both speaking Russian.

“No.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. Then she attacked.

Sam gave ground immediately. Kung fu was a discipline that taught a fighter to use an opponent’s strength against him or her. The look-alike tried to drive her blows through Sam’s defenses, relying on muscle and speed. Matching her kicks and punches with her opponent’s, Sam turned aside the flurry of blows and had her own blocked. Her arms and legs ached with the forceful impacts immediately.

The woman threw a right-handed punch at Sam’s head. Sam automatically stepped outside the blow, slapped at the back of the woman’s wrist with her left hand to throw her off balance, and stepped around to the side in an attempt to hit her with a spinning back fist. Instead, she caught a whirling back kick full in the face.

Staggered, Sam stepped back, giving ground immediately. Her opponent gave no quarter, dropping into another attack form and coming at her instantly. Sam batted aside a side kick with a sweeping forearm, ducked beneath a roundhouse kick that would have taken her head off, and met a front snap kick with one of her own.

Without warning the woman broke off from the fight, turned and ran.

Sam hesitated just a second, thinking it was some kind of trick. Then she realized that Commander Novak and his SEAL team were quickly surrounding them. She ran after the woman.

One of the SEALs tried to intercept the woman as she streaked for the same fire escape Sam had leaped from. When she’d first taken up pursuit, Sam had claimed the high ground, thinking that the vantage point would allow her to keep up with the action better. After years of la parkour, she was at home on the rooftops, and the alleys were narrow enough to leap from building to building.

The SEAL set himself to block the woman, then punched at her. She swept his punch away, then came forward with the same arm she’d blocked with and slammed an elbow into the SEAL’s face, stunning him. She twisted around to the side, grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and evaded Riley’s sudden lunge at her. Then she ran up the SEAL’s back even as he was falling. She caught hold of the fire escape and pulled herself over the railing.

Another SEAL leaped after her, but he was too late. His hands slammed together just as she pulled her feet out of reach. She threw a chain around the ladder that would normally slide down at a pull, effectively blocking the way up. There wasn’t another fire escape till the next block.

“Riley.” Sam ran at Riley. “Help me up.”

Realizing what Sam intended to do, Riley gathered his hands into a stirrup, bent over, caught her foot in his hands and helped propel her up. Sam caught the edge of the landing railing as her look-alike sprinted up the stairway, turning and yanking herself up. After she pulled herself over, Sam hurled herself in pursuit.

They gained the rooftop within a heartbeat of each other. The look-alike glanced back over her shoulder as if calculating her chances of confronting Sam, then obviously thought outrunning her would be the better choice.

“South,” Sam said over the radio frequency as she ran after her quarry.

“Affirmative,” Commander Novak responded.

From the corner of her eye, Sam caught the movement of the SEALs below in the alley. Two of them helped the man the woman had flung through the café to his feet.

At the roof’s edge, the look-alike didn’t hesitate, flinging herself over the alley and landing on the next rooftop. She dropped and rolled, coming at once to her feet.

Sam followed, throwing herself over, as well. She noticed at once that she was better at the rooftop travel than her double, and she leaned into the race. Evidently her doppelganger was an expert in hand-to-hand, but she lacked skills in urban racing.

They ran across three more rooftops, going up a floor on a taller building. Sam leaped forward and caught the building’s edge, trying desperately not to think of the three-story drop below her. She pulled herself up and continued the chase.

“East,” Sam called when her quarry broke and ran in that direction. She continued calling the changes to guide the SEALs rushing through the alleys below. Chayton stayed in touch, his voice calm and neutral. From below, they could never have tracked the woman.

Her breath burned the back of her throat. Her legs began to feel like lead. She pushed through the fatigue, noting with grim satisfaction that the chase was wearing on her double as well. Still, for all the skills Sam had at la parkour, she knew her double was in better shape than she was. The two months of being incarcerated had taken some of her endurance edge away. It had been hard to use large muscle groups in an aerobic activity while in the room.

Sam concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, letting her instincts and her skill give her the edge. Gradually she started overtaking her double.

“North,” Sam shouted hoarsely, throwing herself over the side of the next building. Her feet thumped solidly against the rooftop, then she regained her balance and kept running.

“Affirmative,” Novak replied, sounding exactly as he had long minutes ago when the chase had first begun. “We’re close to your position now, Sam. Just keep her moving.”

Sam leaped another alley, losing sight of her double for just an instant. She hit the other building’s rooftop and sprinted forward, not seeing the woman’s leg come shooting out of the darkness around the side of a HVAC unit on top of the building until it was too late.

Raising her hands to at least partially block the kick, Sam grabbed the leg, tripped herself and went back and down. She hung on to her opponent’s leg and twisted violently, bringing the other woman down with her. Rolling away, Sam shoved up to her feet. She was winded and hurting. A small cut over her left eye wept blood down into her eye, and part of the world turned black.

The woman attacked, using everything she knew. It was all Sam could do to keep her face from being broken up and to stay upright. She swept her arm out, blocking a punch, then came back with a reverse punch that slammed into her opponent’s face at the same time a back kick hammered her stomach. Her breath left her lungs in a rush. Black rimmed her vision.

“Are you finished then?” the woman asked.

Using everything she had, Sam straightened. “No.”

“You are.” Her double grinned confidently and wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. “If you make me kill you, I will. Don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t.” Sam stared into that face that was so much like her own. The whole experience was too strange. If the pain hadn’t already numbed her to anything else, the surreal quality of the situation would have.

“They have blocked the way ahead of me, yes?”

“Yes.” From the corner of her eye, Sam saw two shadows leaping across the rooftops in their direction. Evidently two of the SEALs had found egress to the rooftops.

“I can still get away,” the woman said. “I will go through you if I have to.”

“You haven’t been able to so far.”

“How did you get my face?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Sam said.

“It’s a pity,” the woman said. “You’re almost as pretty as me. This will almost be like destroying myself.”

Too late, Sam realized that the woman’s words weren’t egotistical. They were said to distract her, to work on any hesitation that she herself carried, and to enhance any insecurity.

The woman feinted, then launched into an all-out attack that drove Sam backward. Sam fought defensively, staying as small and as pliable as she could, trying not to stand forcefully in the woman’s way. Getting a broken arm or a leg or a skull fracture wouldn’t just end the fight, it would also effectively end her chances of doing any real good going undercover in the Russian operation.

It would end her chances of finding the Cipher. The assassin would get away with Rainy’s death.

For a time Sam held her ground. Knowing that all she had to do was hold her ground because the clock worked against her opponent. Every second, the SEALs got closer, the net grew tighter. Then, a foot seemed to come from nowhere and landed against her jaw. Sam’s head whipped around and a nova erupted inside her skull.

“I’ve got her in my sights,” a man’s voice said over the ear transceiver. “I’ve got the shot.”

“Take her down,” Novak ordered.

“No,” Sam yelled weakly. An image of the woman’s face exploding from a bullet filled her dazed mind. She didn’t want to see the woman who wore her face die. The thought sickened her in ways she was not prepared for.

Sam’s double hit her again, knocking her to the ground. Then the look-alike was off like a shot, sprinting for the nearest side of the building. Two steps from the building’s edge, she stumbled but kept going. Sam pushed up and threw herself after the woman.

“I hit her,” the SEAL radioed.

“Damn it,” someone else said. “She’s headed for the edge.”

The look-alike stumbled again as she tried to leap from the building. Her legs turned rubbery and she fell over the side, her legs dragging.

Sam threw herself down and reached for the woman. The four-story drop promised nothing but sudden death or a trip to intensive care.

Blindly, guided by instinct and desperation, Sam caught the woman’s foot as she fell. When the weight hit the end of her arm, Sam felt certain her shoulder was going to be torn from its socket and the sudden impact with the roof’s edge was going to crush her chest. If nothing broke, she was still in for heavy bruising. She cried out in pain. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold on long. The woman was dead weight at the end of her arm. She could feel the woman already sliding from her grip. Managing to get her other hand around the slim ankle she held, Sam only forestalled the inevitable.

Then Riley was there, dwarfing her with his size. He reached down and took hold of the woman. Immediately the look-alike’s weight lessened. Sam kept hold with both hands.

“It’s okay, Sam,” he said. “You can let go. I’ve got her.”

“Don’t drop her,” Sam pleaded. What would it be like to see the woman dead? Would she still look like her, or would she look like someone else?

And how the hell did she get my face?

“I’m not going to drop her,” Riley promised. “I’ve got her. Let go.”

“No.”

“Damn, but you’re stubborn.”

“I can’t,” Sam whispered. “I can’t let her go. I can’t let her fall.” She didn’t know where that impulse came from, but she knew it was true.

“All right, then, let’s pull her in. On three.” Riley counted quickly. On three, they pulled the woman to the rooftop just in time for a SEAL with a short tranquilizer rifle to kneel down and put disposable plastic handcuffs on the woman.

Sam finally let the woman go then. She sat with her back against the rooftop and ached all over.

“Don’t get too comfortable, St. John,” Riley said. “We’ve got to get you up and running. Someone’s going to miss her soon. Either you’re in place or we scratch this phase of the mission.”

Minutes later in the back of the truck the SEALs used as a command vehicle, Sam unbuttoned the woman’s shirt and started stripping her. The unconscious state the woman was in made handling her and getting the clothes off almost impossible. She had to cut the disposable cuffs from her.

“What are you doing?” Riley asked.

“I need her clothes,” Sam said. “If I return to the hotel in a different outfit, someone may notice.”

Riley swore. “I didn’t think about that.”

“I thought you were the one with the plan,” Sam stated sarcastically. “Did you think maybe we were going to coordinate outfits for the kidnapping?” She tugged on the shirt again. “Help me.”

They worked by flashlight. Once they had the woman’s shirt off, Riley handcuffed her again, putting her hands in front of her this time and securing the cuffs to an eyebolt set into the metal frame of the truck’s cargo area.

Sam knew that Riley was uncomfortable and embarrassed by the way he handled the sleeping woman’s body. At first Sam enjoyed that, watching Riley totally out of his depth as they took her double’s pants off, leaving her clad only in a silky emerald bra and bikini panties that emphasized her slender figure and milky pale skin.

“Damn, St. John,” Riley whispered hoarsely. “She really could be you.”

Sam silently agreed. The woman was a match for her, so it might as well have been her lying there nearly naked, unprotected and vulnerable. She suddenly felt everything she was certain the woman would have felt if she’d woken and seen them looking at her. Riley stared at the woman, and Sam didn’t know if it was her double’s nakedness or likeness that kept him glued to the sight of her.

“And you know we look that much alike because you’re seeing her nearly naked?” Sam started to ask when he could have possibly seen her naked, then she remembered the constant surveillance she’d been under in her cell. The thought of Riley watching her through the cameras with the night-vision capability made her angry, but the possibility also unexpectedly excited her.

And if he’d been interested in watching her in the shower, the fact that he’d been able to spurn her attempted seduction said a lot.

Riley looked up at her with a guilty expression that quickly disappeared. “I’m just saying that the resemblance is even more noticeable now.”

“I’m going to do us both a favor and not ask what makes you think that.” Sam took an army blanket from the supplies the SEALs had in the truck and covered the sleeping woman. She used a sanitized cloth to clean the blood from the woman’s face.

“I’ve seen the inside of your lip,” Riley said. He had helped her clean up after the fight. “I think you need a couple of stitches.”

Sam had felt the cut on the inside of her lower lip with her tongue. Her lip was puffy from swelling and the edges of the wound felt raw and jagged. She agreed with Riley’s assessment, but she knew medical help was impossible.

“We can’t,” she said as she continued her ministrations. Although they’d been opponents only moments ago, the act of helping the tranquilized woman brought Sam an unexplained peace. The beating she’d taken was going to be noticeable. Medical attention would be immediately suspect.

“She’ll be all right,” Riley said. “She’s sleeping because of the drug. Not because of something you did.”

“I know.”

Riley stood and walked a few steps away. Trying hard not to be noticed, he checked the time. Full night had sprung upon the city outside the truck. They still didn’t know if her double had been going somewhere important when they’d intercepted her, or merely out for dinner and drinks.

Aching and battered from the fight, Sam stood as well. “Do me a favor, McLane. Let me change clothes and I’ll get to the mission.”

Riley turned to look at her. “What you’re about to do, Sam…” He hesitated and looked at the drugged woman lying on the cot against the wall. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s hardly a news flash.”

“I know. But if you want to pull out of this thing, now would be the optimum time.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Sam stared at him.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

“Is that the real answer?” Sam asked. “Or are you just more afraid that I’ll screw up your operation?”

“This is risky, Sam. It’s more than you’ve ever been asked to do. More than you’ve been trained to do.”

“Stepping into potentially hostile situations where I can’t count on anybody but myself?” Sam arched a brow. The effort hurt and caused her headache to pound. “That’s what I’ve been doing all my life, McLane. You’ve seen my background. You know that. I only thought things had changed when I signed on with the Agency.” She paused, knowing she’d scored with her barbed comment. “I’ll be fine. I’m back where I belong, not trusting anyone and suspicious of everyone I come in contact with.”

“Hell of a way to live your life,” Riley growled.

“I didn’t pick it. And, just so you know, getting locked up by you and Mitchell just reemphasized something I should never have let myself forget.”

Sipping a long, slow breath, Riley nodded and said, “I had that coming.”

“Yes.”

Riley looked at her. “You changed your life for a while. You had—have—your friends from school.”

“Yes.”

“You might want to rethink risking all of that.”

Sam looked at him, uncomfortable with his attention now. “Tell me the truth.”

“What?”

“Is the Cipher really connected to the Russians? Or is he just the carrot you dangled to get me here?”

Riley gazed at her. “He’s connected to this, Sam. Just like I said he was.”

“Then I’m going,” Sam said. “The Cipher killed one of my friends. I’m going to shut him down.” She paused. “Now give me some time to get dressed.” She turned away from him and picked up the woman’s clothing.

A moment later she heard him walking toward the end of the truck. Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside her fear over what she was about to step into, and she boxed the hurt that Riley had caused her. When she was safely in neutral, where she was aware of the pain in her body but not truly feeling it anymore, she pulled her top off and started getting undressed.

Stepping from the back end of the truck parked in an alley on the other side of Suwan, Riley joined Novak against the alley wall. The SEAL team commander looked ready and alert.

The SEALs kept a tight perimeter on the alley. Few of them were in sight. They had a way of blending in with their surroundings. Riley’s past experiences with the special forces warriors had taught him that.

“She’s going,” Novak said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Riley said, confirming the SEAL team commander’s suspicion.

“We wouldn’t have caught her double if it hadn’t been for her.”

“I know.”

“You’re worried about her.”

“Hell, yes.”

“She’s good at what she does. She took that woman on after she put two of my guys down. Thomsen’s going to have to be medi-evaced out of here.”

“Sam’s good, but she hasn’t ever gone undercover before.” Then Riley remembered what Sam’s files had revealed to him. Actually, she’d been preparing for undercover work all her life.

“She’ll do all right,” Novak said. “If not, she has us. All she has to do is hit the panic button.”

“Yeah, well, the cavalry sometimes gets there too late.”

“Not in my movies,” Novak said.

A few minutes later, Sam stepped down from the back of the truck. If Riley hadn’t handcuffed her double in the truck, he would have sworn the woman had somehow escaped.

Riley walked over to her and studied her face. She was bruised and bloodied, her face swollen. He checked her eyes. Both pupils looked the same size, so there was a good chance she didn’t have a concussion.

“How are you feeling?” Riley asked.

“Like I was hit by a truck.”

Riley hesitated, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t have time for a long goodbye, McLane. Neither of us do.”

“I know.”

“Then I’m going.” Sam shouldered the bag they’d recovered that the woman had dropped, back when the young SEAL had first confronted her. She turned and started moving.

“Be careful,” Riley admonished.

She stopped for a moment. “I will.” She turned around to look at him. “If I call for help, don’t be late.”

“Bet on it,” Riley said.

“I am.” Without another word she walked to the end of the alley.

“That,” Novak said, walking over to join Riley, “is one hell of a woman.”

“I know.”

Out at the street, Sam flagged down a taxi, got in the back, and was gone in the space of a drawn breath.

The hotel suite was exquisite. The bath had an old-fashioned claw-foot tub, a shower and a whirlpool, settled into Italian marble the color of coffee with cream. The bed was a four-poster affair with a white linen canopy. The desk contained a notebook computer that, unfortunately, gave no clue to what Elizabeth Harris was up to. Or who she was doing it with. The kitchen area was well stocked and contained fresh vegetables and fruits.

Sam hadn’t been able to tell what room her double had been assigned from the computer keycard, and the information Riley had gotten from Fayed hadn’t revealed that. Before entering the hotel, she had thrown the keycard in the trash across the street, then told the desk clerk that she’d been mugged and had lost her key.

The desk clerk had no problem believing her story and had promptly re-encoded a fresh set of keys. The hardest part had been keeping the man from calling the police.

She’d spent the first fifteen minutes checking the room over, making certain that there were no bugs. Satisfied, she’d gone to the bathroom, stripped out of the clothes and showered. She’d wanted a bath more than anything, but she wouldn’t allow herself the luxury, afraid that she’d climb into warm, soapy water and not crawl out again.

She focused on the Cipher, remembering how the man had looked in the pictures she and Howie Dunn had found and the video footage from the Athena Academy. If Riley wasn’t lying to her, the assassin was out there somewhere in the city.

She dressed from her double’s closet, taking out a pair of khaki cargo pants and a sky-blue shawl-collar T-shirt. She wasn’t too surprised to find that her double’s closet was filled with the same kind of active wear she favored herself. She had definitely been going for the tourist look.

She had just finished pulling on a pair of canvas-colored cross-trainers that fit as well as her own shoes when the phone rang.

The strident, two-bell note startled her. She crossed to the phone and started to answer, then made herself remember to speak in Russian. “Hello.”

“Where are you, Elle?”

Elle. Sam hung on to the name instantly. Her double’s name wasn’t Elizabeth. It was Elle. The two names were close enough.

“At the hotel,” Sam replied. She had trouble speaking with all the damage that had been done to the inside of her mouth. “I was mugged.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know.” Sam swallowed. The voice sounded like Sergei Ivanovitch, matching the audio files the Agency had access to. “They were young men.”

“You?” Ivanovitch didn’t sound as if he could believe it. “Common muggers?”

“There were a lot of them.” Sam knew her garbled voice could cover a lot of the speech patterns she might have different from her double, but the best thing was too keep as quiet as she could. All she had to do was get near Ivanovitch’s computers long enough to slip the spyware into the machine.

And find the Cipher.

“They did not steal anything from me,” Sam went on.

“Were the police involved?”

“No. But the desk clerk knows.”

“Will he be a problem?”

“I don’t think so. I told him I didn’t want the attention. Besides, I couldn’t identify the men who attacked me. It would be wasted effort.”

“Did you leave any bodies behind?” The question sounded serious, not sarcastic or teasing.

“No.”

“I am in the lobby. I’ll be up in a few moments.”

Before Sam could reply, the phone clicked dead in her ear. Her heartbeat sped up and adrenaline flooded her system. She knew her masquerade was only going to last for a short time, but at the moment she didn’t know if she was going to get out of the hotel room alive.

She retreated to her double’s purse on the desk and brought it over to the wet bar area. While she’d changed clothes, one of Commander Novak’s men had installed a pick-up microphone in the purse. The range was short, and a concealed button in the strap allowed her to switch the device off to avoid detection. It was the only lifeline she had.

She hoped it would be enough.

Chapter 15

“Sergei Ivanovitch is in the hotel. He’s on his way up to Special Agent St. John’s room.”

Riley nodded at the radio operator sitting at the communications array the SEALs had set up in a secret basement below a warehouse the CIA used to conduct operations. During regular hours, the warehouse shipped goods all over Europe, conducting a profitable import/export business consisting of Western entertainment in the form of DVDs and video games, and Eastern rugs and handcrafts that shipped back the other way.

“I heard,” Riley said. “Have the support teams there verified Ivanovitch’s presence?”

“Yes, sir,” the SEAL said, tapping the video monitor the network fed. The current image showed the hotel’s lobby. “Ivanovitch is on the premises.”

Riley forced himself to relax. They knew where Sam was; the SEALs were there. But he also knew they could still get to her room too late to save her if Ivanovitch discovered the subterfuge they were attempting to run.

“How many men does Ivanovitch have with him?” Riley asked.

“Ivanovitch is alone. He has a car waiting outside.”

The image on the monitor changed, revealing a long, sleek sedan parked in front of the hotel near the courtesy vans.

“Do we know what he’s doing there?” Riley asked.

“No, sir. We only know that he seemed concerned over Special Agent St. John. I mean, the woman Special Agent St. John is currently impersonating.”

Riley touched his headset. “Put me into the communications loop on what goes on inside that room.”

“Yes, sir.” The communications technician tapped the keyboard.

Riley heard a couple of clicks, then the white noise coming from the headset changed frequencies.

“You’re inside the loop, Special Agent McLane.”

“Thank you.” Everything’s going to be all right, Riley told himself. Sam’s sharp, and she’s a quick study. But he had his doubts. And he had his guilt. He’d been responsible for helping lock her down back at Langley, and getting her here now was entirely his responsibility.

He turned his thoughts away from all the bad things that could happen in the next few minutes and focused on the good that could be done. Ivanovitch’s presence, especially during the time that the American espionage services were being blamed for supplying guns to Berzhaan’s rebels, was too convenient. Judging from Ivanovitch’s Agency jacket, the man had to be involved somehow. He was too good not to be aware of the situation.

And then there was the Cipher. The assassin was somewhere nearby, as well.

Riley still didn’t know where the events surrounding Lorraine Miller Carrington’s death fit in.

He walked to the rear of the hidden area below the warehouse. Years ago, when the basement had first been built, the excavated dirt had been shipped out as cargo with no one the wiser.

The woman who was Elizabeth Harris—Elle, as Sam had informed them over the radio hidden in the woman’s bag—lay on a hospital gurney. The hidden facilities had a small OR for life-or-death situations that arrived there.

The Russian agent was still under the effects of the tranquilizer dart, but she was starting to come out of it. She occasionally thrashed and fought against the restraints that held her down. She wore a gown, handcuffs and ankle cuffs.

Evidently, the drugs had triggered a nightmare that kept repeating. She spoke Russian in the voice of a small child, alternately begging and pleading, then angry. Three of the SEALs spoke Russian and had translated. She’d spoken some names.

Riley had written them all down, not missing a chance to get any information. A family name, Leonov, was repeated several times. Three names—Natasha, Mother and Father—were constantly repeated, in Russian, as if the woman were calling out to them.

The satellite phone in Riley’s pocket vibrated for attention. He answered it. “McLane.” The connection was heavily encrypted and there was no danger of anyone breaking the security coding.

“Riley.”

Recognizing Director Stone Mitchell’s voice at once, Riley said, “Yes, sir.” The first thought that flashed through his mind was that the director was calling to scrap the mission.

“Something interesting turned up on the background discovery you asked for,” Mitchell said.

Otherwise you wouldn’t have called, Riley thought, but he said, “Regarding what?”

“I was told you still have St. John’s double in custody.”

“Yes.”

“And that you were running names she was mentioning while under the effect of the tranquilizer.”

Riley waited.

“The name Leonov popped up with some serious baggage attached to it,” Mitchell said.

“What baggage?” Riley looked at the legal pad he’d been taking notes on. He’d circled Leonov.

“Boris and Anya Leonov,” Mitchell said. “Log on to the FTP site. I’m sending you a file. Your eyes only. Commander Novak and his team get this information only on a need-to-know basis.”

Curious, Riley opened the notebook computer on a stainless steel table next to the gurney. He’d been working on the computer, which was connected to the heavily encrypted satellite-connected network provided for espionage teams using the facility. He opened the FTP connection and watched as the file Mitchell sent was uncompressed and opened. Several documents and photographs opened in separate windows.

“As it turns out, Boris Leonov and his wife Anya were double agents for Britain decades ago,” Mitchell said. As he spoke, a picture of a young man with ice-blue eyes and a beautiful, petite young woman with startling blond hair floated to the top of the computer screen.

Riley stared at the screen. “Double agents?”

“They were both KGB,” Mitchell said, “but neither of them bought into the Communist party line. Anya Leonov, under her maiden name Petrov, was a gymnastics competitor in the 1968 and 1972 Olympics. She didn’t medal either time, but she was a serious contender.”

The next picture showed the blond woman in a leotard doing a one-handed handstand atop uneven bars. The woman’s petite build and obvious athletic ability immediately reminded Riley of Sam St. John. It also reminded him of the woman lying on the gurney.

“After their marriage and activation as KGB agents,” Mitchell continued, “MI-6 flipped the Leonovs, employing them as double agents. They were good at what they did, and good at walking the thin line dictated by life as a double agent. Their handler offered to bring them in, but they weren’t ready to leave their families. They felt that the Communist regime couldn’t last much longer and wanted to do everything they could to hasten that end. But that started to change when Anya Leonov gave birth.”

Another picture floated up, showing the Leonovs at home as proud parents. They held two babies.

“Once their twin daughters, Elle and Natasha, were born,” Mitchell said, “the Leonovs wanted to come in. An arrangement was made, but something happened.”

Twins, Riley thought. His mind reeled against the implications. Twin girls. White-blond hair from their mother, and ice-blue eyes from their father. Sam’s first language was Russian.

The monitor changed, showing the wreckage of a bomb-blasted car.

“Unfortunately,” Mitchell said, “the Leonovs didn’t get clear of Moscow. The KGB was already tracking them down. Their car was hit by an RPG-7 anti-tank rocket.”

Riley’s throat went dry. He’d seen firsthand the kind of damage an anti-tank rocket could cause. And whoever had fired the rocket had known the Leonovs had children.

“The girls weren’t killed,” Riley whispered.

“No. Apparently not. The Leonovs had already taken steps to get the girls out of the country and were hoping to smuggle them to America. Although, only one of them was thought to have survived a secondary attempt to kill the children. One of the girls was believed to have been killed. The other was adopted by a Russian family. To further hide her, the baby took the surname of her adoptive parents. Her name is Elle Petrenko.”

Riley felt a featherlight touch at his back where he kept a spare S&W .40 caliber pistol that matched the one under his left arm. He started turning, knowing already that he was too late. From the corner of his eye, he saw official Russian SVR identification pop up on the monitor screen. The face in the ID belonged to the woman on the gurney.

And it could have belonged to Sam St. John.

“Elle Petrenko is an SVR agent,” Mitchell said into his ear.

Riley looked at the young blond woman standing behind him next to the gurney. The restraints lay open on the bed. She held his second .40-caliber pistol, peering at him over the open sights with those ice-blue eyes.

“Bang,” she said softly in English. “You’re dead.”

A knock sounded at the hotel door.

Sam crossed the room, took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and opened the door.

Sergei Ivanovitch stood in the hall with his hands clasped behind him. He wore an elegant white suit that made his dark hair and goatee stand out. A half smile that never touched his eyes curved his lips.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” Sam stepped back and allowed him to enter. She closed the door after him.

Ivanovitch reached for her face. She flinched. He held back his hand.

“Are you all right, Elle?” he asked.

“I have been better,” Sam said, her voice distorted by the swelling.

“May I examine you?”

“I would prefer not to be touched.”

“And I would prefer to know how much I can rely on an agent,” Ivanovitch said with a trace of irritation. He reached for her again.

Sam forced herself to stand still. Ivanovitch’s touch was surprisingly gentle. He pushed her face and checked the thin bones surrounding her eyes.

“You don’t appear to have a concussion,” he said.

“Just a headache,” she told him.

“I’m not surprised. Open your mouth.”

Reluctantly, Sam did as she was told. Ivanovitch inserted a finger into her mouth and checked her lips, gums and teeth.

“Your lower lip needs stitches,” he announced, withdrawing his finger. “I’ll have a medical kit brought up.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam said.

“Nonsense. The matter is simple enough. I can attend to it.” Ivanovitch took out a cell phone and ordered someone to bring a medical kit to the hotel room. He crossed over to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. “In the meantime, I’ve rearranged our delivery.”

Delivery? Sam didn’t let her surprise or curiosity show. What delivery? “Was it because of me? Because of what happened to me?”

“Yes.”

“I apologize.”

Ivanovitch shrugged and smiled. “As if you had a choice in your own mugging.”

“You could have kept the appointment.”

Ivanovitch sipped his drink and frowned. He adjusted his twin shoulder holsters. “Not without you. I’ve told you before, the man we’re dealing with here is very dangerous. He’s killed a great number of men in his time.” He looked at her. “And women.”

A thousand questions slammed into Sam’s mind, but she knew that the real Elle wouldn’t have asked any of them. She hoped that Riley and the SEAL team were hearing everything that was being said.

She asked the only question that she could. “When is the new appointment?”

“In an hour.”

“Perhaps we should go.”

“We have time. I will attend to your lip, then we will go. The Cipher will keep until we are there.”

Sam’s breath caught in her throat. She struggled to show no reaction. Rainy’s killer was there. And he was part of the Russian operation. But where did he fit in?

Her train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Riley met Elle Petrenko’s gaze evenly. She looked totally cold, totally in control. He didn’t blame her.

He made no move for his other pistol, knowing she would put a bullet through his heart if he made the effort. No one else was in the room. He cursed his own reluctance to take one of the SEALs away from a support position to watch over the woman full-time. With Thomsen out because of injury and himself recognizable to Ivanovitch and potentially all of the Russian SVR team, he’d undertaken the duty himself. Only, he hadn’t been as attentive as he should have, and he’d underestimated the woman’s abilities.

The pistol in her hands never wavered, locked on target with the center of his chest.

“Sir,” Riley said calmly to the phone he held against his ear, “something’s come up. I’ll have to let you go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” He broke the connection while Mitchell was asking questions he knew he couldn’t answer.

“You know he will call your team immediately,” Elle said. “He will have someone check on you.”

“Probably.”

“Then we’ll need to move quickly. Turn around.”

Riley stood his ground. “If you’re going to shoot me, get it done.”

“I will.”

“Fine by me,” Riley said. “That pistol isn’t silenced. The men in the next room will at least be warned. I owe them that for not paying closer attention to you.” As tight as his throat was, he hoped he sounded normal. Even if he didn’t sound normal, he knew he meant what he said.

“You’re a fool,” she said.

“Earlier,” Riley agreed. “For underestimating you. But not now. I’m not going to die with someone else’s blood on my hands.”

Elle’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you find her? The woman that looks like me?”

“She’s a CIA agent,” Riley said. “Like me. Her name is Samantha St. John.”

Elle paused. “I have never heard of her.”

“She’s never heard of you.”

“Impossible,” Elle snapped. “With all the plastic surgery she’s had done, she must have at least known who she was being made to look like.”

“No,” Riley said. “I didn’t know about you until a few days ago. Everyone thought you were Samantha St. John. She’s been locked up for the last two months for an arms deal that you did a few months ago. MI-6 got video of that encounter.”

She remained silent.

“Look,” Riley said reasonably, “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to stand here and talk you through this thing, but I know we don’t have the time. I’m sure my director has already notified the SEAL team commander I’m here with.” He raised his voice. “Are you out there, Chief Marshall?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got her in my sights.” The SEAL sounded totally relaxed.

Elle started to look over her shoulder at the darkened doorway, then caught herself and didn’t.

“I apologize, Chief,” Riley said. “This is my fault.”

“Yes, sir,” the SEAL said. “I didn’t think she’d come out of that trank so quick myself. I should have checked on her, too. Water under the bridge, sir. We’re in the soup now, so we’ll just see which way it goes.”

Riley looked at the woman before him. “What do you think? Maybe you’ll kill me and maybe you won’t, but I can testify that Chief Marshall won’t stop shooting until he knows for sure you’re dead.”

“That would be correct, sir.”

“If it was left up to me,” Riley said, “I’d rather see both of us live.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not giving an inch.

“I’m trying to find out who’s setting up my government regarding the arms shipments the Kemenis are receiving,” Riley said.

“I was assigned to find proof that the Americans were supplying those weapons.”

“I know.”

Elle sipped a breath. “I also know that the CIA is not responsible for those shipments.”

Riley waited.

“There is a man,” Elle said, “a very dangerous man named Lee Craig who is involved in those shipments.”

“I don’t know who he is,” Riley admitted.

“Tch.” Elle shook her head slightly. “Then there is much you don’t know.” She ejected the pistol’s magazine, popped the round in the chamber out, and left the slide open. “You have put my double in with Ivanovitch?”

Riley took the pistol. “Yes.”

“Then she is in much danger,” Elle said. “If Ivanovitch does not find out that she isn’t who she says she is, then Lee Craig will kill her.”

“Why?”

“Because Lee Craig knows that I am not what I seem,” Elle said. “I was undercover with Ivanovitch. He represents the interests of certain crime families in Russia—the Mafiya—and is here dealing with Lee Craig and his associates on their behalf. The Mafiya and the concerns Lee Craig represents are trying to go into business together.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” Riley said, “then I’ve really underestimated you.”

“When you intercepted me, I had found out from my control that Lee Craig had penetrated my cover story. Perhaps he has even told Ivanovitch. One of my contacts was killed. He didn’t die quickly or peacefully. I was warned only minutes before you tried to take me down in the alley. I thought you were Lee Craig’s people.”

Riley cursed. “Sam’s with Ivanovitch now.”

“If she is not already dead,” Elle said, “then Ivanovitch will kill her when he finds out I have betrayed him. Perhaps he will save her for Lee Craig. Lee Craig lives to murder people.”

“Who is he? The way you talk about him, I feel like we should know him.”

“Perhaps you know him by his other name. He’s also called the Cipher. He’s an assassin.”

Riley felt as if the floor had opened up beneath him. If Sam wasn’t already dead, then she might as well have been. And it was his fault.

“Are you doing all right?”

Seated in a chair in the kitchen area, Sam stared into Ivanovitch’s dark eyes. “Yeth,” she said, because it was hard to talk with her lip numb and him holding on to it while he stitched the cut closed. He was on the fourth stitch, taking time to make them small and neat. The anesthetic took away all the pain but she felt the pulling and the pressure.

“One more stitch and I’ll be finished.” Ivanovitch was as good as his word. He finished the final stitch, gazed at her lip to admire his handiwork, and released her. “There. Good as new.” He grinned. “Are you surprised?”

Sam tentatively touched her lip. “Yeth.” Having her lip released didn’t completely fix the speech impediment. With the anesthetic in her lip, the flesh was even more puffy and unwieldy than before.

“You shouldn’t be surprised.” Ivanovitch picked up his glass and drained his drink. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Sam glanced at the watch on her wrist. “We’re running out of time.”

Ivanovitch nodded. “Yes. We are. But I have a feeling the people we’re meeting are going to be willing to be patient a little longer. I think they’re going to be surprised to see you.” He put his empty glass to one side. “Get your things and we’ll go.”

Sam walked to the bedroom and got her bag. She didn’t know if the SEAL team had heard the conversation. Returning to the kitchen area, she asked, “Has the meeting place been changed?”

“Yes,” Ivanovitch told her. He adjusted his jacket, hiding the twin pistols once more.

Just yes? Sam felt frustrated. She knew better than to ask a question that could be answered so conveniently.

“Let’s go,” Ivanovitch said, opening the door.

Sam stepped out into the hallway. Two men stood there waiting on her and Ivanovitch. The SVR colonel took the lead, walking toward the bank of elevators down the hall. He took out a satellite phone and had a quick conversation that she couldn’t hear. When he finished, he was smiling.

“It appears the American CIA is foolishly trying to follow us around again,” he said. “Perhaps even more, they may be trying to intercept us. Like the agent we encountered a few days ago, remember?”

Sam thought furiously, remembering that Riley had told her how Ivanovitch had gotten the upper hand on him while he’d been looking for her double. She nodded and regretted the action immediately.

“I remember,” she said.

“Your head pains you?”

“Very much.”

“Only a little longer.” Ivanovitch pressed the elevator buttons. “Then you’ll be able to rest all you want.”

Sam stood as the elevator dropped smoothly. Evidently Ivanovitch had a specially coded keycard because the elevator cage dropped without interruption, not stopping till it reached the basement. The doors opened and revealed the underground parking garage.

“I thought you had a car out front,” Sam said.

“I do. But that car is merely bait. The CIA agents were spotted before my arrival.”

Sam didn’t think that was true. She’d seen Commander Novak’s men in action; they didn’t make mistakes. Of course, Riley had insisted on deep security for her. It was possible they had been seen.

Ivanovitch led the way to a Russian sedan. Situated as close to Russia as the country was, Berzhaan had a number of Russian vehicles. The sedan would be almost invisible out on the streets of Suwan.

When Ivanovitch opened the door to the rear seat, she hesitated. She was about to disappear off the SEALs’ radar and she knew it. No one was stationed down in the underground parking garage, and the heavily tinted windows and the lateness of the hour would guarantee that no one would see her inside.

“Elle,” Ivanovitch prompted. He gazed at her, one hand idly touching his shirt front.

“A moment of dizziness, that’s all,” Sam said. She climbed inside the sedan and slid across the seat.

Ivanovitch got in after her and closed the door. The driver put the vehicle into motion at once and they slid through the electric dawn of the underground parking garage and out onto the dimly lighted streets.

Riley stood watching the computer monitor over Chief Marshall’s shoulder. Elle Petrenko stood at his side. Despite her obvious injuries and the fact that she’d been heavily drugged, she was surprisingly alert and capable.

On the monitor, Commander Novak led his team through the switchback stairs that made up the hotel’s emergency escape routes. Every man of the team had a small video camera built into the baseball caps they wore. The caps not only served to carry the video equipment, but also to provide instant identification for the team. The video units connected to belt battery packs and sending units.

All of the SEALs carried pistols and knives. Assault rifles inside the hotel hadn’t been possible.

“St. John’s first language was Russian?” Elle asked quietly.

“Yes,” Riley replied. He knew the woman was struggling with the information they had received from Mitchell.

“Do you think she is my sister?”

Despite the tension of the moment, Riley looked over his shoulder at the woman. Even though she projected a tough exterior, he knew she was hurting and confused inside. How the hell do you react to something like this? he wondered. Then he realized that Sam didn’t yet know.

“I don’t know,” Riley answered. “But I know there’s no way the two of you can look so much alike without some kind of family connection. You’d have to get DNA testing to confirm it.”

On the monitor, Novak and his team had reached the floor Sam’s borrowed room was on. They paused at the door, then Novak waved his point man through.

“I was told she was dead,” Elle said. “My adoptive parents told me all of my family was dead. I had pictures of them, but that was all. Not even memories.” She paused. “At least, I didn’t have memories until I saw St. John.”

“That triggered memories?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know. Not at the moment. But later, when I was drugged, I dreamed of playing with a little girl who looked exactly like me. That was before I knew that no cosmetic surgery was involved in St. John’s features. I thought she was just a double the CIA had created, though why they would go to such lengths, I had no idea.”

“She doesn’t remember you, either,” Riley said. “But seeing you troubled her.”

“If I had known that my parents’ attempt to get us out of the country had worked, at least halfway, I would have gone to her,” Elle said. “I believed her to be dead. All my life I have felt that half of me was missing. Did St. John ever mention anything like that?”

“No.”

A vague look of disappointment touched Elle’s face but it quickly vanished.

“You knew you were a twin,” Riley said. “Sam didn’t. She still doesn’t. Seeing you has raised some questions for her, but she’s a professional.” He knew that was true now because he’d seen her in action. Maybe she was still green in some areas, but she was learning quickly. “Once we closed out this mission, I’ve no doubt that she would have investigated you.”

“Does she have a family?”

Riley watched as the SEALs closed on the hotel room. Thankfully, no other guests or hotel staff were out. “Sam was raised in foster care.”

“She was never adopted?”

“No. She never had a family.”

Elle was quiet for a moment. “That is sad.”

“Yeah,” Riley agreed, thinking about his own large family.

On the monitor one of the SEALs shoved a silenced pistol at the lock. No one had seen Ivanovitch or Sam or one of his men come through the lobby. If the Russians were still inside the room, things were going to get bloody. Riley only hoped the SEALs had arrived in time.

The SEAL squeezed the trigger. The pistol jumped in his fist. Sparks left from the metal plate as the lock disintegrated under the assault of two more shots. The audio dampened the dulled thumps of the silenced pistol, the shattering metal and the splintering wood.

Then the SEALs kicked the door open wide and barreled through. They went left and right, splitting up into designated groups. Their voices came clear and quick as they secured each room in the suite.

Novak came on the line less than twenty seconds later. “They’re gone. She’s not here.” He ordered his team out of the suite.

A cold chill seized Riley’s heart as the statement sank in. We’ve lost her.

Chapter 16

Sam stared out at the rolling black expanse of the Caspian Sea east of Berzhaan. White curlers rode the tide into the expanse of sand and rock that barely supported the gnarled trees and scrub bushes along the coastline. Suwan butted up against the sea, spilling old and new docks and pilings out into the water.

A number of fishing boats sat at anchor with their sails furled. Powerboats and a few pleasure craft, mostly belonging to business executives and successful entrepreneurs, shared harbor space with freighters carrying oil, industrial goods and cargoes of food.

From her previous missions into Berzhaan, Sam knew that the Caspian Sea was misnamed. The body of water was actually the world’s largest lake. The surface was ninety feet below sea level, and was reportedly shrinking every year. Much of the water was dependent on the flow from the Volga River, which accounted for three-fourths of the water supply, but the many dams built of late along the Volga had been steadily shutting the water flow down. The Caspian was literally drying out.

The driver turned and followed the gradual descent of the street from Suwan’s downtown district to the docks. Suwan was constructed on a large, rolling hill.

Sam felt certain that none of the SEALs had followed them from the hotel. She’d tried to be circumspect in her interest, and felt certain she’d succeeded but she’d seen no sign of Novak’s team. Also, she didn’t know if the transmitter concealed in the bag worked clearly enough to record her voice and send it.

“What’s wrong?” Ivanovitch asked.

“Headache,” Sam answered. “Changing from the darkness to the lights out here isn’t a pleasant experience. Also, some of the feeling is returning to my lip.” That was true enough, as well. Her eyes ached with the intensity of the lights, and her lip felt like a bee had stung it. When her tongue explored the stitches, they felt rough and alien.

“I thought, just for a moment, that you looked…nervous.”

Sam studied the SVR colonel in the corner of the back seat. Ivanovitch sat like a pampered cat, content and full of himself.

“We’re doing this now,” she said, “when I’m not at my best. I know I’m not at my best.”

“I have every confidence.”

That’s not what you said earlier, Sam thought. But she sat quietly.

The driver evidently knew where he was going. Once he arrived at the docks, he wound through the shipping-and-receiving warehouses and parked at a dock where a sleek motor sailer was tied up. Sam didn’t miss the six men stationed around the dock area in obvious security positions.

“And now,” Ivanovitch said, “we do business. Come along.” He got out of the car.

Sam got out on her side and joined the SVR colonel. She fisted the MR-443 Grach 9mm pistol her double had carried in her bag earlier but hadn’t been able to get to.

“Go easy,” Ivanovitch advised.

“He is dangerous,” Sam reminded.

“I know.”

Sam continued walking at Ivanovitch’s side until they reached the dock where the motor sailer was tied up. A man stepped out of the shadows aboard the boat and stood waiting. He wore a black turtleneck, a black windbreaker and black trousers, looking like he was a shadow that had stepped out of the darkness. Even though he was wearing a black watch cap against the chill that came in with the tide, Sam recognized him at once.

He was the man she had tentatively identified as the Cipher in the pictures from Turkey. Her heart thundered and blood pulsed in her ears. This was the man who had killed Rainy. Her fist tightened around the pistol in the bag. She thought about killing him, but she didn’t think she could do it. Not in cold blood. She remembered what it had felt like to shoot a man when she was in Munich, the guilt that had been attached even though she’d done it to save her own life. That was the only way she’d thought she would do that again. She wasn’t a murderer.

Wait, she advised herself. The Cipher is a hired gun. Someone else wanted Rainy dead. This guy just cashed the check. She made herself breathe out. You want whoever hired him. Not just him.

“Come aboard,” the Cipher called in English.

“Thank you.” Ivanovitch stepped into the boat’s bow. Sam followed him, feeling her footing go soft and mushy and uncertain.

The Cipher glanced at Sam, studying her briefly, then apparently dismissed her. She stood behind and to Ivanovitch’s right, leaving herself a clear field of fire.

“You have my weapons?” the Cipher asked.

“Of course,” Ivanovitch said. “Do you have my payment?”

The Cipher grinned. He led them down into the motor sailer’s living quarters belowdecks. The quarters were spacious and expensive but didn’t look lived in. The boat wasn’t a place where the Cipher spent a lot of time; it was just a borrowed place to conduct business.

Sam found herself staring at the man, feeling herself get tighter and tighter inside. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the Cipher.

He turned on her. “Do you have a problem with me, miss?”

“No,” Sam said.

“You’re watching me rather closely.”

“I was told to. Colonel Ivanovitch says you’re a dangerous man.”

The Cipher grinned. “You mean, he acknowledges that I am a dangerous man.”

Sam nodded.

“I’m flattered,” the Cipher said. He turned his attention back to Ivanovitch and snapped his fingers.

One of the men who had followed them belowdecks stepped forward with a briefcase. He put the briefcase on a large table in the galley and opened the locks. Inside, the briefcase was filled with diamonds, a sparkling deluge of them.

“Some of South Africa’s finest,” the Cipher stated with a trace of pride.

Ivanovitch ran his hand through the glittering gems. The facets caught the light as they trickled through his fingers.

“All right,” Ivanovitch said. “I’ll take you to your weapons now.”

They returned to the motor sailer’s deck. Ivanovitch asked to pilot the boat and took over the controls. The engines started smoothly and he pulled the craft out into the water.

Sam stood at Ivanovitch’s side, but she scanned the coastline and harbor for any sign of Riley McLane or the SEALs. She saw none of them.

“Are you all right?” Ivanovitch asked over the sound of the wind and the dulled roar of the engines.

“Yes,” Sam said, but she felt sick. The anesthetic had completely worn off. Her whole face hurt, but the pain seemed localized in her lower lip.

“It won’t be much longer,” Ivanovitch promised.

Sam nodded. She kept hold of the Grach 9mm inside the bag. If the transmitter in the bag didn’t work, there was always the pistol.

Riley sat in the back of the sedan and talked with Mitchell in an effort to secure another CIA team that was on the ground in the city. The agents operated within a skeletal framework, gathering information instead of responding to threats. Military security at the American Embassy took care of open threats, and getting them out into the operation to recover Sam St. John would leave the embassy exposed to the Q’Rajn terrorists. Sam had the only fireteam in-city. As it turned out, even a few of the CIA agents were impossible to reach.

Mitchell couldn’t say how long those agents had been offline because they had random contact times. They were supposed to be so deep in the city’s infrastructure that they were invisible.

Riley was getting a bad feeling about the missing agents. The people they were up against, the people Lee Craig represented as well as the Russian Mafiya and Ivanovitch’s SVR unit, knew far more than the Agency could guess.

Elle Petrenko spoke Russian rapidly into a borrowed satellite phone.

Riley didn’t understand the language well enough to follow the conversation. Russia had never been a main theater of operations for him. He stared through the front windshield, watching the other vans in front of him and the dark mass of the Caspian Sea even farther out.

Elle said she knew where Ivanovitch would be. Riley chose to believe that. Thinking anything else, with Sam St. John out there and exposed to hostile guns, was too much. He had no choice but to believe they could save her. He caught the eyes of the SEAL driver in the rearview mirror.

“Do you speak Russian, sir?” the driver asked.

“No,” Riley admitted.

“She’s talking to her control. A man named Khukhlov.”

Riley had heard the name and recognized it from Ivanovitch’s files. Pitor Khukhlov was one of the old spymasters from the KGB days. He had a good reputation as a man who could be dealt with, one who kept his country’s interests close to heart. But he was also one who had fiercely embraced Communism and still believed in it.

“Khukhlov doesn’t have any teams in the area,” the SEAL said. “Too much chance of exposure to Ivanovitch’s troops. He kept his people pulled back, but they’re en route now. They should be here in the next ten or fifteen minutes.”

Turning to the woman at his side, Riley said, “I don’t want Khukhlov putting his people into this operation.”

Elle looked at him and stopped speaking.

Riley heard the man’s voice at the other end of the phone connection.

“This is our operation,” Elle said. “The SVR’s.”

“No,” Riley said. “Not as long as I’ve got one of my people on the ground inside a potential bloodbath.”

“You put her there,” Elle accused.

“And I’ll get her back,” Riley said. Or die trying.

“And what will you do to achieve that?” Elle arched an eyebrow at him, and Riley was instantly reminded of Sam St. John. “Fight with us, as well?”

“If I have to.”

The man at the other end of the conversation spoke English. “Let me talk with the agent, Elle.”

“Of course.” Elle handed the phone over.

“General Khukhlov,” Riley said as he put the phone to his ear.

“Special Agent McLane.” Khukhlov had an old man’s voice, brittle and dry. “We have a scheduling problem it seems, no?”

“No,” Riley agreed. “I’ve got an agent inside. I’m going to bring her out before she gets caught in a cross fire.”

“I understand your concerns,” Khukhlov said, “but I have my own problems in this matter. A rogue agent like Ivanovitch can do a lot of harm if he is allowed to go free.”

“I understand that,” Riley said. “I know that he was acquiring American-made weapons on the black market and selling to Lee Craig and his associates.”

“Some of those weapons,” Khukhlov admitted. “There are a great number of weapons that Craig’s associates brought in before Ivanovitch became involved.”

The driver directed the car along the winding, uneven two-lane road down to the sea’s edge and the harbor proper. Elle took a pair of night-vision binoculars and scanned the wharves.

“We’re going to get there before you,” Riley said.

“It would be best if you waited.”

“I can’t.”

Khukhlov sighed. “Because you put her in place, into this dangerous situation.”

“Yes.”

“The responsibility of leadership is never an easy burden to bear. I have put plenty of my own people in harm’s way, and I have lost some of them over the years.”

Riley’s hand tightened on the phone. “I don’t want to lose this one.”

“I understand. But when you and your fellow agents invade Craig’s operation, you could scatter them. I want them all in one spot.”

“I’m not traveling with CIA agents,” Riley said. “I’ve got a squad of U.S. Navy SEALs specially trained in counterterrorist tactics. We’ve got orders to terminate with extreme prejudice anyone who stands in the way of getting Sam—our agent—back.”

“Even so, you’re talking about a high-profile operation. There will be a lot of fallout involved in this. Either way, your government and mine are going to be dealing with the presence of dead agents and soldiers in Suwan, of operations conducted without the permission of the prime minister. In addition to a large shipment of weapons.”

“That’s your mess.”

“True, but your government will be viewed dimly for not notifying Prime Minister Razidae and allowing him to police his own country’s affairs.”

“We’re prepared to deal with that.”

“Of course you are.” Khukhlov sounded somewhat sarcastic. “These days the United States pursues the course of the champion to the world every given moment.”

“We have a difference of opinion,” Riley said. “I just see it as us doing a job that we’re ready, willing and able to fulfill.”

The car rolled to a stop at the sea’s edge.

“I’ve got to go,” Riley said.

There was a moment of silence, long enough that Riley started to suspect Khukhulov had simply hung up and the sound of that hadn’t touched his ears. Then Khukhlov asked, “Is this woman of yours Elle Petrenko’s sister?”

Riley hesitated. “Given everything that I understand about the situation, I believe so.”

“Thank God. All those years ago, I thought we had lost her. The KGB killed Boris and Anya, ordered their deaths as double agents, and they almost intercepted the children as they were ferried through the lifeline Boris had set up. There was much confusion, much death. I was with the squad that recovered Elle, and later I placed her with her foster family. Her parents were friends of mine. But we had no way of knowing that little Natasha had survived the attack.”

“You attacked those children?”

“The people who were trying to get out of the country with them, yes.” Khukhlov paused. “I have carried the guilt of Natasha Leonov’s death for many years. I am glad that it can be eased now.”

“You didn’t try to find her?”

“No. We believed she was dead. And the Americans who took her would not have trusted us, anyway. We had reported the Leonovs and both their children dead. Those days were very…strained. Then, during the confusion when Communism was rejected in my country, there was no time to follow up on Natasha Leonov. She was just gone. Until tonight. Does she remember her sister?”

“I don’t think so. Sam’s had a hard life. She was raised pretty much as an orphan. No family. She didn’t have what Elle obviously had.”

“That is too bad.” Khukhlov paused. “I will do this for you, Special Agent McLane, seeing as how I am also trying to rectify an old wrong—and I am near to retirement anyway if my government does not approve of my choices in this matter. I will hold my people back until you are able to get Elle’s sister out of harm’s way. Then we will descend upon Colonel Ivanovitch with all the wrath of the Old Testament.”

“I understand, General,” Riley said. “Thank you.”

“Should this turn out all right,” Khukhlov said, “I will stand you to a glass of vodka.”

“As long as I buy the second round.” Riley broke the connection and followed Elle out of the car.

Elle peered out at the sea. “It’s gone,” she said.

“What’s gone?” Riley asked.

“The ship. The ship Ivanovitch had moored here.”

“What’s the name?”

“Fisherhawk. She’s a cargo ship out of Ekerem, Russia. Much construction is going on there these days to revitalize the port.”

Anxiety shot through Riley as he relayed the news to Commander Novak and the SEAL team. Riley looked out across the harbor, feeling the enormity of the task before him. The harbor was filled with ships, and not all of them bore names that were easily legible or at all. And he didn’t know what Fisherhawk looked like in the Cyrillic alphabet.

“The ship must have been moved,” Elle said as she jogged along the wharves and looked at the ships. “We’ll need a boat to search for them out on the water.”

“Wait.” Riley walked to the back of the sedan and opened the trunk. He removed a duffel that contained gear Novak and his SEALs had parceled out. The duffels contained assault rifles and other gear that equipped the men for a full-fledged battlefield. He took two packs out of the trunk and passed one over to Elle. “Weapons.”

Elle accepted the duffel with a nod, checked inside and quickly slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Now let’s find a boat.” She set off at once.

Riley followed her down to the water, trailed by the SEAL who had driven the car. Glancing around, he saw that Novak had assigned his teams to acquire boats, as well. Thankfully, the time was late enough at night that most of the owners were gone and no one hailed security.

Elle stepped aboard a luxury powerboat that had seen better days. The SEAL cast off the lines from the mooring cleats as Elle hot-wired the engine, then he hopped aboard as she got underway.

Riley stood near the pilot’s wheel beside Elle and unpacked the M4A1 assault rifles, Kevlar vests and extra ammunition. Then he scanned the harbor with the night-vision binoculars.

“Do you love her?” Elle asked over the roar of the engines.

Surprised, Riley turned to face the Russian agent. “What?”

“Do you love her? Do you love my sister?” Elle spoke the term as if still trying to get used to it.

“I care about your sister. We haven’t seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things.” Riley remembered the night in Sam’s cell when she’d attempted to seduce him. There had been a lot of sleepless nights and sweat-soaked sheets in two countries since that time. But he’d never forgotten how it felt to cup Sam’s flesh and claim it as his own.

Looking at him, her hair flying around her head in the wind, Elle nodded in satisfaction. “You do love her. Or you will. I can see it in your face. Russian women, we know these things. Love is one of the greatest tragedies of life. You never get to truly choose those you fall in love with. Or when. It can all be so inconvenient.” She spoke as though she knew firsthand what she was talking about.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway. Sam St. John can’t get rid of me fast enough.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge. When I was going to kill you in the alley, she threw herself to your rescue.”

“It was one agent coming to the rescue of another,” Riley said. “I’m doing the same thing for Sam St. John now.”

Elle showed him a brief smile. “Exactly my point. And since you are able to love her, I have hopes that I, too, can love her. These things do not always work out like that. Especially when facing more than twenty years of separation.”

And all that depends on whether we can save her, Riley thought. But he didn’t give voice to his doubts and fears. He pulled the night-vision binoculars back to his eyes and resumed his search.

After only a few minutes, Ivanovitch guided the motor sailer to a small cargo ship anchored out in the harbor. The ship was old, covered with barnacles and peeling paint. Her running lights were dim. Sam knew the ship would hardly have rated a second glance in Suwan’s harbor.

Ivanovitch cut the engines and expertly guided the motor sailer up along the cargo ship. Crewmen aboard the cargo ship threw lines down and quickly tied the boat alongside. Afterward, they threw down a rope ladder.

The Cipher went first, then Ivanovitch followed. Sam went after that, feeling her body ache and resist the demands she made on it. The rough hemp of the rope ladder bit into her hands.

“The weapons are stowed below,” Ivanovitch was saying as she gained the deck. “The explosives have already been set.”

Explosives? A warning tingle shot through Sam. What explosives? But she made herself remain silent. She gazed around the ship, noting that the crew was in excess of a dozen members, which was quite large for a ship sitting at anchor in a harbor. All of them were armed with pistols, and a few of them carried assault rifles and shotguns.

Ivanovitch led the way belowdecks. The darkness in the cargo hold was held back by electric lanterns. The ship held a musty stench, like old death mixed with foot odor.

Crates occupied a lot of the ship’s cargo area, but not all of the space was filled.

“You have what I asked for?” the Cipher asked.

“Of course.” Ivanovitch stepped toward the nearest crate and took a crowbar from a wall mounting nearby. He put the flat end of the crowbar under the nearest crate and pried the lid off.

Inside the crate, packed in silicon pebbles, a row of M-16A2 assault rifles lay neatly stacked. The sheen of gun oil clung to the barrels.

Ivanovitch continued through the crates, opening them up one after the other like a salesman eager to show off his wares. Sam stood in stunned wonder as LAWs, light anti-tank weapon rocket tubes, M-60 machine guns, American grenades and other weapons were revealed.

“Very good,” the Cipher complimented.

Sam stood her ground, feeling the roll of the sea echoed in the slight movement of the cargo ship fighting the anchor and the tide. She kept her fist around the butt of the 9mm. Despite his ease around her, she got the definite feeling that the Cipher knew she was holding a weapon. The pain in her lip was distracting, but she remained focused.

“All United States military hardware,” Ivanovitch declared. “Gleaned from the first Iraqi War as well as action against the Taliban in Afghanistan. The Americans flood areas with weapons, but they don’t always keep count of them.”

“You mentioned you had mined the ship,” the Cipher said.

Ivanovitch reached inside his jacket and took out a micro-miniaturized electronic device. “Yes. It is mined. After you mentioned what you had planned for the ship, I took the liberty of having the work done for you.”

“Very good.” The Cipher snapped his fingers. Two of his men walked the length of the ship, shone their lights around and returned.

“Everything looks good,” one of the men said.

“I leave the timing in your hands,” Ivanovitch said. “You can control all the detonators with the device I gave you, or you can control individual bombs.”

The Cipher pocketed the device. “Good enough, when the ship crashes into the harbor, I’ll set them off. Not everything will be blown up in the resulting explosions. Plenty of identifiable military hardware will remain to point the finger at the United States. But the damage all along the harbor will cost millions of dollars to rebuild. Since trade is such a big part of Berzhaan’s economy, they will be impacted financially as well as politically. I’d say that will set back negotiations with the United States for years if not decades.”

“At which point,” Ivanovitch said, “my superiors will offer me a commendation, at least, and a promotion almost certainly.”

Sam thought about the kind of damage the Cipher planned to wreak. She felt sick. Simply running the boat into the public areas would have caused a tremendous amount of damage, but the explosions that would follow would kill or maim dozens of people.

“No,” the Cipher said, “I’m afraid those days are behind you.”

Ivanovitch looked wary. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve had a traitor in your midst, Colonel,” the Cipher said. “I’ve no doubt that she has already informed your superior about your secondary career.”

Ivanovitch’s eyes tracked to Sam. After all, she was the only female in the cargo area. She started to pull the pistol from the bag. Instead, she froze as a cold pistol barrel bumped up solidly against the back of her neck.

“Here, now,” a soft voice with a British accent said, “I’ll be after having that.”

Sam released her hold on the pistol and the man took it from her.

“And I’ll be wanting you to put your hands on top of your head,” the man continued.

Cautiously Sam put her hands on her head. She didn’t lace her fingers, leaving her hands free.

“What are you talking about?” Ivanovitch demanded.

“Agent Elle Petrenko,” the Cipher said, “is working undercover for the SVR. Whatever she told you to get you to bring her inside this operation isn’t true. Her loyalties lie with the SVR. Not you. Not to the profits that she could be making working with us.”

For some reason, Sam took pride in that. Perhaps it only had to do with the fact that her double looked so much like her. Unfortunately, she was left to bear the consequences of her double’s integrity.

“As thorough as you are in your weapons delivery,” the Cipher said, “I’m just as thorough in checking out the people that I work with.”

The lights in the cargo hold suddenly dimmed. The cavernous roar of starting engines swelled to life.

Knowing that she had no choice, that her life was forfeit if she didn’t take chances, Sam lowered her left arm and spun backward. Her estimate of the man’s height behind her was dead-on. Her backfist caught him in the temple and turned his legs wobbly.

She caught the man’s pistol with her other hand, stripping it from his grip by pinching a nerve cluster between his thumb and forefinger. Still moving toward the exit from the cargo hold, she slid the pistol into her hand and swiveled around to shove the weapon at the Cipher and Ivanovitch.

Both men and the guards around them were in motion.

Sam squeezed off two shots, anyway, letting them know that she meant business and that she was definitely armed. The bullets smashed into the wooden crates containing the assault rifles and bricks of C-4 plastic explosive. She didn’t worry about the C-4 exploding; it would take a detonator to trigger it.

She stayed moving, flattening up against a stack of crates. Bullets slammed into the wooden surfaces. She felt the vibration of the impacts against her back.

“Hold your fire!” the Cipher ordered. “I can handle her!”

Sam looked at the metal stairway leading out of the cargo hold. I can make that, she told herself. Once I get topside, I can escape into the sea. She braced herself and started to launch herself across the distance.

Then everything went black.

A series of flat cracks caught Riley’s attention. He touched Elle’s arm. “Cut the engines.”

Elle did. “What is it?”

“I thought I heard gunshots.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Riley strained his hearing, hoping for a repeat of the sound. Noise traveled farther and faster across a body of water than it did across land.

He didn’t hear anything.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Elle restarted the engines and got the boat underway again.

C’mon, Sam, Riley thought as he scanned the night-vision binoculars across the clusters and lines of ships and boats. Give me something.

Chapter 17

When Sam’s senses returned, she had a blinding headache that mirrored the deep throbbing basso booms of the cargo ship’s engines. Instinctively she tried to get to her feet only to discover that she had been handcuffed to a crate. She pulled at the short length of metal between the cuffs but only succeeded in acquiring fresh bruises around her wrists. The chain ran through a space in the crate, effectively tying her down to it.

“Who are you?”

Sam looked up at the Cipher standing before her. He no longer looked complacent.

Without seeming to move, and quicker than she could move, the Cipher slapped her face hard enough to turn her head.

“You were speaking English while you were out,” the Cipher said. “Not Russian. You mentioned a woman named Lorraine Carrington. Rainy. How did you know her?”

“You murdered her,” Sam said. She tasted fresh blood inside her mouth, and her whole face stung from the slap. Beneath her, the cargo deck quivered as the ship’s engines throbbed and continued to power up. Judging from the changing pitch and yawl of the cargo ship, the pilot was continuing to change directions, getting the vessel set up to ram into the harbor where its deadly payload could be set off to incriminate the United States in the clandestine munitions deliveries coming into Berzhaan.

“How did you know her?” the Cipher demanded.

“She was my friend,” Sam said before she could stop herself. Evidently whatever had caused her to black out was still impairing her judgment to a degree.

The Cipher shook his head. “The Carrington woman was never a friend of Elle Petrenko’s. The background checks I saw would have revealed that.”

Sam felt nauseous. She gagged and almost threw up.

“Don’t feel so good, do you?” The Cipher grinned. “It can have that effect on some people.”

“What did you do to me?” Sam asked.

The Cipher extended his hand and showed her a small electronic device. It was no bigger than a penny and only three times as thick. One side had an adhesive strip.

“I used a neuro jammer,” he said. “When my guard took your weapon, he put one of these on your back as insurance.”

Sam hadn’t even noticed.

“The neuro jammer emits a high-frequency pattern that causes a reaction in the brain that looks exactly like a narcoleptic attack.” The Cipher held the device between his thumb and forefinger. “I jimmied the Carrington woman’s seat belt, then I put one of these in her car. I triggered the device to knock her out, and she left the road. She hit a tree and died on impact.”

Sam couldn’t believe how callously the assassin talked about her friend’s death. She kept her tears back with difficulty.

The Cipher looked up at Ivanovitch. “Evidently Petrenko’s espionage jacket had more left out of it than I believed. I don’t recall it mentioning that she trained at the Athena Academy. Or anywhere in the United States.”

“She didn’t,” Ivanovitch said. He frowned. “Something strange is going on here.”

The Cipher’s satellite phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and spoke quickly, then put it away and looked up at Ivanovitch. “The pilot has the ship in position and on course. It will reach the harbor in minutes.”

“Then we should go,” Ivanovitch said, gazing at Sam. “We could take her, ask her more questions.”

The Cipher shook his head. “I keep thinking about those CIA agents that you said turned up at her hotel. If they were there watching her, they could still be out there. I don’t want to try to juggle a hostage if that’s the case. They could even know to look for this ship.”

“Then they’re wasting their time,” Ivanovitch said. “After Elle told me she had been mugged, I had the ship moved to this location. She didn’t know that until we arrived here.”

“That’s bought us some time.”

“Not enough,” Ivanovitch said. “Not if this thing works out the way you want it to. We should go. If they’re still out there, we’ll find them when we need to.”

The Cipher looked around. “You have the other packages we agreed on?”

Ivanovitch used his crowbar again. He opened a large, upright crate, then stepped back as four male bodies crumpled to the floor.

All four men were dead.

“These four men are all CIA agents?” the Cipher asked.

“They were on the list that you gave me.” Ivanovitch looked at the corpses. “I’ve had dealings with two of them while I’ve been in Berzhaan.”

“Good. When their bodies are found in the debris and the wreckage of the ship, it will look even more like the CIA was behind this.” The Cipher looked at Sam and smiled. “And you will be the poor Russian intelligence agent they caught and were ruthlessly interrogating when the ship went out of control, rammed into the harbor and exploded.” He paused. “We’ll still get a lot of use out of you. Don’t know if the explosions down here will kill you, or if you’ll drown. Either way, you’re in for a short, interesting time.”

Sam didn’t say anything as the Cipher and Ivanovitch left. As soon as they were out of sight, she started working on her cuffs, finding them too tight to pull her hands through. Her lip throbbed with pain as she considered her next move.

While training at Langley, Sam had heard of agents who had successfully escaped from handcuffs by breaking their thumbs so they could squeeze their hands through the cuffs. She braced her feet against the crate, folded her left thumb into the palm of her hand, and pulled with all her strength.

The throbbing engines grew louder. The deck trembled as the vessel surged forward.

Crying out in pain, wishing she could stop, Sam kept pulling. Her mind worked busily, planning past her point of escape.

The Cipher had killed Rainy. He’d admitted that, and he’d even told her how he’d done it. Nowhere in her research and training had Sam ever heard of a neuro jammer. She also didn’t think the Cipher had invented the device. The guy was an assassin, not a tech specialist. That meant he was working with someone, and that someone must have ordered Rainy’s death.

It had something to do with the eggs that Rainy had been robbed of twenty-two years ago. Sam didn’t doubt that for an instant.

She was trembling, on the threshold of having to deal with too much pain. Her hand wasn’t coming through, and her thumb wasn’t breaking. She wasn’t certain if she was going to pass out or simply not have the stomach to subject herself to any more pain. She wanted to give up, but she couldn’t.

She pulled again, shutting out the pain, thinking about the way Rainy had died, and about all the innocents who were going to die along the harbor in the next few minutes. Setting her feet again, she lunged back, putting all of her weight and strength into the effort.

Her thumb snapped loud enough to be heard over the drone of the ship’s engines. Sam cried out. The pain almost made her pass out.

Hanging on to her senses, Sam pulled the handcuffs through the crate and stood up. Her left hand throbbed horribly, swelling visibly by the second. She’d had broken bones before, so she knew she could still function.

Standing unsteadily, Sam walked to the crates of weapons. She was tempted to take an M-16, but she was afraid that she couldn’t handle the assault rifle’s weight for long with her injured hand. Instead, she took four Beretta 92F, the standard sidearm carried by American Special Forces. Loading the magazines for each of the weapons was hard and she ended up scattering 9mm shells across the cargo deck.

Once the pistols were loaded, she thrust them into her pants pockets and waistband. Turning her attention to the crate of C-4, she found electronic detonators and quickly thrust them into the bricks of plastic explosive on top, set them to receive one signal, and picked up a detonator complete with a battery that took only an instant to install.

The detonator cycled, then blinked green, indicating that it was ready.

As an afterthought, Sam picked up two of the LAWs lying in a nearby crate. She slung one over her shoulder, then telescoped the other one into a long tube so that it was ready to fire.

You’re going to wish you’d killed me, Sam thought as she started up the metal stairs. The engines droned on.

At the top of the stairs, she pushed open the door with her injured hand. Pain exploded through her thumb, but she ignored it. Glancing to the west, she saw the harbor less than five hundred yards away. Lights in buildings and on ships marked the geography.

“Hey!”

The voice drew Sam’s attention at once. She glanced toward the cargo ship’s wheelhouse and raised the LAW to her shoulder. Men were in the process of abandoning the cargo ship and climbing down into the motor sailer the Cipher had been waiting on.

Muzzleflashes tore holes in the night’s darkness.

Sam stayed low, watching sparks strike near her to let her know how close her opponents’ bullets had come. She took hold of the LAW’s pistol grip, slid her finger over the trigger, aimed for the center of the wheelhouse, and squeezed.

The LAW shoved back against her. Muzzle burn vomited from the rear of the long tube, throwing a cloud of heated air over her that warred with the cold brine wind that cycled over the sea.

The 94mm warhead struck the wheelhouse squarely and exploded. A whirling orange and black gout of flames wrapped around the wheelhouse. All of the men around the wheelhouse were thrown to the ground. Glass shattered and emptied from the superstructure’s windows.

Okay, Riley, Sam thought desperately as she tossed away the disposable LAW tube, if you’re anywhere in the area, you’ve got to see that. She pulled the second LAW from her shoulder, telescoped it, and aimed the weapon at the motor sailer. Whoever was piloting it was already pulling away from the cargo ship. Bits and pieces of flaming debris drifted down through the air and landed on the uneven surface of the sea.

Sam drew a breath and let half of it out, held the rest. She led the motor sailer slightly, then squeezed the LAW’s trigger.

The rocket whooshed from the LAW, streaked across the sea trailing fire and smoke, and impacted against the motor sailer’s bow. Part of the coaming blew away and a pool of fire washed back over the motorsailer’s windscreen. More flames caught in the folds of the furled sail and climbed the mast.

Glancing at the coastline, Sam saw that less than two hundred yards separated the cargo ship from the harbor. Time was running out. She took the detonator from her pocket and readied it. Before she could trigger the C-4 bricks in the cargo hold, a line of bullets smacked into the deck in front of her, chewing through the wooden deck.

Sam dodged to one side. The impact of landing against the deck jarred the detonator from her hand and sent it spinning away. She drew one of the Berettas and focused on the figure behind the muzzle flashes ahead of her. She steadied herself, tried not to think of the bullets that would cut through her in a heartbeat if they hit, and squeezed the trigger steadily.

On the seventh shot, leaving seven in the magazine and one under the hammer, the man fell. Sam didn’t know how many times she had hit him; she was just glad he’d gone down. She pushed up with her good hand and pursued the sliding detonator. She trapped it against the deck with her injured hand, then used her fingers to send the signal.

Immediately she felt the earthquake that shivered through the cargo ship. The tremendous avalanche of booms followed a heartbeat later. The cargo ship immediately stopped nearly dead in the water, letting Sam know the chain of explosions had ripped out a large section of the vessel’s bottom.

The ship started sinking at once.

On her feet and running now, Sam crossed the deck to the port side. At least one or two of the Cipher’s or Ivanovitch’s men still lived. They fired at her, but their marksmanship was off or she was just too quick for them. Reaching the ship’s side, she hurled herself over, shoving both hands out in front of her so she could cut through the dark water deeply. Reflections of the burning cargo ship reflected on the sea’s surface.

Then she struck the water and went under.

Riley raised the M4A1 assault rifle to his shoulder and targeted the two men standing at the railing of the sinking cargo ship. As soon as the first explosion had ripped into the ship’s wheelhouse, Elle had steered for the vessel.

They were only eighty yards out from the ship and closing fast. He’d spotted Sam St. John firing a pistol at one of the men who had survived the rocket attack on the wheelhouse. By that time he knew there was something seriously wrong with the cargo ship because it was settling into the sea all wrong.

The men at the cargo ship railing fired at Sam as she struck the water. Then Riley squeezed the trigger and swept three-round bursts across the two men. Both of them stumbled and went back and down.

“McLane,” Colonel Novak called over the headset Riley wore.

“Here,” Riley said.

“We’re taking fire from support vessels. Evidently Ivanovitch or Craig had teams in the water. We’re trying to keep the civilians clear and open communications with the local law enforcement,” Novak said.

“General Khukhlov can aid with that,” Elle said. “He has many contacts in place here.”

“Affirmative. Call him and let him know we’ll patch him through to our frequency.”

Elle took out the satellite phone she’d borrowed and punched in a number as she powered the boat down. She spoke in rapid Russian while peering over the side of the boat.

At that moment, Sam’s head broke the surface of the water. She came up holding a Beretta in both hands, pointing the weapon at Riley.

“Sam,” Riley called out, lowering the assault rifle. He felt the boat shudder beneath him and knew that the sinking ship was creating a strong undertow. If Sam didn’t get out quick, the ship would pull her down.

“Riley,” she called up.

The flames still burning aboard the ship illuminated the area. Her pale face took on an orange tint.

Riley reached down into the water. The SEAL that had accompanied Elle and Riley reached down into the water, as well. Sam caught Riley’s hand first, then grimaced in pain. Her grip wasn’t strong.

“What’s wrong?” Riley asked over the roar of the fire aboard the ship.

“I broke my thumb,” she replied. Her other hand came up out of the water. A pair of handcuffs hung around her other wrist. “I had to.”

Elle spun around and brought the assault rifle to her shoulder as a row of bullets smashed through the boat’s Plexiglas cowling. “Hurry,” she said.

Riley and the SEAL hauled Sam from the water. She stood drenched and shivering.

“Go,” Riley told Elle.

Elle powered the boat up and sent them speeding away.

Riley took a lockpick from his pocket. “Let me see those cuffs.”

Sam lifted her right hand to let the cuffs dangle. She still held the pistol. She stared out across the sea toward the harbor.

Riley picked the hand cuff lock, pulled it off and threw it into the sea.

“That boat,” Sam said, pointing with her injured hand. “Ivanovitch and the Cipher are aboard it.” In terse sentences, talking loudly enough that her voice carried over the wind and the noise of the boat’s engines, Sam explained what Ivanovitch and Lee Craig, though she didn’t know his name, had planned with the ship.

“There’s still going to be a lot of explaining to do,” Riley said.

Sam nodded.

Looking at her standing there, Riley couldn’t help being amazed at everything Sam St. John had been through over the past two months. Most people would have cratered after losing a close friend, being locked up for two months, and having to hit the ground running on an operation that had turned bloody within hours. And yet, she still somehow seemed indomitable.

Elle kept the boat powered up, swiftly closing the distance between themselves and the yacht with the flaming prow.

Ivanovitch had aimed his boat at the closest dock, navigating between other boats. Elle kept the power on, never slacking. Twice the boat traded paint with other vessels hard enough to shudder from the impacts. Hardly slowing, Ivanovitch ran the boat up onto shore, ripping out the bottom and turning the boat over onto its side as it careened into stacks of cargo.

“Hang on,” Elle warned.

Men scattered from the burning yacht. Dock workers fled the scene immediately. In the distance, sirens ripped through the night and whirling lights sped along the twisting roads as Suwan security teams arrived.

Two men fired from cover behind the overturned yacht. Their muzzle flashes marked their positions.

“I need the Cipher alive,” Sam yelled over the roaring engines. “He admitted to killing Rainy.” She looked at Riley. “He killed her, Riley, but someone hired him to do it. I need to talk to him.”

Personally, Riley didn’t think Lee Craig would talk. With the reputation the man had, with the clientele he served, he couldn’t afford to. Someone would kill him.

Elle didn’t let off the throttle. The powerboat hit the shoreline and shot toward the overturned yacht, scattering the gunmen behind the vessel. The other boat shattered and went to pieces, some of them still flaming.

Riley felt as if his arms had gotten wrenched from their sockets by the time the powerboat smashed up against a stack of crates and came to a halt. He turned to check on Sam but found that she had already bailed over the side of the powerboat and was in motion.

A flash of movement caught Sam’s eye and sent her to ground behind a small fishing boat that someone had pulled up onto the sand. Bullets chopped into the sand only inches from her head. Sand kicked into her eyes and brought stinging pain. She’d also landed wrong on her broken hand and the sudden agony almost swept her senses.

She fisted the Beretta and came up firing, putting three rounds into the center of the mass that confronted her. Already dead on his feet, the gunman fell to the ground. By then, Sam was already running again.

She kept the Cipher under observation, watching the man dodge in and out among pallets of cargo that were obviously still being loaded or unloaded.

Someone stepped into place beside her.

Sam whirled, bringing up the Beretta at once. Elle blocked her movement with a forearm.

“It’s me,” Elle said. “I will help you bring this man down.” She glanced at Sam’s broken thumb. “You’re not whole.”

Sam nodded, glancing back down the incline and seeing Riley trading shots with Ivanovitch, who managed to keep each other pinned down. Sam swapped the partially expended pistol for a fresh one. The wind off the sea blew so sharply cold through her wet clothes that she felt as if she was getting cut in two.

“How did you get my face?” Sam asked.

“Our parents gave it to me,” Elle said. “The same as they gave you yours.”

“Parents?” Sam couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “We have the same parents?”

Elle nodded.

“Where are our parents?” Suddenly a thousand questions filled Sam’s mind.

“They’re dead.” Elle looked sad, but the emotion was an old and weathered one. “They were murdered a long time ago.”

Sam looked at the other woman. “You’re my twin sister?”

“Yes.”

For the first time, Sam realized they were talking in Russian as if they had always done that. Emotions broke loose inside Sam and she had to force them away. If they lived, there would be time to explore everything that lay between them.

“Are you ready?” Elle asked, setting up on the other side of the cargo they took shelter behind.

“Yes.” Sam listed the pistol beside her head.

“Go.”

Sam whirled around the corner of the crates and balanced the Beretta across the back of her left hand. She moved her feet deliberately, never crossing one over the other and remaining in a half crouch to make a smaller target. She caught occasional glimpses of Elle on the other side of the row of cargo and saw that the woman—my sister!—moved the same way with her weapon held in the same fashion.

Tension mounted inside Sam. Had the Cipher gotten away? He had a reputation for doing that.

Metal gleamed in the sand under her feet.

She looked down and spotted the metal disk that was the same circumference as a penny but was three times as thick. Remembering how quickly the device had knocked her out earlier, Sam kicked the device away, watching it spin into the water line.

“Elle.” Sam wanted to warn her sister, but when she looked across the way, she saw Elle drop to her knees. Her eyes rolled up into her head, showing only rolling white.

Then the Cipher was there, stepping out of the shadows with a big pistol in his hand. He pointed the pistol at Elle’s head.

“Two of you,” the Cipher mused with a tight smile. “And when I pull this trigger, there will be only one.”

Sam looked at him. She wanted him alive. She wanted to know who had ordered him or paid him to kill Rainy. And why.

“Put your weapon down,” the Cipher ordered. “Put your weapon down or I will blow her head off.”

Elle remained passed out, helpless and exposed.

“Do it,” the Cipher growled. “Do it now.”

Sam remembered all the nights and days she’d spent alone in the homes of strangers, how she’d always wanted a family, how she’d always wanted to know where she came from and why her parents would give her up.

Elle had the answers to at least some of those questions.

In a split second Sam made her decision. The Cipher must have seen it in her eyes, because he pulled his pistol up and tried to shoot her. His bullet burned the air by Sam’s ear.

Feeling the Beretta bounce against her broken thumb, Sam put three bullets through the Cipher’s head. His features destroyed and the back of his head blown away, the man dropped to his knees, then fell face forward.

Epilogue

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to kill Lee Craig.” Sam St. John paced in the shade of a palm tree while she talked on the satellite phone. The cast on her broken thumb felt awkward and heavy.

At the other end of the connection, Kayla Ryan said, “You did what you had to do, Sam. And the Cipher wouldn’t have stopped with just killing your sister. If he’d gotten the chance, he’d have killed you, too.”

“I know.”

“Your sister is all right?”

Sam thought that was still strange to hear. “Your sister” sounded unnatural in a way, but it was one of the best things Sam had ever heard. “Elle is fine. She arranged a couple days in Suwan to handle some of the other information she turned up while she was undercover in Ivanovitch’s organization.”

“That will give you guys some time to get to know each other a little more.”

Sam stood still and stared across the beach at the volleyball game underway. Although Suwan was primarily a Muslim nation, a lot of Western ways had crept into the country as entrepreneurs pandered to the tourist dollars. Of course, some volleyball players on the hill were American military personnel on their off time.

“Yeah, it will give us a little more time,” Sam said. “I think we’re both looking forward to that.”

“You’ve already got a lot in common,” Kayla said. “The whole spy thing.”

“Different sides of the fence, though.”

“Russia and America? Not so much on different sides of the fence these days.”

“There are a lot of differences, though.” Sam stared up the hill and saw Elle—her sister—in the thick of an enthusiastic volleyball game.

Elle was dressed in a barely-there thong bikini and showed her body off in ways that Sam could never have done. She took two quick steps forward, then leaped up and spiked the ball back across the net, driving it into an open area between two young Marines who could not get to it in time. Elle lifted her arms and celebrated.

“How are you doing?” Kayla asked.

Sam turned away from her sister and peered out at the harbor. Salvage boats, from Russia and from the United States, worked the area of the sea where the cargo ship had gone down two days ago.

“I’m fine,” Sam said.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Kayla said. “Losing Rainy and not having any of us around you to help you through it. Spending two months as a prisoner of the CIA. Finding out everything you have about your sister. None of that was easy.”

“No. But I’m getting through it. I’ve been able to get through everything I had to.”

“I know,” Kayla said. “I’ve seen you do it. But you need to remember that you don’t have to do that alone now. When you get things cleared there, after you’ve had a chance to visit with your sister, come back home for a little while.” She paused. “And it’s not just for you, Sam. It’s for us, too. We need you.”

Tears burned the backs of Sam’s eyes. Unable to stop them, she pulled her sunglasses from the top of her head and slid them into place.

“I know,” Sam whispered. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“There’s more going on here than just Rainy’s murder,” Kayla said.

“We still don’t know why she was killed.”

“At this point, we have to assume it was because she was investigating the theft of her eggs twenty-two years ago.”

“This is really getting weird.”

“I know. Did I tell you that Josie thinks she may have a way to follow up on the Cipher?”

“No.” Sam was immediately intrigued.

“Her sister, Diana, is in Army Intelligence. Josie’s going to ask Diana to check around and see if she can turn up anything now that he’s been identified.”

“You’ll let me know?”

“The minute I find out anything. Take care of yourself, Sam.”

“I will. You, too.” Sam punched the end button on the phone.

On top of the hill, the volleyball game slowed down for a while. Elle sat down with the two Marines and started talking. Sam’s partner, Riley McLane, came down the hill.

As she looked at the man, watching the way he moved like a big cat, everything working together, Sam felt her insides turn liquid. She wrinkled her nose. She could deal with finding a sister she never knew she had, getting locked up for two months through no fault of her own, going head to head with a world-class assassin…

But there was something about Riley McLane that just kept her on edge.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Finish your call?”

“Yes.”

“Everything okay?”

“It’s getting there. Rainy’s still gone. There’s no getting around that.”

“No. I suppose not.” Riley wore athletic shorts. His body was already turning nut brown, and perspiration helped define his musculature. The only things that jarred were the old scars and the new pink ones that wrapped his shoulder.

Sam found herself taking a deep breath and feeling itchy all over.

Riley pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “That’s some sister you’ve got there, St. John. She plays volleyball like you play racquetball.”

“I’ve noticed. You guys are beating the hell out of the Marines.”

“True, but I don’t think they mind so much.”

“There is that matter of the spoonful of bikini she’s wearing.”

Riley grinned. “I’m sure that has a lot to do with it.”

Sam walked over to the cooler they’d brought to the beach and took out two bottles of water. She gave one to Riley.

“Thanks.” He twisted the top off and took a long drink. “You’ve told your friends about Lee Craig?”

“Yes. They’re working on some other leads.”

“Taking him down wasn’t a bad thing.”

“I know. It just would have been better if I’d taken him alive.”

Riley shook his head. “Guys like Lee Craig, they don’t get taken alive.”

Sam looked at him, remembering how she’d tried to seduce him that night in her cell. They hadn’t talked about that night since.

Glancing back up the hill, Riley said, “I think we’re done with the volleyball game for a while.” He grinned sourly. “Matter of fact, I know we are. Elle told me to come down here and take you for a walk.”

“She’s awfully pushy for a new sister,” Sam said.

“I guess maybe she figures she missed out on a lot of years of pushing. So she’s trying to catch up.” He looked at her. “So I’m asking—would you like to go for a walk? There’s a little café not far from here. I’ll even buy lunch.”

“Because my sister told you to?”

Riley walked over to her, put his fingertips up under her chin and tilted her head back. Then he bent down and lightly touched her lips with his. “No. Because I thought talking over lunch would be a good way to get to know more about you.”

Sam still felt the kiss tingling on her lips. “Sure,” she said. “I’d like that. A lot.”

PURSUED

CATHERINE MANN

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

To my daughter Maggie, a kick-butt kid with an indomitable spirit, sharp mind and tender heart—truly a Bombshell heroine in the making. I love you, kiddo!

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Catherine Mann for her contribution to the
ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

“Negative G forces coming. Hold on to your lunch.” Captain Josie Lockworth, USAF, upped the throttle and pushed forward on the stick of her T-38 supersonic jet. Out of courtesy only, she offered the warning to reporter Shannon Conner strapped into the back seat.

Not that she had anything against reporters. Hell, she’d flown with top-notch embedded journalists in the Middle East. Her best friend was even a television correspondent.

This reporter, however, could only be called a hack. Her news network soaked up scandal like a thirsty rag. Josie couldn’t afford bad press derailing her multimillion-dollar military test project. Forget the money, actually small change as far as the government was concerned.

Her mother’s honor had been held hostage long enough.

The T-38 pierced a low-lying cloud. Blood rushed up to her head with negative G forces, the reverse of positive Gs that pushed blood down. The body tolerated fewer negative Gs before passing out. One negative G. Two. Three. Spots danced in front of her eyes on the mountainous horizon of the California desert.

Adrenaline sang through her veins. Sweat popped along her back through her T-shirt. Her flight suit clung like a second skin. But then the uniform was already as much a part of her as any epidermal layer.

She pulled back on the stick, glancing up at the mirror to check her passenger. Shannon was awake but slumped in her seat in the tight cockpit, one strand of blond hair sneaking out of her helmet to stick to her pale face.

No hurling yet. A twinge of respect trickled through Josie’s steady focus, even a bit of sympathy.

But she did need to keep the reporter busy and disoriented. How better than nonstop acrobatics in a supersonic and nimble airplane? Shannon had insisted on the full-out flying experience. And Josie always delivered one hundred percent.

Tucking sideways, she slipped through a mountain pass. Through her clear top canopy, she watched the sandy landscape scroll past.

Josie forced oxygen in and out. Her huffed exhales echoed through the headset Darth Vader style. Near silence swallowed the cockpit, the only sound the rasp and drag of breathing through the oxygen mask since they’d left noise behind with speed.

As always, she flattened her frustration with the familiar routine of flying. The trainer jet zipped along over a range near Edwards Air Force Base, approximately one hundred miles northeast of Los Angeles. Not much time left in this flight until she landed where she worked in a military detachment at the nearby Palmdale testing facility, also known as Air Force Plant 42. For a test pilot, steely nerves were mandatory, leaving no room for cranky emotions jangling her at a critical second. And during test missions, any second could be critical.

Okay, so this wasn’t a test and she was pissed.

That someone like Shannon had been allowed access to Josie’s current test project just proved higher-ups were only paying lip service to endorsing her work. Someone wanted this resurrected project that had once been her mother’s to fail. Damaging press could facilitate their cause.

And yeah, yeah, she mentally rolled her eyes at her annoying voice of reason. Part of her still resented Shannon from their prep-school days at the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women.

Advancement? Shannon had tried to advance Josie right out the front gates on a trumped-up charge of stealing.

Good God, as if.

Her stomach, which held strong against negative Gs, grew downright queasy over the notion of taking so much as a post office pen. But back then, Shannon had convinced everyone Josie was off her rocker, like her washed-up military mama. Who could expect reasonable behavior from a Lockworth lady?

Anger fired hotter than an afterburner, jangling the singing adrenaline off-key. Her combat boots braced on the rudders. She kept her right hand loose on the stick, her left on the two throttles, flicking up to adjust dials then landing back on the stick. Not a HOTAS—hands on throttle and stick, with all the buttons attached. In the T-38 she had to take her hands off the stick and throttle to work the controls. But for Shannon, she’d give a new spin to the HOTAS—Hands On Tummy and Sickbag.

She ran the stick fore and aft, gliding the T-38 through the sky in a porpoise-style swim along the rolling mountain range. Push for a hint of a negative G at the top of the sine wave. Pull for the kiss of a positive G at the bottom of sine wave. Push, pull. Push, pull.

“Uh, Josie?” Shannon’s thready voice echoed over the headset. “Where’s the eject button again?”

Crap. She’d gone too far, something she never did anymore. She steadied the stick. “Just a little PIO—pilot induced oscillation. My fault, and nothing to worry about. I’ve got it back under control.”

Time to get herself under control, as well. She needed to tamp down the old impulsive Josie in favor of her more structured self she’d cultivated after her mother’s breakdown. “We’re on the straight and narrow now. As long as you keep your eyes forward, all will be normal.”

Unlike looking to the side, where everything blurred with speed.

She hugged the terrain with skill and calm. No one would ever have reason to accuse her of weakness or emotional instability. She knew how hard she would have to fight even a whisper of that label, since her mother had been locked away after “the incident.” But with this test project, Josie hoped to clear her mother’s name and shake free of that dark legacy.

“Doing okay back there?” Josie’s gaze flicked up to the mirror again.

“Just fine,” the ever-prideful Shannon replied, brown eyes wide, makeup still impeccable.

Pride, Josie could understand. She had her fair share of that. Sad thing was, Shannon really packed a genius brain under all that uptight pettiness. Given the right direction, she could have been an incredible asset to the Athena Academy alumni list—if she’d made it to the twelfth grade instead of being punted out on an honor violation.

All a moot point since, more important, that genius brain could twist things against Josie in a heartbeat if the intellect wasn’t otherwise occupied. And if her navigational calculations were correct, they were seconds away from a guaranteed distraction.

Bingo. Right on target, there it was, a nifty distraction for any brain. “Bet you wouldn’t expect to see that out here.”

“See what?”

“A nudist colony.” She hoped her words didn’t convey the grin she couldn’t stifle.

Silence echoed over the headset, then, “You’re making that up to get me to look over to the side where it’s tougher to keep oriented with the motion. You just want to freak me out again.”

“I’m only playing tour guide.” Oh, yeah, completely in control again. “Not that I have anything against nudist colonies, but I can’t help wondering. Why have one in the desert? I mean think about it. Wouldn’t the sunscreen sting in sensitive places? And sitting on a metal lawn chair, a guy would really have to watch his butt and be careful of his, uh, well, hoo-hah hanging out there.”

“And this helps me with my story how?” Broadcaster-neutral tones livened up with an extra touch of bitchiness.

“I’m trying to show you some of the local scenery. But if you don’t think it will work, no problem. Besides, hoo-hah might be too technical a term for your viewers.”

“You’re so not funny.”

This whole damned flight wasn’t funny. And the threat Shannon posed to her career was downright terrifying, but Josie had to find moments of levity where she could. “You’re right. I totally understand if you don’t want to look. It’s much easier to keep your lunch down if you’re focusing forward.” Now wasn’t there a nifty life lesson there? “Watching out the side is only for folks with steely nerves.”

She’d tossed down a gauntlet and Shannon would undoubtedly accept the challenge. Wait. Wait for it…

“Oh my God.” Shannon’s face went waxy in the mirror. She jerked back around front, gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Been that long since you saw a hoo-hah, huh?”

Shannon’s growl echoed through the headset.

Josie concurred on a number of levels. Sadly, it had likely been even longer for her, since she didn’t have time for a man lately, much less his hoo-hah.

Not that she would admit that to Shannon.

The woman resented her, always had. Right from their early teenage years at Athena Academy, Shannon had envied Josie’s connections through her grandfather, past CIA director Joseph Lockworth. Poppy had been directly responsible for starting the prestigious all-girls prep school designed to empower women, many of them going on to government security jobs. With only two hundred students from grades seven through twelve, the bonds forged among students were tight and lifelong.

She still sweated bullets over how Shannon’s little stunt had almost cost Josie her dream. Luckily, her best friend Tory Patton had worked her own investigative skills and proved Shannon was responsible for stealing the class’s petty-cash fund and setting up Josie.

Josie’s hands fisted tighter. She should just get over it. Besides, she had the Athena diploma. She could afford to be magnanimous. Adult.

Easing back the stick, Josie skimmed a more scenic route along California’s desert valleys cut by the ridges of the Sierra Nevadas with the Kern River running through. She cranked an east turn away from the river valley, out of the Sierras back over flat land of dry lake beds and creosote bushes, closer to her Palmdale testing facility near Edwards AFB and closer to dropping off Shannon.

Josie continued a tour-guide litany while her passenger stayed silent for once. Thank God.

A road splitting the desert stretched straight and long ahead of her, marred only by the dust kicked up from a motorcycle bearing down toward the test facility. She lined up along the lone band of road, pacing, gaining ground on the rider. And why not? Everything in an aviator’s life was a chance for competition.

Fringe rippled from the arms of the biker’s leather jacket giving off a Mad Max air that fit well with the scattered miners, desert rats in rusted trailers. Wild and untamed, like the old Josie who was no longer allowed free rein. The taboo element entranced her all the more for being forbidden. Even while she rambled her scenic explanations to Shannon, Josie couldn’t look away from a sight and yearning that held her attention beyond any hoo-hah.

Her headset crackled with a cleared throat. Shannon’s interruption yanked Josie’s attention back to the cockpit.

“Too bad you couldn’t get Tory to cover your dog-and-pony show. No doubt she would have televised anything you wanted. That loyalty among classmates is something else. You two even covered for a pregnant friend once—what happened to Kayla and her kid anyway? Did she ever find a man to marry her?”

Okay, that ripped it. The old Josie still humming just below the surface kicked her adrenaline level up into a freaking aria. “For a smart woman, you sure do say some mighty unwise things at times.”

She could put up with someone smacking at her. But her innate sense of justice, which had once earned her the label “Josephine, the Tattletale Queen,” really balked at letting an injustice go unavenged.

Nobody messed with her friends.

“You know, Shannon, I don’t think I’m lined up just right. We need to go around.” She clicked on the radio. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero on the go.”

Josie popped the jet into afterburners, dumping raw gas into the exhaust stream like a pilot light on a stove igniting, pumping up the speed. Thwump. The plane jolted from the swift kick in the ass. Exhilaration trilled within her like the final high note exploding free to reverberate through an auditorium.

Her eyes flicked to the mirror. Shannon’s face had turned cucumber.

“Ah, hell, Shannon—” she couldn’t quite suppress the sarcasm “—I probably should have told you I was going to do that.”

Shannon grappled at the face mask. Her throat worked, then cranked down in a swallow. Impressive move, holding back the volcano of vomit that would have spewed up through the mask.

Enough payback for one day. Point made. The last echoes of justice faded, leaving an emptiness inside her that grew increasingly difficult to ignore.

Josie leveled off at five hundred feet above the runway. “Palmdale Tower, Bat two-zero requesting left closed.”

“Left closed approved. Repeat base.”

“Bat two-zero, left base with gear.”

The control tower responded, “Bat two-zero, clear to land. No traffic.”

Coming in. Landing. One hundred and fifty miles per hour at impact, the tires screeched in protest of the brakes. She kept the nose up to bleed off speed, as well until…poof, the plane’s nose tilted down and kissed asphalt. The plane taxied down the runway at a sedate pace.

Hand easing back on the throttle, she slowed, pulling off onto the hammerhead toward Shannon’s waiting television cameraman. “Palmdale, Bat two-zero clear the active. Going to ground control.” She switched frequencies. “Palmdale ground, Bat two-zero. Clear the active. Request parking.”

“Bat two-zero, taxi via Alpha,” ground control responded. “Back to spot sixteen. Caution construction. Right-hand side of Alpha at Bravo.”

A blue pickup truck slid in front of her with a “follow me” sign in back to lead her onto the tarmac. The sun’s rays baked through the clear canopy, desert temps still notching in November. Her flight suit stuck to her back against the leather seat as she followed the truck past the guy waving wand flashlights toward the parking spot—

And toward a uniformed man, the major, her boss, standing and waiting.

Not good. The murky cloud over her day went opaque.

Major Mike Bridges had no doubt made the trip out to the flight line to coincide with her landing for a reason. Since he stood by the hangar housing her two modified test models of the Predator unmanned spy drone, he must be here for her. A problem? If so, she needed scoop-hungry Shannon Conner out of the way before any discussion.

Josie whipped off her helmet and deplaned. Wind tore across the treeless expanse, lifting her short hair, drying the sweat on her body with gritty gusts. Her combat boots smacked steamy asphalt three steps behind Shannon, who was staggering toward the nearest trash can. Shannon gripped the metal edges and leaned, her borrowed flight suit stretching across her heaving back. Wonder if the cameraman will document that part?

Her boss frowned. Josie cringed, then braced. He’d only assumed command a month ago, so she still wasn’t sure where she stood in regard to his approval and respect. Still, she’d followed orders today—show the reporter around and pull out all the stops. Okay, so she’d worked in a little revenge for her friend along with it.

And at a totally sucky time.

She needed to lay low after the fallout from her helicopter diversionary stunt she’d pulled to help one of her Athena grad friends with a mission a few months ago. Another wrong she’d leaped in to avenge and damn the consequences. She’d never quite understood why being right wasn’t always the right thing.

Regardless, her flight and fun were over.

A rumble from behind the hangar interrupted her thoughts seconds before a Harley rolled into view. The same low-rider cruiser she’d seen from her plane roared up with the guy wearing black leather.

The motorcycle jerked to a stop by the fence gate. The fringe on the man’s arms rippled. The growling engine shushed.

One boot slammed the cement. A muscled thigh in faded blue jeans and black chaps swung over. The second boot pounded pavement. He tugged off the helmet, shaking free coal-dark hair longer than any military regs allowed. The thick mane hit his shoulders.

Definitely not military.

He smacked along his leather-clad thighs, dusting, the action and chaps drawing attention to a hoo-hah package that—

Nope. Not gonna go there even in her mind. Too much talk of hoo-hahs must have her hormones on overload.

Her P.C. call sign might have started out as a Josie and the Pussy Cats reference, but she’d quickly redirected it to Politically Correct. She had rights and wrongs down pat. Checking out a man’s hoo-hah was as disrespectful as an ass-check from him.

Even if this guy didn’t have a problem with women who flew jets and shot the big guns like other men she’d seen outside the workplace, she didn’t have time for a relationship. Hell, she barely had time to do her laundry.

Once she cleared her mother’s name, her life would be different. Then she could shake off the ghosts of her past and not worry so much about the repercussions of letting the occasional emotion slip free.

She turned her attention back to the upchucking reporter, reaching into her thigh pocket for a pack of tissues and a peppermint. Silently she passed Shannon the candy and tissues.

Blond hair straggling forward, Shannon snatched the offerings and started restoring order for a camera appearance. “My feature about you is going to suck, you know.”

“We both know it was going to anyway.” Josie popped a peppermint into her mouth, as well, and clicked it to the side against her teeth.

Life might not always be right or fair, but people were predictable for the most part. There was something comforting about that, even when it brought negative garbage her way. At least she could see it coming and strategize.

After her mother’s breakdown and discharge from the air force, Josie had submerged all impulsiveness, clinging to clear-cut reason and stability. Except for a brief lapse today with shaking up Shannon, she’d stuck to her plan. Emotionalism, injustice, any upset in the cosmos launched jitters in Josie’s tummy that left her HOTAS.

Her wayward eyes skipped right over to the biker making his way toward her commander. What the hell were the two of them plotting? Her instincts screamed ambush ahead.

Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes later, Josie watched the dark blue military truck depart, Shannon Conner, her cameraman and personal agendas safely on their way off government property.

Time to turn her attention to whatever had brought her boss out to the flight line. Biker Boy had his back to her now as he faced her boss in deep conversation. What a contrast they made—Major Mike Bridges with his cropped brown hair and military precision next to the man with wild hair and dusty gear.

Bridges’s easygoing smile smoothed the edges of authority. He’d become a well-liked leader in the short time since he’d transferred to California and assumed command of the detachment at the military’s Palmdale testing facility. Josie didn’t need to see the other man’s face to know he was far removed from easygoing. The set to his shoulders, the tightly leashed energy in his loose-hipped stance all lent a dangerous air.

Not good.

Her ambush alert and jitters double-timed. As if the flight with Shannon hadn’t already shown her too well how easily unruly emotionalism could slither in to affect her actions. Unacceptable, especially now.

Over twenty years ago her mother had been a young captain in the air force, as well, a test engineer working to improve stealth on aircraft. Her dreams had tanked in a horrible crash that killed the pilot and resulted in an investigation resulting in the blame falling on Josie’s mother. Zoe Lockworth had resigned her commission and suffered a mental breakdown.

Josie was stronger than that, damn it. And thanks to an air force now more open to having female pilots, she would fly the riskier test missions for this project herself.

Shoulders squared with military precision, she approached her detachment commander beside the looming hangar. Bridges’s gaze zipped up from the conversation. Smoky eyes met hers with a steam quickly banked by professionalism.

Damn. She almost stumbled at the impact. She knew her boss was attracted to her—not that he’d ever made an overt move—and she wasn’t stupid enough to cross that line, either. No hoo-hah was worth risking her career, and apparently he concurred.

But if he wasn’t her superior? What if their paths crossed later, once she’d made major and moved on to another position? Maybe. There was much to respect about Bridges, his drive, his humor. She’d even been attracted to him the first time she’d seen him days before his command assignment had been announced.

All moot now because he was her superior and she did have a job to complete. Besides, she didn’t date guys she worked with. She’d seen firsthand with her parents’ dual military marriage how tough joint service relationships could be.

She would just continue to ignore his good looks—and the quickly disguised appreciation in his eyes. “Good afternoon, Major.”

“Captain Lockworth,” Major Bridges called, voice carrying on the tearing desert wind. “Come speak with us for a moment.”

“Yes, sir.” She closed the distance between herself and the pair.

The biker pivoted on his boot heel toward her and nailed her with brooding brown eyes that bordered on black. She didn’t stumble. She downright stopped for two seconds before regaining her balance and plowing forward.

All right, she was an adult woman with a normal sex drive, but she wouldn’t let it or anything else control her. She blinked away the haze and found the hard features in front of her niggled at her brain with familiarity.

Bridges nodded, no exchange of salutes required on the runway. “Good flight, Captain?”

“The reporter got her money’s worth.”

Chuckles rumbled from her boss. Brooding brown eyes from their guest even twinkled for a flash. Where had she seen him before?

She stared, trying to place…

He quirked a brow at her.

Josie willed away a blush too juvenile for a seasoned combat vet and thrust out her hand. “Captain Josie Lockworth.”

His hand enfolded hers in calluses and heat.

“Diego Morel. Pleasure to meet you.”

His husky drawl stirred the taste of Southern Comfort on her tongue. A strange notion for a woman who never risked the loss of control brought on by alcohol. And an unwelcome notion.

Realization clicked into a radar lock. Awe stilled her.

No wonder he seemed familiar. She’d seen him around from a distance since she’d begun working at Palmdale, even if their paths had never crossed for her projects. Diego Morel—or Cruiser, as he’d once been known—was considered a god in the testing community. A former military test pilot, he’d flown with dazzling grace, the plane such a part of him it seemed to respond to his mere thoughts.

He’d been expected to take his place in aviation history alongside Chuck Yeager, until a simple undetected sinus infection had caused his eardrums to rupture during a grueling mission that cost the life of his wingman. All was normal for him on the ground, but he suffered vertigo in the air.

The winged god was now earthbound for life.

Sympathy whispered through her like clouds dusting her windscreen. His eyes hardened.

Damn. She needed to hide her emotions better. She’d hated those pitying looks after her mother’s problems came to light.

Josie withdrew the hand she hadn’t even realized was still clasped in his. “It’s an honor to meet you in person. I flew your full-hydraulic-failure, engine-control-only approach profile in test-pilot school. That was pioneering work you did back in the day.”

Would he accept her olive branch?

His weathered features smoothed into a smile. “Yeah, ‘back in the day’ this old Mississippi dog could hunt.”

Bridges cleared his throat. “I imagine you’re wondering why we’re here.”

Josie gathered her composure. “It crossed my mind, sir.”

“I wanted to be the first to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” And why was Morel on hand to hear it?

Curious eyes bored into her back. From whom? So many people populated the runway—maintenance, security, other pilots doing a walk-around check of a plane.

Bridges frowned at the activity, then waved toward the hangar door. “Let’s step inside where we can speak privately.”

Crap. This didn’t sound good. “Sure.”

She punched in the cipher lock code and pushed through the side door, leaving the two men to follow. Silence blanketed the metal cavern, disturbed as their footsteps bounced an echo up into the rafters and down again. Her pair of modified Predators sprawled immobile, the dimmed security lights high overhead casting a night-lamp glow on the white-and-gray sleeping crafts. Not overly large, each craft measured 320.4 inches long and 580.8 inches wide from tip to tip, or approximately twenty-six by forty-eight feet.

The UAV—unmanned aerial vehicles—were medium altitude, long range. Flown by a pilot from remote control, they could be guided from countries away, data transmitted instantly through a satellite. Test models were also equipped with an outboard seat for a pilot to ride along wearing a parachute. An override set of controls had been installed, as well, so that the ride-along pilot could assume command and save the craft if the remote control went to hell during testing. Since the Predator didn’t have a traditional cockpit, the pilot perched on a saddlelike seat with a high back, straddling the fuselage. With no clear canopy covering, such as on small jets, he or she flew out there in the open, as flyers had done in the old days.

Prior to entering test-pilot school, Josie had flown the U-2 Dragon Lady spy plane. She’d donned her space suit and popped above ninety-five percent of the earth’s atmosphere, penetrating enemy air space to gather intel. And while she would do it again in a heartbeat if called in defense of her country, the Predator’s intelligence-gathering methods didn’t risk lives.

Except the pretty baby was damn noisy. Actually only a whisper of propeller engines, but still enough to announce its arrival if the heat of battle didn’t mask the sound.

That flaw made it the perfect craft for continuing her mother’s theories, since her mother had been part of the early work on improving stealth for bomber aircraft. Other testers had taken another scientific path after the fatal failure, and a different form of improved stealth was added to the inventory.

Zoe Lockworth’s input was no longer needed in the bomber world. But here with the Predator, Josie could use a piece of her mother’s idea involving acoustic stealth. If proven, it would be invaluable to the nation’s defense.

Josie stroked a hand along the Predator’s sleek white side. Clearing her mother’s name wouldn’t give Zoe Lockworth back her ruined military career. It wouldn’t give her two daughters back the lost years with their mom as she’d drifted deeper into depression over the loss of her life’s dream.

But it was the only present Josie could offer a mama who’d been too medicated to enjoy the gift of a clay handprint from art class. Her mother had recovered her mind. Now Josie intended to give her back her pride.

Morel cast a threatening shadow across her Predator.

Josie stepped between him and the plane before turning to her boss. “Sir? What is it you want to tell me and why here?”

Bridges drew up alongside. “I thought if we’re going to have a scene, it’s better that we should have it in here, away from everyone else.”

She prepped herself for the worst. “There won’t be a scene, Major, but could we cut to the chase, please?”

“Your test program went under congressional oversight this week.”

Her program had not been scratched. Relief almost staggered her back a step. Then the subtle crosswinds of his words whipped over her along with suspicions. Her program was still in danger.

Why? This project wasn’t near big enough to be under congressional oversight, a safeguard usually reserved for programs budgeted over one point three billion dollars. Her project ranked more in the twenty-five-million range.

That her little budget had landed on congressional radar didn’t bode well. “And Morel’s reason for being included in this meeting?”

“You may or may not know that Morel consults for contractors and the government. He’s been tapped to report back to a congressional committee on how the program is really going without any sugarcoating by the air force. Nothing will change in how you do business. You’ll just have someone walking behind you while you do it.”

“A contractor spy.” She softened her words with a smile. No scene, but even an idiot would know this sort of news would piss off any tester. These two men weren’t idiots.

“That’s not the label I would choose,” Bridges quibbled.

“A baby-sitter then?”

Her boss shrugged, his classically handsome face neutral. “Whichever label makes you less uncomfortable.”

Both sucked.

Although “spy” seemed more appropriate, since she’d never had a baby-sitter who looked like that.

Morel lounged against a support beam. “Listen, little lady—”

“Little lady?” She struggled to keep her voice steady and soft. “I’m the program manager for this test, not some Powerpuff Girl.”

He studied her with hooded eyes before a slow grin creased his face. “Lockworth, you might want to be careful about selling short those Powerpuff Girls. If I understand my Powerpuff lore correctly, Blossom’s a commander with a bright future and Buttercup is one helluva fighter, like you.”

What a hoo-hah. “Well, I’m still not a Buttercup.”

His smile turned as hard as his eyes. “And I’m not a spy. Furthermore, I’m sure as hell not the baby-sitter sort. I’m just here to help out where I can and tell it like it is. A test program that fails before it gets off the ground is still a success because it means a faulty program wasn’t launched for somebody to die in the air. Remember that.”

Damn. Already he was talking about nixing her program, not to mention the veiled reference to her mother.

Josie pressed her lips together to hold back a torrent of frustrated words. This man held her future in his hands. More important, he held her mother’s past. “Of course. My apologies for the spy comment. I was just caught off guard. I’m sure you understand the frustrations of this side of the testing fence. Scheduling is tight enough without extra paperwork. But we’ll just plug in an extra coffeepot.”

“Coffee? Lifeblood in a flying community.” Morel cranked his lazy smile up a notch. “We’re gonna get along just fine, Buttercup.”

Buttercup? She cringed.

He might be an ass, but at least he’d let her off the hook easily. She had to appreciate that they were back on even footing, playing the diplomacy game. She would bury him in paperwork, data and reports. God knows she was good at details.

Starting now. “Which would you rather do first? A walk around the aircraft? Or should we head straight over to my office for a prelim brief on our progress to date?”

“We can do that tomorrow. How about you bring me up to speed over a beer?”

A beer? She didn’t drink and she rarely socialized. She didn’t have time to waste shooting the breeze in a bar, especially during duty hours. Probably why she’d never met this man face-to-face, if that’s how he preferred to spend his after-work hours.

Bridges gave her a pointed look. Play the game.

Fair enough. She understood the rules of this boys’ club and knew how to play them her own way on her own terms. “We can talk just as well over drinks as we can in the office. I’d be honored to hear a legend’s take on the merits of computer simulations replacing actual flight tests.”

Legend, my butt.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Josie forced herself to lounge against the quarter panel of her Mustang outside the Wing and a Prayer Bar while she waited. And waited. And waited longer while Diego Morel took his sweet time parking his bike, stowing his helmet, making sure his Harley was parked just so under the security light.

Holy crap, she’d be ready for retirement by the time they made it inside.

He’d chosen the locale, deep in the California desert, a flyer hangout with an airplane tail sticking out of the roof. Music vibrated through the walls, rowdy voices swelling from the back porch and over. She would have preferred somewhere quieter where he could have his draft and she could order a grilled chicken salad while they talked. But he was calling the shots. And as long as they discussed business, she would be content.

Finally he finished playing nursemaid to his Harley and started across the gravel lot toward the door without a glance in her direction.

Hello? Did the guy not even remember she was here?

Josie shoved away from the car. “Well sure, I’d love to join you. Right this way.”

He shot a quick glance her way. “Did you say something, Buttercup?”

Buttercup. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Nope. Just tagging along with you. You’re calling the shots tonight.”

There, that sounded nice, didn’t it?

“Hmm. Somehow I doubt that.” He swept open the door with a near-mocking flourish.

Josie stepped into the doorway, pausing half in, half out to give herself time to adjust to the blasting cacophony of clanking glasses, blaring music and conversations shouted to rise over it all.

“Great place, huh?” He drank in the atmosphere like a favored microbrew.

“Great.” And entirely too packed.

He crowded her space until she had to continue inside. At least now they would get down to business. She scanned the room. The din of voices blended with the never-ending blare of old military movies. Airplane parts loaded most of the walls. He ambled inside, his eyes gravitating to the back door leading to the porch. The wall out there sported hundreds of signatures from test pilots, hers included. She’d scrawled her “Jane” Hancock during the one and only other time she’d been here—a mandatory appearance to celebrate her first test flight.

Through the press of bodies, she spotted a couple pushing back their chairs to leave. “Looks like there’s an empty table there in the corner—”

Josie glanced over her shoulder. No Morel. Great. She searched and found him settling on a bar stool in front of one of the airplane “sticks” for drunks to “fly.” Talk about frequent flyer miles. This guy must have racked up more than his fair share, given how everyone knew him.

Patience, she reminded herself. And no unruly emotions.

By the time his beer and her water arrived, someone recognized him, which led to another beer with a couple of C-17 pilots in California on a TDY—temporary duty—from South Carolina. Three drinks later, he asked, “Want another water?”

“No thanks. My eyeballs are floating.” Enough already. She could be polite while still drawing boundaries. “If you don’t want to talk about my project, that’s cool. But could you please let me know so I can return to work?”

“No need to head back just yet.”

“What does any of this have to do with my test?”

“We’re building a working relationship. I’m watching how you operate, getting into your head. Understanding the way you see things will help me interpret your data.”

“Sounds to me like an excuse to knock back beers with your pals. But however you want to play the game.”

The duo of C-17 pilots stood with apologies and calls of “Catch ya later, dude, gotta find some food.”

Morel sighed. “Listen up, Buttercup—”

Josie propped a boot on the lowest rung of his bar stool in an aggressive move forward he couldn’t mistake. “That’s Captain Buttercup, thank you very much.”

“To Captain Buttercup.” He toasted her with a pull off his bottle before slamming it back down on the scarred wood of the bar. “Those guys actually had some damned interesting insights on the Predator’s performance during a hostage rescue mission overseas. You might not be so pissed if you’d actually bothered to listen.”

Damn it, he had a point. Her innate sense of justice was a real pain in the butt sometimes. “Score one for you. But in the interest of fair play—” and she was always fair “—it would help if you included me in these conversations, Major.”

“For the record, I’m plain old mister these days. I’m not in the air force anymore.” His fist twitched around the flight stick mounted on the bar, thumb absently stroking.

Contrition nipped. Hard. He was an ass, no question, but God, he’d lost so much. She couldn’t imagine having her feet nailed to the ground. Like her mother, he’d had his dream taken away. Her mother had gone mad. Had this man perhaps simply gotten mad? Her boot dropped back to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t die. I’m still working tests, just from the other end. I’m lucky and I know it.” He motioned to the bartender for another round.

“Okay then.” She hitched up onto the bar stool next to him. “I’m sorry for the air force’s loss of your flying talent.”

His eyes narrowed as he lifted the new bottle toward his mouth. “Watch it Buttercup. That was damn near a compliment.”

“Your skill in the air is a matter of record. I’ve made it more than clear how much I respect your work.” Her attention shifted to a crowd back by the pool table. “And speaking of work, finally—” She waved to one of her workmates striding toward the pool table and gestured him over. “Hey Craig, come meet the newest member of our team.”

The pilot loped closer, red hair, freckles and boyish even nearing thirty. Josie smiled a greeting. “Diego Morel, this is Craig Wagner. He’s one of the pilots assigned to my team and a great asset to the program.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Wagner pumped the handshake. “While Josie and I were in test-pilot school together, instructors used your quick look reports as models, sir.”

“Thanks. But drop the sir. Diego’s fine. All this sir stuff is starting to make me feel ancient.”

Ancient? Josie studied Morel for the first time beyond just a threat to her program and considered him as a person. A man. Maybe ten years her senior, but still a hundred percent in his prime—even half drunk on his ass.

Craig saluted Morel with a lift of his beer. “You earned the sir label early.”

“Ah, you’re more diplomatic than your boss, Wagner.”

Wagner’s boss? Josie frowned. She didn’t really think of herself as his boss, although technically she was. He was just a guy whose work she respected. One of the best fliers out there and she needed that. Sure they were the same age and had gone through test training together, but they were friends, too. She hated that Morel was making her question if Craig might be harboring resentments.

Josie dunked another lemon in her water. “Morel is on loan to us from the subcontractor. He’ll be offering feedback on our procedures.” She would fill Craig in on the rest later.

“Excellent. I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.”

Wagner pivoted on his boot heels toward Josie, creating a pseudo privacy wall blocking her from Diego. “See you for dinner after I get back from the Red Flag exercise?”

Morel’s eyes bored into her back. Was he taking notes even now? She couldn’t afford to discount his influence just because he’d knocked back a few drinks. “The Friday after you return, at seven, right? I may be a little late but I’ll be there.”

“Cool, I’ll have the grill fired up and ready.” Wagner pivoted back to Morel. “Great meeting you, sir. I look forward to working together.”

Sir.

Morel winced. “Same here.”

As Wagner threaded through the crowd back to his table, Morel motioned for another beer. “Do you and he have a thing going?”

Damn. She didn’t need this. “God, no. He’s a friend from test-pilot school. Besides, he’s married with a kid and another on the way.”

She was adamant about no relationships with fellow service members, a big part of why she’d decided to ignore the initial spark of attraction she’d felt for Bridges.

“You’re having dinner together.”

“At his house. With his wife and their daughter,” she paused, then rushed to add, “once they get back from visiting her mother, in case you’re wondering why he’s here without her on a Friday night.”

His skeptical snort did little to alleviate her concerns.

“Marriage doesn’t always stop some folks from hooking up, Buttercup.”

This guy was beyond jaded, which didn’t bode well for her. “Well, it most definitely stops me.”

“Good.” He didn’t bother halting his assessing smile.

She glanced down at his ring finger. Bare. No cheater lines. “With all due respect, are you hitting on me?”

“With all due respect, if I was hitting on you, you wouldn’t need to ask.”

“Fair enough.” She reached to loop her hair behind one ear, her hand pausing mid-motion at the flirty gesture. Subconscious no doubt, but enough to stir the air like raw fuel dumped on engines to kick a plane into afterburners.

Her hand jerked into motion again, completing the hair smoothing with a defiant sweep. “And if you were hitting on me, sleeping with someone in my chain of command isn’t allowed.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. Now he had her thinking about sex. Was he messing with her mind? Setting her up by seeing if she would take the bait?

“Technically, Captain Buttercup, I’m not in your chain of command. It might not be wise for us to screw around while we’re working together. But there’s no rule that says we can’t.” He held up his bottle to forestall her interruption. “Just to be clear on the technicalities.”

Either way, setup or not, time to put this guy in his professional place. “Thanks for the clarification. Not that it’s a problem here anyway since you aren’t hitting on me.”

“Of course. Because like I said, you would know.” He pulled another slow drag off his beer before thunking it down on the bar. “And for the record, don’t get your G-suit in a knot about whether or not I can do my job. I’ve got more time at the urinal in tests than you have in the air force.”

“Lovely,” she muttered. “What a hoo-hah.”

“Pardon me?”

“Uh, wah-hoo. Like a cheer. Or a toast.” She lifted her water glass. “Here’s to the success of my test project and all the, uh, experience you’re bringing to table. Wah-hoo.”

Josie clinked her glass to his bottle. The guy’s losses might tug at the sympathy strings, and she understood full well she had to be patient and play nice. But if his incompetence threatened her program, she wouldn’t hesitate to bring him down.

Chapter 3

Her head was ready to explode with frustration.

Josie made tracks through the parking lot toward her Mustang convertible. Alone. Luckily, legends were able to nab plenty of designated-driver offers after a few too many beers.

They hadn’t once discussed her test. Although, maybe his slack attitude could work well for her program. She could feed him positive data, downplay trouble spots. She would work through any bugs given time, and she needed to pass this investigation in order to have that time.

Winding her way through haphazardly parked cars, she stayed alert for drunks or any other possible threats. The survival knife in her boot pressed a steely reassurance against her calf.

Across the lot, she noticed a vehicle parking beside hers, even though there were plenty of other closer spots. Excellent night vision clearly identified a familiar red SUV with a “1 Pilot” license plate.

Number One Pilot. She suppressed a groan.

Bridges? Waiting for her again?

After dark.

Damn it. He was a professional, as was she, but she hated this itchy feeling of unease. He likely didn’t mean a thing with the parking spot and she wouldn’t think twice about it if they were the same gender. However, gossip was hell and with her mother’s history she was hypersensitive about negative press.

Just when she’d decided to haul butt back inside, three other figures stepped from the SUV and erased suspicion. A general rounded to the back bumper along with two colonels. Bridges was hanging with the big dogs tonight.

Continuing toward her car, Josie snapped a salute to the senior officers. “Good evening, sirs.”

Bridges slammed his door and nodded. “Good evening, Captain. Hold on if you have a minute. I’d like you to meet our guests.”

Bridges made the introductions to the general and two colonels who’d flown into Palmdale on an unplanned visit. “I was filling General Quincy in on the kick-ass flight you gave the network reporter this afternoon. Folks up in the control tower said that was some fine flying, Lockworth.”

“Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.” She might wonder about Bridges at times personally, but professionally, he was a good boss when it came to giving positive face-time for those under his command.

General Quincy’s stars winked in the lamplight. “Let’s hope positive media coverage comes our way. We could use some additional congressional funding next fiscal year.”

Josie struggled not to flinch. “Let’s hope, sir.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for the feature piece.” Quincy’s attention skated to the bar, thank God. “We just finished dinner at the Officer’s Club and I wanted to see if this place has changed since I did some work at Palmdale and Edwards back in the Dark Ages. Do they still have the signature wall?”

“Yes, sir, right out on the back porch. It would be a crime to paint over it.”

“Outstanding. I’ll bet it’s full now.” He turned to Bridges. “What do you say we check it out, gentlemen?”

As Josie watched them leave, warning lights blazed in her mind. What was up with their unscheduled visit? There were too many upsets crashing down in one day for her liking.

First the flight with a reporter who hated her guts. Then a congressional oversight appointee who didn’t give a crap about anything but shooting the breeze with flyers over a beer. And now the general directly in her chain of command showing up out of the blue on the same day—and talking about her.

Coincidence? It didn’t feel that way.

She shook off the paranoia. Wouldn’t they have a field day if she expressed her concerns? It was already going to hit the fan anyway when Shannon’s story came out if something wasn’t done to counterbalance that report.

Starting now. She’d never been one to wait around for fate to stab her in the back.

Fishing out her keys, Josie thumbed the unlock button. She hadn’t stood a chance with Shannon’s interview anyway. The dazzling flight plan was her only hope of showing higher-ups she’d at least tried to give the reporter her money’s worth—even if she’d also taken some personal satisfaction in shaking up Shannon.

Josie slid into her car, locked herself inside and tugged her e-mail pager from her flight suit thigh pocket. Sure she could e-mail at home in twenty minutes, but she hated the solitariness of her place. Probably came from spending years in a jam-packed boarding-school environment.

She needed to send out feelers to her network of contacts and discover what was going on with the congressional investigation. Athena Academy grads watched each other’s backs. Nobody messed with their friends and got away with it.

And Athena afforded her some hefty contacts. Only the best were invited to attend.

Their high-powered professions around the world made group reunions in person damn near impossible, so instead Athena alumni relied on the Internet and their government-secure alumni Web site for communication in their high-octane lives. She hadn’t even been able to make the recent funeral for one of her older classmates and a personal friend, Rainy Miller.

How unfair and unbelievable to think of Rainy as gone. Nothing about her death made sense.

Josie sagged back against her seat, feeling too mortal. She’d tried to think through everything on her project. But then so had her mother, and still someone had died.

Rainy had also died in a suspicious car accident only days after calling an emergency meeting with Josie and their five closest friends from Athena Academy. Rainy had died on the way to the meeting. Now they were all seeking answers, and the questions were piling up even faster. Most recently, Samantha St. John had tracked down the man responsible for killing Rainy, an assassin known as the Cipher. Unfortunately, Sam had killed him without learning who had sent him to murder Rainy.

God, she was getting morbid and that wasn’t her style. She preferred action. She clutched the e-mailer in her hand and scanned through her inbox, which was packed with everything from questions about the Cipher to details of Tory Patton’s latest date with the new man in her life.

A reply to Tory would be a good place to start in diffusing Shannon. Josie tapped through a message to her old classmate and closest friend Tory, who worked for Shannon’s rival network. Tory would be more than glad to one-up Shannon, since she’d recently caught the traitorous witch buck naked in bed with Tory’s former producer and now ex-boyfriend. Things had worked out for the best, though. Tory had hooked up with Ben Forsythe, a man worthy of her. Ben was the brother of another member of the group, Alexandra. Or Alex, as she preferred to be called.

Josie hit Send on her e-mail, then started a second note to her sister, who’d graduated a few classes behind her at Athena Academy. Damn, but Diana had been young when Dad had shipped them both off to the boarding school.

Her fingers paused midway through the message.

She and Diana hardly ever talked anymore, the rift between them widening over the years. Rainy’s death should remind them all to reach out more.

Josie fished in her leg pocket for her cell phone. Her fingers closed around her lip gloss. She pitched it in her lap before tugging free the phone and dialing Diana’s number. The fact that her baby sister worked in army intelligence out in Arizona would offer enough of an excuse to call that Diana wouldn’t go into shock over hearing her voice.

If she even recognized it.

While the phone rang, Josie defiantly swiped on a coating of lip gloss. She’d wear orange tryst if she wanted, and it had nothing to do with questionable looks from Diego Morel or Mike Bridges.

The extension picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Diehard.” Josie pumped cheer into her voice and worked to recall happier times of horseback races, her little sister’s blond pigtails streaking behind her. “It’s me. Your bossy big sister. I’ve got a favor to ask, if you have time to talk for a minute.”

The five-count silence was deafening.

“Uh, sure, Josie. What can I do for you?”

Stunned or resentful? Who could tell anymore with Diana?

Josie tucked down into her leather seat for a more comfy chat, her eyes locked on the neon spotlight showcasing the plane tail sticking out of the top of the bar’s roof.

“I was wondering if you could track down some insider scoop on a retired air force test pilot, Major Diego Morel.”

Through the air conditioner-fogged bar window, he watched Josie Lockworth’s silver-gray Mustang, the car the same color as her arrogant eyes.

The bitch had to be stopped.

“Birddog,” as he was called these days, nursed his bottle of beer while others at the table discussed her project and her future, how lucky she’d been to have this chance to resurrect her mother’s work. Of course, some made their own luck. He savored the taste of hops and success. His eyes stayed focused on the window, on Lockworth. He kept silent. Listened. Planned while his thumb cleaned condensation from his bottle.

Her test data would be proved eventually. He didn’t doubt that. But with Lockworth out of the picture, he could make his own modifications. The success would be deemed his.

He could not allow her to assume the credit—her or her mother. By the time they split all the accolades, there’d be little left to go around. Tough enough to accept defeat if another man assumed the glory, but how unacceptable to be beaten by a woman.

Ego? Sure. But ego was damned important for fliers. The godlike feeling in the air had enabled him to hurtle his body through the clouds in nothing more than a tin can.

And walk away victorious.

It was all about the victory.

He’d been willing to share the fame at one time, until the subtle rejections started from her. Never anything overt, but the back off was clear all the same. The Lockworth bitch barely noticed his existence.

But he’d sure as hell noticed her.

His eyes lasered in on the Mustang convertible, where a feminine shadow moved inside. Images reeled through his mind of womanly flesh. Lithe, soft.

Naked.

He flexed his fingers along the scarred wood table to capture the imagined sensation of sliding his hand through silky brown hair. Tighter he gripped as if to tug her closer, pulling harder while he pounded deeper. The mere fantasy left him shaking. What he wouldn’t give for the reality of having her under him.

Definitely under.

“Birddog, are you with us?”

Hearing his call sign brought him back to the present. Lust still pounded through him, painful, unrelenting and with no hope of relief. Not with the kind he wanted, anyway.

He forced his fingers to relax, his thoughts to clear and flicked away stray pretzels from the table. “Absolutely. How about another round? This one’s on me.”

Cheers lifted, blending with the camaraderie of the bar. Birddog instructed the waitress to keep his tab open while he assessed his drinking partners. Nobody suspected a thing. And they never would, because he had control of every detail.

He would simply keep closer watch now. The opportunity to stall her project would present itself. He only needed to be patient. Then he would bring Josie Lockworth down fast in a ball of flames.

The conversation with her sister was spiraling downward.

Fast.

Josie tucked the cell phone to her ear with one hand and pitched a Beanie Baby puppy up and down in her other while watching car after car pull out of the bar parking lot. She and her sister had covered work, Athena news and exhausted every superficial conversational topic on the planet. Neither sister wanted to be the one to say they really had nothing important to discuss, nothing important to share, sister style.

And if they dared try broaching a deeper topic, they could very well end up arguing about their parents. Diana defensive of their father and disdainful of their mother. Josie protective of their mother and pissed at their father’s emotional abandonment. How ironic that their parents were still together, but the discord between the sisters had never fully healed.

So she continued to pitch the toy basset hound and keep the conversation light, an odd turnabout when she’d never been a quitter or a coward. Why back off in a relationship that should be special?

The whole mortality deal swamped over her again.

Okay. She’d take a shot at communicating with her sister while staying off dangerous territory about their parents.

“How’s life treating you, kid?” She mentally kicked herself for the kid comment. What a way to sabotage reaching out from the get-go.

Diana had prickly down to a fine art when it came to being the younger sister wanting to outdo her older sibling. But sometimes it was hard to imagine Diana as anything other than a dimple-cheeked kid with no front teeth.

“I’m fine. Busy at work, but fine, Josephine.”

Josephine. Josie stifled a wince at her sister’s apparent payback for the kid comment.

What a name to be saddled with for life. God, she’d hated the first day of any new school year when the “official” roll was called. Josephine Lockworth. Those early days at Athena seemed so long ago, the initial days when the Cassandra group had formed under Rainy’s senior leadership. Sam, with her huge chip on her shoulder. Tory, the motor-mouth attention hog. Darcy, the kiss-ass. Serious Kayla, with no sense of humor. Alex the snob. And, of course, Josephine, the Tattletale Queen.

A smile flickered. It was a wonder they hadn’t blown apart the school with their arguments in the early days. But slowly, surely, an unbreakable bond had formed as a group of hardheaded leaders figured out how to combine their strengths into an unbeatable team. Rainy, a senior, had been their group leader. Before she’d graduated, they’d all made a vow. If one called for help, the others would rally. No questions asked. They called it their Cassandra promise—a promise invoked by Rainy’s call just before her fatal accident.

Another car grumbled past the bar’s front window. “I’m glad to hear work’s going well.”

Gotta love those deep and intense answers.

Your turn, kiddo. Josie waited.

And waited.

The thickening air damn near smothered her. Unease prickled with the sense of eyes boring into her forehead. Josie scanned the parking lot, rechecked that her doors were locked. She found nothing. Sheesh. She really was paranoid tonight. But then talking to her sister always left her on edge.

Fine. Diana didn’t want to talk. Better to hang up and try again lat—

“So what are you doing calling me on a Friday night?” Diana asked. “No hot date with some pilot pal of yours?”

Hot pilot? Her mind immediately winged to both Morel and Bridges. Two hot men in so very different ways.

And both a serious pain in her side right now. So, yeah, She was seriously hot under the collar about Diego Morel and Mike Bridges, and the threat this congressional investigation posed to her project. “I just finished up a late business-dinner meeting after a flight. What about you?”

“Only me all alone with my big bowl of macaroni and cheese.”

“Ah. Comfort food.” Some people turned to ice cream or chocolate. She and her sister always dug into a bowl of cheesy starch to fill the emptiness when life got them down. A boxing match between them afterward worked off the calories and steam. “I gotta confess, after my luck with men lately, I wish I had a bowl for myself right about now.”

“Mac and cheese beats the hell out of most guys any day of the month. It lasts longer anyway.”

A laugh trucked up and out so hard Josie missed catching the Beanie Baby. She adored her little sister’s sense of humor, even if occasionally it turned to prickly sarcasm directed at her. She also envied Diana’s ability to find the humor in life.

Josie lifted the Beanie puppy from her lap and tucked him into the drink holder, paws over the edge, basset hound eyes sadly pleading from between two floppy ears. “I guess I’ll have to wait until I get home to make a batch.”

“I wish I could have some of yours.” The clink of a spoon against pottery echoed. “How come when you cook the boxed stuff it tastes good and mine tastes like soupy crap?”

“Secret ingredient.” Just a slice of processed cheese dropped in, not that she intended to share that her single claim to culinary brilliance could be attributed to peeling off a plastic wrapper.

“Remember the time Dad tried to cook us macaroni and cheese like Mom always did?” Diana’s words slipped through the earpiece and past Josie’s defenses.

Her throat closed up like she’d tried to swallow down too much at once. Which was a damn good thing since it choked back the urge to snap at Diana’s transparent bid for their father.

Diana was always trying to make her remember better days with their father before he gave up and shipped them off to boarding school rather than be bothered with parenting. Just as she was always trying to help Diana remember the happier days with their mom before she checked out mentally.

Josie forced a lighthearted answer. “Yeah, the noodles were so hard my loose tooth popped out.”

“He stomped around the kitchen cursing about how the directions must be wrong because somehow he’d overcooked the stuff until it was too tough.”

“I remember.” And it hurt, thinking of that time. Her father’s abandonment afterward hurt even more. At least her mother had illness as an excuse for leaving her kids. “I figured I’d better learn to make mac and cheese or we’d be toothless by Christmas.”

“We sure needed comfort starch in those days.”

Could that be a concession on Diana’s part? “That we did, Diehard.”

Silence ticked by with cyber wave crackles. Josie reached to the coffee holder and flipped a doggie ear backward on the Beanie puppy. She rubbed the fuzzy softness between two fingers until finally she surrendered and asked, “Talked to Dad lately?”

“Just last week.” Diana’s voice gentled with a sympathy Josie wasn’t sure she wanted.

Her eyes gravitated to the puppy, the latest in the Beanie Baby collection her mother had started for her. “And what’s the news?”

“He and Mom just got back from a cruise. They’re enjoying his retirement dollars.”

They should have had a double retirement fund at the end of two fruitful military careers. Her mother had been robbed of her career as well as her dreams.

The parking-lot lights dimmed. Or was it only her gloomy mood? Josie glanced over as the lot brightened and dimmed again with the intrusion of passing people finding their way back to their cars. “Yeah, I got an e-mail from their stopover in—”

Thud.

The noise echoed overhead from her convertible roof.

Josie jolted, stared up at the soft top, pathetic protection against a determined intruder. Her free hand snaking down toward her survival knife in her boot, she turned—and looked straight into cold, dark eyes peering through her window.

“Uh, Diana.” Josie kept her eyes trained on the man standing beside her car. “I gotta go.”

Chapter 4

“Jesus, Morel!” Josie slid her knife back into her boot, phone dropping to her lap. She lowered the window. “What the hell were you thinking, scaring the crap out of me like that?”

Her heart pounded over how close she’d come to drawing a weapon because of some whoo-hoo feeling that somebody was watching her. She was becoming paranoid, and that scared her more than any threat from the outside world.

Diego slumped back against the car parked beside her. “You can quit looking at me like I’m roadkill. I’m not some freaking Peeping Tom.”

“Then why are you here?”

He shrugged. “I was watching you through the window. Saw you hadn’t left. Got worried something might be wrong.”

Her senses itched again, leaving her longing for the security of her knife in her hand. Cars growled and crunched out of the lot, disguising other sounds, while streetlights cast shadows for hiding.

“You came out to check up on me?”

“Sure, why not?”

That was actually kind of…thoughtful. Even if she could defend herself.

Definitely thoughtful…even nice. Both making her more uncomfortable than the pissed off feeling this man usually engendered. “Thank you.”

“Sorry to cut your conversation short.”

“We were through talking anyway.” She tossed her cell phone into the cup holder with a small stuffed dog. “Time for me to head home.”

“I need a ride.”

So much for him being nice. Now his real agenda rolled out. “I thought you already had one or I wouldn’t have left.”

“I did. But he hooked up with a waitress. Suffice it to say that for a guy, a willing babe in the sack beats talking with a legend any day.”

Definitely roadkill. Just when she’d thought she might have an amicable working relationship with this guy. “How lovely.”

“This’ll shock you I’m sure, but we men can be pigs sometimes. Not much I can say in our defense.” His gaze hitched on the strap of her seat belt tucked between her breasts. He looked back up. “So? Give me a ride back to my place?”

She considered booting him on his butt. Was he sober enough to remember in the morning? “I could call you a cab.”

“You could. But I’m not sure they even come out this way, and I’d have to wait at least an hour if they do. Maybe more. Then I’ll be dragging ass all weekend, which will probably set back my whole week. For the good of your test project, you really should give me a ride home so I can get more shut-eye.”

Her eyes closed with resignation. “Climb in.”

“Thanks, even if it is for the good of your project.” He settled into the bucket seat beside her and sighed. “Ah, nothing like a fine-performance machine.”

Finally, common ground. “This might not be a jet or even a Harley, but a Mustang Cobra with a three-twenty horsepower V-eight engine can come mighty damn close to flying. So where to?”

He recited the address.

She smacked her steering wheel. “Good God, Morel. That’s an hour away.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No.”

“How about we do the ride topless?”

Anger spiked. “Damn it, Morel—”

“The car top. Down. So we can see the night sky full of a half moon and stars.” Grinning, he draped a hand over her gearshift. “What else would you think I meant?”

She knocked his hand off. “I think you meant to rile me and it’s working.”

“Sorry, Buttercup. Just can’t resist.” He hooked his elbow on his open window. “Getting a rise out of you is the most fun I’ve had since I performed a lomcevak maneuver in test-pilot school.”

She gasped, interest snagged against her will and better judgment. “A lomcevak? You actually pulled off that tumbling insanity on purpose? In what airplane?”

“A Christian Eagle biplane. And did I do it on purpose? As far as you know.”

“Amazing.” She shook her head, hair tickling her chin. “And a stupid risk.”

“No arguments from me on that. Do I still get the ride?”

“Yes,” she sighed her surrender. She would just have to keep her mouth shut until she dropped him off. “But only if you promise to tell me the rest of that lomcevak story someday.”

“Done deal.”

She pressed the controls to roll away the roof, then backed out of her parking spot. “You’re lucky I’ve got a full tank of gas and a crummy social life.”

Josie shifted gears with smooth force, her knuckle brushing his leather-covered thigh. Hot. Diana’s words from earlier came back to haunt her.

Holy crap. This guy was hot, in more ways than one. And she had no desire to get burned.

The sooner she got him home the better. She had a pile of her mother’s old test-data printouts waiting at the apartment to keep her plenty busy.

Josie nailed the gas, gravel spewing from the tires on her way out of the lot.

Sprawled in Josie’s Mustang, Diego stared up at the stars speckling the purple-black sky overhead planetarium style, the desert night clear. A perfect night sky for flying.

If he hadn’t nailed his feet to the ground three years ago.

Electric poles whipped past with increasing speed on the desolate two-lane road. Creosote bushes and Joshua trees dotted the inky horizon for mile after mile.

Already he anticipated another beer to rid himself of the bitter aftertaste of the hangar meeting earlier. He was a washed-up test pilot. His life was in the crapper along with his career. This job only proved it.

Baby-sitter, spy, paper pusher, and for a low-budget project at that.

This assignment only proved how far down on the food chain he dwelled these days. The subcontractor he freelanced for kept him around to trot out a legend and his medals. Apparently his surliness was starting to chafe, if this job was any indication.

He worked because he had bills to pay. For putting his feet on the floor and getting dressed each morning, he rewarded himself with a race across a dry lake bed on his Harley, the only thing other than his dogs that he’d kept when his ex-wife walked after the accident. For making it through another workday—a necessity if he wanted to keep the bike and feed the dogs—he rewarded himself with a beer.

Long-neck. Budweiser, like any self-respecting Mississippi native.

And with any luck, the bottle was thrust his way in the hands of a hot woman who for some reason didn’t know he was a washed-up test pilot who’d killed his best friend.

Bailout. Bailout. Bailout.

Even now, he could hear his own hoarse shouts. His wingman, flying alongside, had ignored the order during that last test, vowing he could recover, the instrumentation reading agreed. The poor bastard had flown right into the ground trusting his data.

Data Diego himself had supplied prior to take off.

Shit. Screw thinking about that. Rewind back to the image of a hot blond waitress thrusting a beer his way along with her bountiful breasts. Except his brain kept overlaying the image of a buxom blonde with a smart-mouthed brunette, one with minimal curves and maximum moxie.

Josie Lockworth might not be his type, but no question about it, she was hot. Self-assurance echoed from her, whether she was gliding on long legs into a bar or steering her Mustang convertible along rural desert roads.

He remembered well the idealistic days when he’d expected his work to change the world. These days, he preferred to think about beer…and breasts.

The ones beside him, to be exact.

The green flight suit hugged her slim body. High, pert breasts thrust a subtle invitation increased by the cooling blasts of night wind. Velcro straps cinched at her sides, accenting a hint of hips—

Whoa. Stop. He geared down his thoughts.

The woman who was ready to kick his ass over a simple “little lady” comment would fillet his liver if she could step inside his brain right now.

But the loss of his uniform had stripped away mental inhibitions, as well, leaving his world and expectations as off-kilter as his vertigo-stricken senses. He’d been a boundary pusher in the air, but understood the rules of convention implicit in his officer commission on the ground. He’d always kept protocol in place with female officers.

No such rules applied now, because he wasn’t an officer anymore.

“You should be nice to me.” He held up a hand. “And before you get your politically correct G-suit in a twist, I’m not implying a damned thing of a sexual nature. Yeah, I know I’m a bit of an ass. Okay, a lot of an ass. But if you’d pay attention, I talk like this to everyone. I’m just curious as to why you’re huffy and defensive when it would serve you well to be kissing up. So to speak.”

Her shoulders lowered, captain rank on her flight suit glowing luminescent blue in the dashboard lights. “Sorry. Instinct, I guess.”

“Been hit on a few too many times?” Idiotic protective instincts fired up, much like the ones that had chewed his hide when he’d been sitting in the bar shooting the breeze with Birddog and the others.

“I’ve just learned it’s better to keep things superficial.” Wind-whipped coffee-colored hair around her face in a rare disorder from this overly composed woman. “People at work look hard enough for your vulnerabilities on their own. No need to give out private information for free.”

What hints of vulnerabilities could be found in her pristine car, a place more personal than her office? He scooped her beanbag puppy from the drink holder.

“Could you put down the Beanie Baby, please?”

“Your favorite?”

“It’s a gift for Craig Wagner’s daughter when I go to dinner. I don’t want it to look all rucked up when I give it to her.”

“Sure. Sorry.” He fit the toy basset hound back into the cup holder. “I’ll get the kid a new one.”

“Don’t bother. You didn’t do any harm—yet.”

He heard her loud and clear. Get his mitts off her stuff and thereby off her. Somehow, he’d stepped too close. “So tell me about this test of yours.”

Her white-knuckled fingers loosened around the steering wheel. “What do you want to know?”

“How about start with the basics. Assume I know nothing.”

She would think he was an out of touch idiot who needed to review fundamentals. Not that he cared much as long as she didn’t throw another one of those sympathetic looks his way like she’d done when he’d talked about not flying anymore.

Yeah, let her do the talking before he shoved his boot in his yap again. Captain Buttercup probably wouldn’t even realize how much he could interpret about her core methodology from the way she presented foundation elements. “Talk to me.”

And damned if he didn’t enjoy the sound of her uptight, precise voice with its hint of huskiness begging to be encouraged.

“Our mission with this project is to improve the stealth element on the Predator unmanned spy drone. It has served the air force well in the past, but we’ve learned a lot about ways it could perform better, and thus keep more pilots and ground-intelligence forces out of harm’s way.”

He tried not to think much about his active-duty days, flying bombers then gaining admission to test-pilot school. He’d accepted the possibility of dying in battle or during a test. He’d never considered what to do with himself if he survived.

“Morel?”

“Yeah, I’m with ya, Buttercup.” He looked at her and her uniform, her idealistic eyes reminding him of how many years’ experience separated them.

And still he wanted Josie Lockworth.

The intensity of that desire blindsided him like a bogey from his six o’clock. Sure he’d been turned on by her at first look, even though she was a prickly priss. But he hadn’t expected to get hard over just the thought of skimming aside the hair streaking across her face.

What the hell was up with that?

His head fell back against the rest. The sky beckoned. He closed his eyes. “Keep talking.”

He focused on the clipped tones of Josie reciting facts, letting dry data served up with whiskey-warm tones intoxicate hungry senses that ached to fly.

Josie gripped the steering wheel and lost herself in the intoxicating oblivion of routine. Reliable facts would never betray her. “Stealth is comprised of five elements—electro-optical, radio transmissions, visual, acoustics and RF.”

Diego folded his hands over his chest, his head still reclined, eyes closed. Late-day beard darkened features already weathered by the sun, wind, years of hard living.

Of loss.

Sympathy hit her. A dangerous emotion. God, she needed to remember her mother’s lost career. Josie studied the stretch of road, so straight she could likely drive for hours without looking.

She lifted one finger off the steering wheel. “RF covers the more popular element of eluding radar frequency. The Predator already kicks ass on that one.”

A second finger lifted. “Next, the electro-optical tricks the infrared camera and low-light optical trackers. Again, got it licked.

“Third element.” Only her thumb and pinky stayed on the wheel along with her other hand. “For the visual with the good old eyeball check, the craft still holds up well.”

She waggled her pinky. “Radio transmissions aren’t a problem, either, because our data-link control signals are so low power they have a lesser probability of intercept.”

Josie wrapped her hand around the steering wheel again. “The Predator’s only weakness comes from the fifth element—its acoustics. Enemy listening posts can pick up the propeller motor sounds in low-level flights. But the lower the flight, the better quality on the intel.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, shifting his legs to swing one booted foot over his knee without once opening his eyes, as if she barely warranted his whole attention. “And since much of your mother’s work focused on the acoustics of stealth, you decided the Predator is the perfect craft to use for resurrecting her theories.”

She didn’t answer or even blink for the passing of four telephone poles while pain from her mother’s breakdown roared as loudly as the ever-constant desert wind. “Way to lay it all out there on the table.”

“Does it bother you to talk about her?”

“The facts are public record. It’s not like I can hide from them.” She peeled a strand of hair that had stuck to her lip gloss. “Actually, I appreciate your honesty. At least I don’t have to wonder if you’re whispering behind my back.”

“I’m an ass, but I’m a straight-up ass.”

She didn’t want to like him. But just when she longed to punt his arrogant butt, he surprised her with his self-awareness. “Since I believe in my mother’s core concept, yes, if it works, the Predator will be a more efficient asset to the reconnaissance community.”

Her methodology was sound. She knew that. She hoped her developmental testing would be equally so—because she could talk higher air force benefits all she wanted, but eventually it wouldn’t escape anyone’s notice that this was personal for her. The career fall from failure would be far and fatal.

Then there would be nothing left for her but to burrow out in the California desert in one of these geodesic domes, single-wide trailers or old ranch-style houses that infrequently broke the monotony of space and quiet. “What else would you like to know?”

“What will I be looking at when we get to the paperwork?”

“Our first round of testing involved active noise cancellation. For example, if the acoustic signature of the aircraft was a sine wave with a magnitude of one-hundred-ninety decibels at fifty hertz, we would create a sine wave of equal but opposite magnitude to conceal the noise.” She glanced over at the leather lug barely moving in the seat next to her. “You used to fly bombers, right?”

He grunted again.

“Basically we employed the same technology that’s used in noise-canceling headsets worn by bomber crew members to weed out the engine sound so they can hear each other talking.”

The graded road roughened. She downshifted to third gear, her knuckles grazing his knee. Chaps warmed from his body heat launched a shower of tingles up her arm and straight to her breasts. And he didn’t even flinch, damn him.

Work. Think work. “Once the active noise was addressed, we moved on to passive ways to decrease sound, such as making the engine vibrate less. Our main source of concern with the Predator has been modifying the propeller. It makes too much noise when the tips break mach. In this stage of the testing, we’re improving the flight propeller balancing….”

The road evened out. She reached for the gearshift again, bracing herself for the feel of heated leather against her skin. Still he didn’t move.

“Are you asleep?”

Diego turned his head along the rest, lashes lifting to unveil eyes hotter than the leather against his skin. “Was I snoring?”

“No.” Her hand clenched.

“Then I wasn’t asleep.” Straightening, he pointed left to the narrow one-lane road. “Turn here.”

She slowed, her car still undulating. The rearview mirror reflected nothing but a cloud of sandy dust kicking up behind them. Out of the pitch night, one of the old ranch-style homes appeared, dark wood scarred by wind and time. The sturdy, functional structure sprawled, surrounded by eucalyptus trees. Sweet perfume rode the wind along with a distant coyote howl.

The front porch stirred with motion, two dogs leaping to life and bolting down the steps. A shaved retriever and a mutt of indeterminate origin scampered in a dangerous dance in front of her car, forcing her to slow.

At a near-crawl pace, she pulled her shuddering Mustang closer to the deserted yard, past patchy brush, cacti, a crappy lawn chair beside what looked to be about an eight-hundred-dollar grill.

She braked to a stop, engine still humming. Kangaroo rats scampered away from the headlights. “Here we are.”

“Thanks for the ride.” His booted foot slid to the floorboards. “I owe you a new set of shocks and a car wash for this one.”

“I might take you up on that, Morel,” she offered noncommittally. Safely.

He seemed in no hurry to get out of her car now. The man never hurried, period. Even as that trait annoyed her, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by someone so unfettered by life. “How are you going to get back to base?”

He gestured toward the prefabricated metal garage set back from the house. “I have a truck, too.”

“And what about your Harley?”

“You could stay over and give me a ride in the morning.”

She blinked hard. Twice. Then covered with an overly polite smile. “I don’t think so.”

“That no-sex-with-workmates rule of yours again?”

Self-preservation was more like it, if just a simple brush against him could burn her. “Perhaps I’m not interested in going to bed with a drunk who snores.”

His half smile tucked a dimple into one cheek. “I like you, Lockworth.”

Whoa. Like? That was a whole different matter than just sexy leather chaps and lust. “Uh, thanks.”

“Not that you’re particularly likable.”

She scooped the puppy from the drink holder, something soft to ease the sting of echoing old taunts of Josephine the Tattletale Queen. “Charm doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, either.”

A rusty laugh rolled out in a lomcevak tumble. “Exactly what I like about you.”

“I’m not following.”

“You don’t kiss my ass just because once upon a time I flew some pretty missions.”

His answer made sense and confused her all at once. “I respect the work you accomplished.”

“But not who I am now.”

The scent of leather and eucalyptus swirled inside her. She needed to leave. Now. “Who you are doesn’t matter to me. How you work does. And I’ve yet to see any work accomplished to judge.”

Draping his elbow on the back of his seat, he gripped the edge of hers with one hand while plucking the dog from her other. “Yeah, I like your take-no-shit attitude. And I like the fact that you’re straight up with me. Makes me trust you more and that’s a good thing. But honest to God, you need to wash some starch out of your spine.”

She bristled, more Josephine-prickly than that cactus patch by his garage. Who the hell did he think he was? And she couldn’t afford to say squat back.

He dropped the Beanie Baby back in the cup holder. “I know this mission is important to you, and I’m not diminishing what you do. But even with my feet nailed to the ground like they are, I could wade through your paperwork on this test halfway to snoring. Or half-drunk.”

She couldn’t stop her Josephine sniff.

“That’s right, Buttercup. I’m a rude, washed-up test pilot who drinks too much and doesn’t shave enough. And, yeah, I snore, since my eardrums and sinuses blew out on that last flight.” He stopped short, his hard weathered face freezing. “Ah, shit. Forget it. I’m outta here.”

Diego reached for the door handle. Remorse, empathy and something else she didn’t want to examine stirred.

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm.

He could have shaken her off easily. But he stopped, staying in the seat.

“I really didn’t mean to come off all judgmental. I haven’t walked in your shoes so I’ve got no room to—”

Diego shushed her with a pointed look down at her hand on his arm.

Her fingers slid away.

He canted closer, hand returning to the back of her seat, a whisper away from her neck. “I meant it when I said I like your straight talk. You can feel free to tell me to go to hell when I get out of line and it won’t affect my report.”

He grazed one knuckle along the vulnerable curve of her neck, slowly, deliberately, his skin every bit as hot as she’d imagined. “But don’t ever, ever flash that damn little pity look my way again. Because if you do, I guarantee I’ll be kissing it off your face so thoroughly you won’t be able to think about anything except getting naked together. Understand?”

The fire in his skin and eyes dried her mouth until she could only nod.

Silently, he backed away and out of the car. He slammed the door shut, holding on to the open window for one final shot. “And in case you were wondering, I was definitely hitting on you that time. Next move’s yours, Buttercup.”

Chapter 5

Josie slammed her condo door.

She could allow herself that much emotional venting while no one was watching without worrying about negative reports and whispers of instability. Flicking on the light, she hooked her key ring on the rack by the door, a long silver mirror with a bin for mail and tiny hooks for keys and stray jewelry.

Now to fill the remaining hours so she would be tired enough to sleep once she fell into bed. Alone. She should probably log on to her computer and see if Tory had e-mailed her back about Shannon’s feature.

Josie ignored her reflection and walked deeper into her empty home, clicking on the television and popping in a DVD copy of videos of her mother’s old test flights. She had reviewed them all at least a couple dozen times each, and still she watched them over and over again like some people played their favorite albums. Her mother’s voice echoed from the speakers, calling directives from the ground to the pilot flying the test prototype. Cockpit views scrolled, mixed with other shots from the ground of the test in flight.

While the voices continued, pictures stared down from the walls, a hodgepodge collection of steel-framed photographs from her Athena Academy days—riding, archery, group shots and individuals spanning years from her first day at thirteen all the way to twelfth grade.

More pictures followed of college graduation, then her air force commissioning so long ago. Finishing college in three years had put her on a fast track in the air force that made for a solitary life now, creating boundaries with people her own age. At least at Athena, she’d been surrounded by overachievers like herself. Her classmate Alex had become a successful forensic scientist with the FBI. Tory was one of the hottest reporters on TV, also working as an intelligence courier for the government. And even after going through a teenage pregnancy, Kayla was already a lieutenant on the police force.

God, she missed her friends. Yet even if she had time to build new friendships, who could she be close to? People her own age worked below her. People at her career stage resented her for being younger.

Diego’s invitation to stay the night whispered through her mind. Not wise, being tempted by him.

Chewing orange-tryst gloss off her lips, Josie dropped into the curve of the white sectional sofa. She thumbed through the stacks of large green computer printouts from her mother’s testing days. She’d been going through the information after hours for months now—algorithms, configurations and data streams. There was so damned much of it, so many notes in her mother’s precise handwriting down the sides documenting every data drop, each sensor measurement. No one this meticulous screwed up, damn it.

Josie dropped the stack back on the glass coffee table. She swung a boot up on the edge and worked free the long black laces. A dog tag winked up from the right boot, a duplicate of the ID around her neck. The second was attached to the nearly indestructible combat boot so if her plane exploded, she could still be quickly identified amid the ashes.

Setting her boots on the floor one thud at a time, she peeled off her socks and wriggled her toes, pink toenails winking up at her. Her mind’s eye too easily conjured visions of Diego Morel once lacing and unlacing the same boots, not knowing what life held for him after the mission.

The hunger in his eyes when he’d talked about flying had almost leveled her. The profoundness of his feelings of loss made her question the depth of her calling to the sky.

She’d spent so long focused on clearing her mother’s name, she’d never considered life after. Was this what she wanted to do with her remaining years in the air force? Did she even want to stay in, or had she only joined to follow her parents’ legacy, since it offered the easiest way to right wrongs for Zoe Lockworth?

Josie sagged back on the sofa. Damn it, and damn Diego Morel. She couldn’t afford to doubt herself now. She was an excellent test pilot. She enjoyed the challenge of her job and the honor of wearing the uniform. And she wouldn’t allow some man with his hungry eyes to shake her resolve just because maybe she was feeling a little vulnerable tonight.

She unzipped her thigh pocket, reached in, brought out the tiny basset hound Beanie Baby. Craig’s daughter would receive the match already wrapped and ready, but this one, the toy Diego had tossed, was for her. Shoving up from the sofa’s embrace, she crossed to the wall of shelves. She placed the squishy dog inside the jammed nooks housing her Beanie collection, which kept her company along with the stereo and television.

Popping in a new DVD of tests, she watched static morph into flight images. Backing away, her bare feet padding along the carpet, she assessed the dog’s place between a birthday unicorn and camouflage bear her mother had given her. The thought of failing shook her more than any lomcevak maneuver ever could.

She had work to do.

Josie scooped up the closest stack of printouts, the familiar sight of her mother’s handwriting more than enough motivation to forgo half the night’s sleep.

“Hey fella,” she called over her shoulder to the basset hound addition on the way to the kitchen. “How about we celebrate your homecoming with some mac and cheese while I check over flight configurations from a couple of decades ago?”

Five days later, Josie cleared security to enter the remote control flight area, two leather seats in front of panels of screens, buttons, dials and checklists. She would fly the aircraft from the pilot’s seat, while beside her the sensor operator manned the cameras. A seasoned master sergeant with a mono-brow and over two thousand UAV hours, Don Zeljak had been handpicked. Zeljak now worked over in the scheduling office when he wasn’t flying, which made things wonderfully easy for slotting him on her missions.

“Hey, Captain.” Zeljak paused beside her, offering a double-size pack of wintergreen gum while he smacked a piece of his own. “Want some gum?”

Josie started to say no, then reached to take a stick after all. “Thanks, Sergeant. I think I will.”

She could use a little nerve soothing with a congressional spy/baby-sitter shadowing her. Diego strutted behind her, biker boots thudding against thin industrial carpet. She didn’t have to see him to envision his relaxed tread that screamed of slow, confident sex.

Josie chomped her gum harder.

They’d spent the past days reviewing the old data from her coffee table, tackling it in half the time. True to his word, he hadn’t made another move on her. And he’d kept pace with helping her sift through the flight configurations for each of the early missions her mother had overseen. Once she finished up here, she could dig deeper into cross-checking that correct software versions coordinated with the hard drives.

Perhaps he actually could do the job with his eyes half-closed. Apparently, the problem was hers and she needed to get the hell over herself—or over him—pronto. Kinda tough to do with him breathing down her neck 24/7.

Not for the first time, she wondered, could he be testing her? Could he have been trying to set her up? Even though an affair wouldn’t be an ethical breach, it might make a positive report of his seem suspect. She really did need to call her sister back to find out what Diana had uncovered about Diego’s past. But part of her regretted asking, almost wanting to hear it from him.

She was starting to like him. And yes, like was far more dangerous than lust. She could and would harness her emotions. Work provided the perfect distraction. The challenge, her goal to clear her mother’s name, drove her relentlessly.

Josie snagged a tissue and spit out her gum. She wouldn’t need any nerve crutches once she slid into the pilot’s seat.

The Predator was flown from a remote control cockpit, much like a simulator setup. A pilot manned the controls in one of the seats with the sensor operator beside working the cameras, or the sensor suite, as it was called. But unlike normal Predator flights, the test versions required that another pilot be strapped to the vehicle with a modified second set of controls for override in an emergency if things went to hell.

Things would not go wrong. Especially not with Craig strapped on. She’d planned carefully. Conservatively. Because no way would she accept anything but a win.

Each test pushed the craft a little further. First, she’d fired up the engine and taxied the modified Predator along the runway. Next flight, taxi faster and test the brakes, and so on. Today’s flight would be the second quick loop in the air around the airfield.

Diego lounged against the partition beside her, every squeak of his leather as he moved reminding her he watched. Waiting for her to screw up?

“So why’s Wagner the one strapped on the Predator today and not you?”

Was he an idiot or just checking to see if she was? “As the head tester, sometimes I have to step back. I take turns with Wagner and the other four pilots assigned to my team. I know the craft too well. I’m not the average crew member anymore.”

“Good answer.” He waved her to her seat. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just fade into the scenery here.”

He stood a better chance at winning the lottery.

She forced her attention back on work while she and the sensor operator ran through preflight data. Today’s was a simple circle with the camera running, minimal chance of anything going wrong. DT—developmental test—followed such a scripted plan she could have simply passed over the paperwork with the camera footage and he would have been able to assess the mission. But he studied her through hooded eyes, checking her test discipline and methodology.

She knew how to follow a plan, damn it.

Josie keyed up the radio to talk to Wagner. Flying the modified Predator by remote was a snap—except when somebody was in the saddle. Even though he could counteract any of her control inputs, she still carried a lump in her throat thicker than her father’s sticky mac and cheese every time she piloted one of these flights. She’d rather strap her own tush to the rocket any day of the week than have someone else in danger. “Well partner,” she called over the radio to Wagner. “You ready to ride this bronco?”

“I would prefer that it not buck me off if you don’t mind,” Wagner chided through her headset. “But I am checklist complete and ready to go.”

Josie ran through her instruments one last time before the countdown. “Ten seconds to throttle up.”

“Copy ten,” the saddled-up Wagner shot back.

Josie checked her stopwatch and began counting down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Going throttle up now.”

She eased the throttle forward. Since she sat in the remote control seat, there was no kick in the ass like in a T-38 or a U-2 to let her know the engine was running to full power. Wagner would get that punt. Only her instruments showed a steady climb as power increased. “Ready for brake release in three, two, one. Brakes released.”

Wagner’s laughter rocked through her headset. “Yippee ki yay, mo-fo.”

Josie suppressed a laugh of her own, if not her smile. He blasted that corny shout every time, even back in test-pilot school. He was an unabashed goober. And one helluva pilot.

Concentrating on the camera looking out the nose of the Predator, she kept the aircraft on the runway centerline with small inputs to the rudder pedals. “Rotating now.”

She eased the stick aft and watched the camera view change from runway and creosote bushes to blue sky. Leveling the Predator off at eight thousand feet, she checked her mission data to ensure the craft steered its simple “circle the patch” profile set for this mission. “Everything looks normal down here. How’s it look from there?”

“No problems up here, ma’am.” Roaring engines and feedback competed with the hokey accent he always donned for flight. “Thanks kindly for asking.”

“Are we going to do the John Wayne imitation every time you ride that thing?”

“You betcha, and I would suggest that you work on your Annie Oakley voice for when it’s your turn.”

“Maybe we should change your call sign to Cowboy or Duke.”

“Sounds great to me. I’ll happily ditch that other awful one y’all hung on me earlier.”

“We’ll have a keg party soon to make you Cowboy for real.” Josie vowed to pick up a miniature ten-gallon hat for Wagner’s kid for Christmas to match the one he often wore. She turned to her sensor operator. “How do the sensors look?”

“Everything is nominal here also,” Zeljak answered, mono-brow lowering with concentration.

“Roger that, you run through your test cards and let me know if we need to modify the profile.”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll keep you posted.”

Josie cross-checked the instruments, then glanced over to see what the sensor operator had found to use for camera calibration. First he locked his infrared on a truck heading up the highway and insured the automatic tracking function was operational. Josie turned back to her own camera view. Horizon level. She scanned her readouts. Everything was still looking good and nary a peep from her cowboy.

A low whistle from the sensor operator drew her eyes back to his monitors.

“Holy crap.” Master Sergeant Zeljak waggled his thick dark brow. “Lookee there.”

Josie’s fingers clenched around the stick. Things were skating along so well. Please Lord, don’t let them go to hell now, especially with her baby-sitter at her back. “Whatcha got, Sergeant?”

“That SUV.” Zeljak nodded to his screens displaying feedback from cameras that could see for miles. “Parked all by its lonesome alongside that range.”

Josie frowned. “Nobody drives out there.”

“Exactly. I can only think of a couple of reasons somebody would go out there all alone on a lunch break.”

She nodded. “Vandalism.”

“Or sex.” Diego’s wry voice echoed from over her shoulder.

Mr. Invisible? Not.

Josie eyed the high-resolution image, camera zooming nearer to reveal…a very familiar red SUV, the color of Mike Bridges’s vehicle. Camera angles swooped to show…

A license plate that read 1 Pilot.

Zeljak pulled back on the angle to encompass the whole vehicle again. “Hey, maybe he had car trouble and is walking for help. We should scan up the road—”

On cue, the SUV started rocking.

It was almost funny. Almost. Bridges wasn’t doing anything illegal, but what piss-poor judgment on his part.

Morel chuckled low behind her. Craig’s laughter blended in from the headset as he rode along.

A grin twitched at the sensor operator’s face. “You know, I always wondered what he and that civilian employee from the next building over were doing on those long lunch breaks.”

At least now she didn’t have to worry about whether or not Bridges was hitting on her. He was most definitely otherwise engaged.

Zeljak glanced back at Diego. “Hope he finishes up in time for General Quincy’s briefing. It would be a shame if we all have to sit through the whole spiel and the boss doesn’t even notice. Maybe we ought to tell Wagner he doesn’t need to rush over from his flight after all—”

“Sergeant,” Josie interrupted what was fast becoming a situation harmful to Bridges’s credibility. “I believe we should stop. The man’s entitled to his privacy.”

“Hey, they’re out in the open on government land. They’ve waived any right to privacy. Maybe my wife and I ought to try the back-seat gig more often. God knows there’s not much privacy around my house with five teenagers and all their friends underfoot.” The master sergeant glanced back at Morel. “The boss has some staying power, I’ll give him that.”

Heat burned her skin from embarrassment and more than a little anger. “Enough. Go look at something else. Anything else. Turn the camera forty degrees south. That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He clicked through commands, spun dials. “I hear there’s a nudist colony out there that your reporter passenger got a special sideshow view of the other day. Maybe we should go check out that.”

Heat clawed up her face again. She outranked the guy, but those old sergeants sure had a way of putting a junior officer in his or her place. “Thank you for the reminder, Sergeant, but we can skip that scenic tour today, as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Camera angles swung away, hangar images growing in size on the screens that were scheduled to show desert. Daily, technology on the camera imagery improved. What they could have done with this in the Middle East. Her U-2 flights could have been even more effective, some missions unnecessary altogether. If only her mother’s meticulous research could have been used.

The urge to succeed charged through Josie stronger than ever, patience harder to find of late. But she couldn’t let the old impulsive Josie overpower her.

She studied the video footage filling the monitors.

“Stop!” she ordered, narrowing her eyes to better identify the flicker of movement by the hangar. A person.

“Close-up, please.”

The figure turned, as if sensing laser eyes on…her.

Shannon Conner.

Crap. Josie shot over her shoulder to Diego. “Call the base police. We’ve got a security breach.”

Birddog secured his flight-suit zipper. Tab down. Uniform smooth and crisp in spite of a morning spent out in the California desert wind.

Locking his vehicle, he tucked into the gusts and strode toward the beige building at the Palmdale testing facility. He had important people to see, meetings and briefings to attend. And during every minute he would enjoy the gratification of knowing Josie Lockworth’s version of the Predator stealth project was that much closer to self-destruction.

The reporter was now well on her way off the base with the information he’d planted for her television exposé. Excitement chugged through him. He was so close, details locked and loaded. Grit-laden air itched along his wired nerves.

Morel was proving more vigilant than expected in his investigative role. Damn him, he’d been chosen because he was a screwed-up burnout. If Morel began posing too much of a threat with his thoroughness, a few reminders of his past should send the man diving back into a keg of beer.

And Josie Lockworth?

He didn’t want to hurt her. Quite the opposite.

Birddog shoved through the door into the narrow corridor toward the auditorium, exchanging salutes. He scanned the women filing into the rows of seats, wondering if he dared risk taking one of them up on the offers that sometimes came his way.

He shouldn’t be this damned hungry and unsatisfied, not when he enjoyed regular sex. Except lately sex offered only physical release without satisfaction, as long as the wrong woman writhed beneath him. It was this whole damn project that had him so touchy. He checked his zipper tab again, straightened his flight scarf.

If he could have her one time, the woman he really wanted, maybe then she would leave his system and stop haunting his thoughts, tainting his every success because it was never enough without that final victory.

The triumph of possessing her just once.

Chapter 6

Josie packed her flight bag, beyond ready to clear this boring mandatory briefing from General Quincy. Two more minutes and she could return to her office, where Diego waited, sorting through her paperwork unsupervised.

At least she wouldn’t be alone with him. She and Craig needed to write up the quick-look report on the morning flight before he could go home to romance his pregnant wife.

And before Josie could dig deeper into what Shannon Conner had been doing at Palmdale—again.

Security police had descended on Shannon, a most satisfying moment even viewed through remote cameras. Too bad it had ended so fast. Shannon had presented an official base pass and wasn’t technically in a restricted area. Since a speedy initial scan of her background hadn’t produced anything suspicious, they’d escorted her out the front gate, assuming she was nothing more than another scoop-hungry reporter. Not an uncommon occurrence around a government testing facility.

But someone must have vouched for her. Who? The SPs—security police—weren’t ponying up the info. Josie had sources of her own via her network of Athena friends.

She snapped her flight bag closed with more force than needed. Making tracks toward the auditorium exit, she nearly slammed into Major Bridges as he slid out of the back row.

“Lockworth, just who I was looking for. How’d today’s test flight go?”

Josie didn’t dare risk a look at Craig or Master Sergeant Zeljak behind her, even though she could imagine their barely restrained smiles. She kept her eyes plastered on Bridges’s face, his dark hair ever so slightly mussed as if from a frantic lover’s hands.

How freaking embarrassing. “You’ll have my quick-look report by the end of business today, sir. But overall, it was an excellent test run with Wagner strapped in, me flying the stick. The propeller modifications performed above expectations. We’ll break for a week while the contractors rewrite the software to optimize the adapted control program, but overall things are moving ahead of schedule. And I can review and update all test data in the interim.”

Bridges crossed his arms over his chest. “Actually, you’ll be TDY. Thanks to the flu outbreak, we’re short a flyer for the Red Flag war game exercises in Nevada. Your down time makes you the perfect candidate to stand in for a few days. And Morel can weed through the backlog of files while we’re gone.”

TDY? Now? In the middle of her test? Josie shook off shock and frustration. “TDY to Nellis?”

“We take off late tomorrow afternoon. Wagner’s following the next day, as well.”

Unease prickled. “Sir, I’m really swamped here, especially with Morel on my back.” Gulp. Now wasn’t that an image to rock her concentration? “Isn’t there someone else who could go in my place?”

“Apparently you’re healthier than most of the base. You’re it, Lockworth, or I would have chosen someone else from the start.”

A good soldier knew when to back down. “I should start packing then.”

“Who can argue with a free trip to Vegas?”

She wanted to. Leaving her office unattended with a congressional spy underfoot and Shannon Conner somehow gaining free run of hangars made her itchy. Again, it seemed the fates were conspiring against her.

Or someone a little more earthly bound.

What was Bridges thinking, sending her off at such a critical time with a congressional investigation underway? He could tap someone from another base with only minimal extra effort. She didn’t like this one damn bit. Not that she had a choice.

She would have to use the TDY time to her advantage by packing up her research notes to go through the same words she’d read a hundred times already in an effort to find out who’d sabotaged Zoe Lockworth’s career. And she would damn well rebuild her defenses when it came to Diego Morel and discovering any agendas he might or might not have.

Josie hurtled through the sky in her T-38, clouds stroking past her clear canopy. Any other time she would enjoy the edgy flying in Red Flag mock war exercises. Right now, she just wanted to get back to her primary mission.

Gripping the stick, she held steady on her speed. Major Bridges flew beside her in a two-ship of T-38s in the faux war. The small jets were pretending to be enemy red-force cruise missiles. She and Bridges would assume a missile profile and flight path to see how far they could penetrate before blue-force defenses halted them.

Josie tucked in tighter on Bridges’s wing in fingertip formation. She scanned the horizon with eagle eyes as she knew he was doing in synch, looking for an aggressor squadron F-16 that would act as the launch aircraft for their flight-simulating cruise missiles.

As in all aviation, this was a contest. A challenge.

Josie caught a glint off a canopy out the corner of her eye. Ooh-rah. She’d won a round over her boss in sighting the fighter first.

Victory pulsing, she thumbed her radio on. “Tally ho, Boss. Viper at my two-o’clock about ten miles out.”

No doubt, Bridges shouted damn at the loss before keying up his radio to acknowledge her transmission.

“Roger, P.C.” He brought the nose of his T-38 up and began a slight turn to intercept the F-16. “All right, spread formation now and joining on the Viper as briefed.”

She bumped her throttles and maneuvered abreast of her leader’s aircraft. Screaming through the air, the two T-38s in tandem joined up fifty feet off each wing of the F-16. Josie turned her head toward the “Mother Ship,” awaiting a hand signal indicating they’d been “missile launched.”

Excitement clenched as she focused, winding tighter, ready to spring. Damn straight she could punt Diego Morel and all the questions he raised right out of her head. She’d only needed a reminder of why she enjoyed her job. Maybe she’d spent too much time in an office, missing the exhilaration without realizing it until something—or somebody—came along and shook her snow globe a little.

This should be fun. Flat out, ass-kicking fun. No high-tech fancy terrain following or avoidance systems in these modified trainer planes. Just her hands and brain to keep her from smacking into the desert at five hundred knots.

While she waited for the launch signal, she ran another cross-check of her instruments, read her fuel state just as Bridges’s voice barked through the radio. “P.C., fuel state?”

“Damn!” He’d beaten her to the mark this time. She keyed up her microphone and reported, “On the curve with twenty-one-hundred pounds.”

Reaching, she pulled her harness tighter in anticipation of the roller-coaster ride ahead. God, she hoped the radar games didn’t log a shoot down before she lowered to two hundred feet. She wanted this flight. She needed the electrifying release of full out speed and air and edginess. Testing her mettle and winning.

She trained her eyes on the Viper pilot and squirmed in her seat like a kid ready for recess. “Come on,” she muttered. “Come on. Come on, damn it.”

The gloved hand of the fighter pilot came up.

Josie inhaled, held her breath. The pilot’s arm pumped twice, signaling the start of the surrogate missile mission.

She launched. Speed, adrenaline, all-out thrill punched through her. Starting her anti-G straining maneuver, she rolled inverted, pulling toward the ground. Blood rushed down toward her ass while the G-suit inflated to push the blood back up to her brain.

Roll out.

Roll out.

Training overrode the buzz of increasing dizziness. Two thousand feet. She leveled out above the terrain. The G-suit deflated. Gs diminished. Her breathing regulated back to a normal rhythm. Adrenaline gushed harder and faster than the blood shouting through her veins.

She milked the aircraft down to the two-hundred-foot en route altitude and played tag with the rocks, kissing each one with the ripples of air jettisoning from her engines. Hell, yeah. Bring it on.

She glanced north to check Bridges flying a similar path four miles away. No shoot-down yet. Let the fun continue. Josie scanned ahead, behind, searching for blue-force fighters coming to terminate her “cruise missile.”

All was well so far, exhilaration without any seriously hairy crap to scare a year off her life. With so many planes in the air engaging, evading, attacking, accidents were a constant hazard. Bottom line, they would be more effective in real-life scenarios, saving more lives—especially civilians—long-term.

Jogging north to avoid a town, she kept her eyes peeled. High and ahead she caught sight of contrails streaking the sky. Mountains peaked ahead, leading her into a winding path. She was so damned low she could read the road signs, a green one looming, lettered, The Extraterrestrial Highway.

She chuckled. No flying saucers yet.

The sun blotted. Her aircraft fell into a shadow. “What the hell?”

Her head snapped up. Through her clear canopy, she looked. Not a spaceship, but still a huge aircraft fell out of the sky toward her.

The damn thing was seconds away from landing on top of her plane.

“Sheee-it,” she spit as she racked the aircraft into a turn. Hard. Harder. As hard as she could take, tearing away. Putting her belly up to the other aircraft blinded her from seeing how close the intruder was to splattering her into nothingness.

Josie keyed up her radio and yelled, “Knock it off, knock it off, knock it off! Bull’s-eye one-ten at thirty.”

Red Flag control echoed her knock-it-off call over all frequencies as she rolled her aircraft level and took a long look back at the other aircraft. A dark B-1 Bomber scooted away in the opposite direction with a red-force F-16 climbing. The fighter must have jumped the bomber at high altitude, forcing the bomber into a speed-down to the deck to try and evade.

Which had landed him right in her flight path.

Her pulse hammered in her ear, everything inside her shaking harder than the rattling aircraft after the near miss with the Grim Reaper. She shut down her emotions, called on training to assume command of her hands and focused on getting herself back on terra firma.

“P.C.,” Bridges barked over the headset. “Status report. Over.”

“All’s cool.” Thank God. “My hydraulics are reading a little low though. I may have overstressed the plane.”

“Roger that. You need to reroute and land, ASAP.”

No kidding. But at least she would be landing on her wheels instead of her face. “Copy, Boss, calling in for an emergency landing.”

Radio calls and clearance passed in a daze as her brain went on autopilot, her body overrevved. Finally her wheels touched down at Nellis AFB, Bridges right on her tail, landing seconds behind her.

Once she’d parked her plane, unstrapped and removed her helmet, the full extent of what could have happened jolted through her. She’d been in tense situations in test and battle, but never anything that close.

She hauled herself up and out of the cockpit, deplaning down the ladder hung on the side.

Bridges waited at the foot of the steps, helmet tucked under his arm. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his head. “You okay, P.C.?”

“Fine. Just fine.” Forcing shaky breaths in and out, she stifled down the vulnerability. “Real kick-ass flying up there today. Fun stuff.”

“Well I’m glad you’re okay. Because I about pissed myself when I saw that bomber coming down on you.” Bridges’s exclamation offered generous and face-saving balm, reminding her of one of the reasons this guy was such a well-liked leader. “I thought you’d enjoy the break from test regimen, but I sure as shit didn’t mean for something like this to happen. You handled it well though. Did our unit proud.”

He touched her.

Just a clap on the back. Was it her imagination that it lingered a second too long? That his hand slid away rather than merely lifting off?

God, she hated suspecting her own boss. The guy was seeing someone else, after all. Literally.

She had nothing to go on but that feminine intuition at a time when her emotions were rattly at best. All the same, those shaky instincts said the guy had a radar lock on her. The same sense of attraction she got from Diego. Sheesh, where were the offers when she actually had time for a man in her life?

The old Josie whispered inside her that she never made time. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad to have landed in one piece.”

If she made time, she was now a hundred percent certain it would never be with Bridges. Even if he wasn’t her detachment commander, she wasn’t much for the type who made lunch dates in a car with one woman and dinner dates with another.

Helmet under his arm, Bridges strode alongside her toward the Suburban waiting to take them to Base Ops. “Hope you don’t mind a little advice from someone who’s been around the military block longer. Too much work gives you tunnel vision. It’s all about balance, recognizing when you’ve hit the point of diminishing returns and stepping back to air out your brain with some R and R. Speaking as your boss, and I hope a friend, as well, I’m telling you—you’re working too hard.”

Her spine went rigid. “Is that an official order to take time off? Has my work been anything less than top-notch?”

“Of course not. And we don’t want to let it happen. Just a little friendly advice for what it’s worth.” He nodded toward the Suburban. “But first, we’ve got one helluva debrief to get through.”

“Of course.” She followed, working to lower her hackles.

Yet was there merit to Bridges’s advice? Some redeeming value in pursuing something recreational outside of work?

She wasn’t interested in a relationship with Mike Bridges. But what about Diego Morel? He certainly intrigued her. She was actually even starting to trust him. More than she trusted Bridges, oddly enough.

Again she thought of her friend Rainy’s unexplained death, too young. Facing her own death made her dread that lonely condo all the more. And damn it, she did need to unwind before she snapped.

Like her mother had snapped.

Josie swallowed down a fear greater than any she’d faced in the air today. All right. She had a plan to keep her life better balanced. She would start by having a drink after hours with Diego once she returned. Shoot the breeze to discover more about his methodology. Job and fun combined to free up her thoughts. No great risk and it could pay off in a better working relationship.

It wasn’t like she was looking for a flaming affair. Right?

God, she had a flaming headache.

Massaging her fingers along her pounding temple, Josie entered the flight-control area, the panel doubling as a simulator for her today. While the area wasn’t in use, she would practice recovery from emergencies, then rehearse an upcoming mission.

Her turn in the saddle of the test model Predator the day before with the updated software had been flawless. A good thing, because she’d needed an airtight mission after that near miss at Red Flag.

Thoughts of Red Flag brought her right back to Diego, and her hopes of letting off steam with him. She’d been trying to shoot the breeze more, but now he was all work. Sheesh. Sure she remembered he’d said the next move would be hers, but she could use a little reassurance.

Her head throbbed. Where the hell was everyone?

Technically no one else needed to be around. Personnel still occupied the building even though the workday was nearing an end. There just wasn’t anyone in this room. Except her. And Diego.

Josie took her place in the overlarge seat while Diego ambled past and dropped into the vacant sensor operator’s chair. Faded jeans stretched tight over black boots and thick muscles. His onyx button-down shirt paid token homage to business wear, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms sprinkled with dark hair.

Damn but leather smelled good on him. “Are you sure you want to sit through this? I’m just running some EPs.”

Chicken.

“I got no place else to go, the chair’s comfy and the company’s…if not pleasant, at least interesting. I think I’ll stick around. Hell, I could use the overtime pay. The Harley needs a tune-up.”

Yeah, right. He took better care of that bike than most people did their houses. Of course, she’d spent an hour washing and detailing her Mustang the day after dropping him off at his place. Maybe they could shoot the breeze over a can of TurtleWax instead.

“Fine. Just keep yourself over there.”

“Yes, ma’am, Captain Buttercup.”

“Jerk,” she muttered, flattening a traitorous grin as she began to run through the setup routine to convert the control station that flew the Predator into a simulator for practicing procedures.

The controls and displays powered up and froze to a predetermined point in flight. Setting the simulation into motion, she worked her way through emergency after emergency—engine failure, engine fire, sensor overheat, fuel leak.

As each presented, warning lights flashed. Josie recited aloud the necessary recovery actions while her hands flew across the controls. She didn’t need to speak the lists, but every recitation imprinted the procedures deeper into her subconscious for that critical moment when she wouldn’t have time to think.

Emergency procedures continued to unroll, one after the other. Power surged through her. No hesitation. No mistakes. She was dead-on.

Out-freaking-standing! Take that, Diego “Cruiser” Morel, flight god with a killer bod.

She transitioned to her mission rehearsal and guided the simulated Predator onto the end of the runway, launching a dry run of a flight slated for next week. She clicked through take off actions, lifted the Predator into the air, climbed to nine thousand feet.

Diego angled closer. God he smelled good.

A bold callused hand thrust over her controls.

“Hey!” Frustration fired.

He fiddled with the simulator panel.

“Damn it, Morel!” Frustration upgraded to anger. “What the—”

The visuals on her screen rolled, inverted, started to spin. Anger increased as fast as airspeed on her control panel, but she didn’t have time to chew out Diego. Yet. Her hands and feet whipped into action, lowering the nose, applying opposite rudder to control the spin.

Order restored. The landscape leveled. And now she could level Diego Morel, too, for messing with her rehearsal.

She glued her eyes on the screen, hand on the stick. “I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, but keep your damn hands off my control panel. Next time, I’ll break a finger. Got it?”

His silence hung heavy.

“Don’t play games with me. And if you were trying to make me screw up, you failed. I recovered from your induced spin. Now back off and let me finish my flight plan.”

His eyes seared into her like hot black coals.

“I did recover.” So why wasn’t he smiling or congratulating her or even taunting her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull. What are you thinking?”

He leaned back, stretching out one booted foot. “Have you considered that there would be a person in the wide-open air straddling the Predator when you recovered from the spin?”

“Of course I have. I think about every pilot I put out there with every flight. I hope like hell the spin doesn’t happen, but if it does, he’s strapped on and wearing a parachute. He’s protected.”

Diego nodded, didn’t say anything.

And damn but she could still hear his unspoken censure. “What?”

“It’s your flight. Run the show however you want.”

“Damn it, Morel, say whatever it is you’re bottling up.”

“You executed a perfect spin recovery.”

“Thank you.” Warmth swelled over a silly little compliment.

He hitched a booted foot up on one threadbare knee. “It was picture-perfect for a conventional aircraft or even an operational Predator. But that pilot strapped to the craft sort of changes things. The book answer may not be what you need.”

Prissy Josephine couldn’t resist snapping back. “Well, the book answer’s there because it’s right.”

He went silent again.

She sighed. “Okay, what’s the other answer?”

“You need to feel the plane.”

She snorted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

He stared back without speaking, confidence, experience and patronizing patience stamped on his rugged face.

Fine. No need to get her G-suit in a twist, as he would say. She would be a fool not to tap into his knowledge base because of pride. She might not agree with that spooky bullshit “feel the plane” mind-set, but it would be awesome to see this man fly.

“Show me.”

He hesitated. Hunger simmered so hot in his eyes she almost jerked back to avoid being singed. Just as fast, he doused the look. He gave her a curt nod. She paused the program and swapped places with him in the sensor operator’s seat. Diego sank into the pilot’s position. His fingers wrapped around the stick.

He reset the aircraft to level flight and punched in the same malfunction code to cause the spin. She scrutinized the nose camera where the world began to tilt, flip, swirl.

His hand gravitated off the stick.

The air damn near hummed around him.

He applied one pump to the opposite rudder before both feet came up off the rudders. The spinning image in the nose camera slowed. The world steadied again.

Diego took back the stick and gently raised the nose to resume normal flight.

Josie struggled to comprehend what her brain told her shouldn’t have happened. “What the hell was that?”

“Didn’t you ever take up a single-engine prop plane when you were learning to fly?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“The Predator is a lot like the Cessna or a Beech Trainer. They aren’t made to be manhandled like military airplanes. In fragile aircraft such as those, less is better. Sure you can jerk around the Predator if you’re in a crunch. It’s tougher than the civilian craft. But why force it if you don’t have to? Plus, I’m fairly certain that if your butt was in that saddle, you wouldn’t want the nose pointed toward the earth.”

She shook her head. “But the regs say—”

“Screw the regs. Sometimes when your ass is up there, in order to know the spin-and-recovery characteristics, you just have to let it go and see what happens.”

She was smart. A fact. And a truly smart person knew when to recognize times others knew more. This was one of those times.

Diego Morel had a rare gift. A deep sadness permeated her. How could she not grieve over what the air force had lost? Even more heartbreaking, what this man had lost.

“Swap seats with me and we can run it again—” He dragged his gaze away from the screen to glance at her.

His eyes read her unguarded thoughts in a heartbeat. Then his gaze heated to metallic black. “Hell, Buttercup, I warned you about the consequences if you threw your damn pity my way again.”

His eyes went hard and hungry all at once as he leaned toward her.

Her wait for reassurance was definitely over.

Chapter 7

Stunned stock-still, Josie watched Diego cant closer. She’d looked for reassurance he still wanted to blow off steam together.

But this was more, faster than she’d expected.

Then he stopped short of actually kissing her, his nose so near hers she could feel his warm exhales of coffee-scented breath. Spots danced in front of her eyes much like the light-headedness from pulling Gs.

Oh. Yeah. She should be breathing.

She released pent-up air. “Diego?”

He continued to hold her with his eyes if not his arms. “Did you have fun out there with Bridges at Red Flag?”

His question blindsided her, a rare feat since nothing surprised her anymore, thanks to her careful planning.

Awareness burned over her, inflamed by abstinence. No. Wait. Somehow she knew that even if she’d experienced five incredible orgasms yesterday—ha, she should be so lucky—she would still be turned on by this man.

She swallowed but held her ground. “Lots of hairy flying goes on at Red Flag, but then I imagine you already know the sorts of tight midair situations that can happen there.”

He nodded slowly, still close enough for the intimacy of shared body heat that contradicted dry tech talk. “Yeah, I remember those days mighty well.”

“A training exercise like that is good though.” Her breasts tightened under her sports bra. “It helps me remember what all of this is about, you know?”

“Sure do, Buttercup.”

His eyes devoured her lips until she fought the urge to lick them. Lick him. Would he like the taste of orange tryst? “What does this have to do with our simulator flight?”

“So, you and Bridges had a fine ol’ time then.”

And in a flash, she understood the direction of his question. Even as it surprised her, angered her, too, she couldn’t deny the surge of desire, because he would only ask for one reason. “There’s nothing going on between Bridges and me.”

“I didn’t ask.”

A swell of feminine power smoked through her. “Yes, you did.”

Three lazy blinks later, he angled away, a low laugh rumbling an echoing bounce through the small chamber. “There you go again, cutting me no slack.”

She sagged back into the leather embrace of her seat. There would be no kiss after all. “You said you like that about me.”

“I do.”

Here it was. Her chance to blow off steam with Diego. “I need to pack up soon. I have that dinner with Craig’s family.”

“Of course. You go on ahead. I’ll finish things here.”

That was it? He was going to let her walk out?

Decision moment. Launch or not? She opened her mouth, half certain she would walk away from temptation in spite of his encouraging move. “How about you come with me to Craig’s?”

Apparently the old impulsive Josie was alive and dancing under her controlled exterior. The more cautious Josephine backpedaled to justify. “The whole test team will be there along with other folks from the base. You’ll have a chance to evaluate people in a relaxed setting. Craig’s got beer, and his wife always makes enough to feed an army anyhow.”

Boots crossed at the ankles, he lounged. “You don’t want me in here alone with your precious data.”

“Not particularly. But I was also thinking perhaps you didn’t want to be alone. And maybe a home-cooked meal might dilute the crankiness in your system.”

No flickered through his eyes as he battled her controlling their path. Then faded. “Sure. Sounds like a fine idea. I can get to know Wagner better and eat some real food for a change instead of my own cooking. A good deal all the way around.”

“Excellent. Give me a few minutes to run over to the gym and change, then I’ll be ready.” She leaned to scoop up her flight bag. When she rose, Diego stood, too.

“Hey, Buttercup?” He stared down at her with deep brown eyes full of promise. “I haven’t forgotten about that look of yours. You owe me once we’re through at Wagner’s.”

This was more than she’d bargained for, but she reminded herself of the recent midair near miss that all logic said never should have happened. She needed to balance her life before she fell off the edge like her mother.

Josie stared right back. “I’m counting on that.”

Anticipation fired through her much like before the pilot pumped his arm for a launch sequence in Red Flag for a kick-ass flight.

A flight that at any minute could turn deadly wrong.

“Damn, Wagner, your wife sure puts out a killer spread of food.” Diego hitched up to sit on the deck rail by the tapped pony keg of beer. Outdoor stereo speakers throbbed with Jimmy Buffett in Concert for the packed backyard in military housing. “Thanks for letting me crash the party.”

“No problem,” Wagner called from a few feet away. Wearing a ten-gallon hat, he pushed his toddler on the sprawling wooden swing set. “You’re part of our team for a while at least.”

“Seems so.” Diego nursed his lone mug of beer for the night, determined to keep a clear head. He had plans for Josie Lockworth and he had the distinct feeling he would need full control of his wits to take on that woman.

And damned if he wanted the sensation diluted in any way.

Floodlights flickered on with the setting sun, illuminating the small patch of fenced sandy grass. Josie stood in a cluster of aviators flying their hands through the air. A short jean skirt hung low on her hips, wide black belt resting just above her butt. He figured they’d crossed a line now that made it okay for him to check out her ass, then her long legs all the way down to flip-flops that somehow looked elegant on this woman.

Of course she transformed even combat boots into runway-model material.

Yeah, he sure enjoyed looking at her. She wore a couple of shirts, gray and white layered, both stretchy fabric that clung to her like a second and third skin, stopping shy of the top of her belt. He liked the hint of lace along her scooped neckline and rimming the hem, too. When he kissed her—soon, now that he’d finally gotten the okay from her—he would have easy access to the small of her back, then around front to the flat expanse of her stomach.

Her slim bare arms glided through the air in another fly-talk motion. He remembered well the days of shooting down his wristwatch with his other hand while spending every second on the ground reliving all the missions in the air.

These days, he only relived one mission.

Damn but he needed another beer. He shifted his attention away from the tap and over to Wagner at the swings. “Hey, I read your quick look on your last flight mission. That was some excellent work, my friend. Great after-action evaluation. Not everyone has as much detail in their quick looks.”

“Thank you, sir. I like to get out everything I remember as fast as I can, spill it all out of my head while it’s fresh before I go on to the next one. A tip I picked up from Josie. That woman has attention to detail down to a fine art. Nothing but the best is going to come from this test.”

Protectiveness pulsed from Wagner. For a moment Diego wondered if maybe…but he believed Josie. To her, Wagner was a friend. And a damned fine source of information about a certain Buttercup currently executing a flat spin with her left hand. “Aren’t you two TPS classmates?”

“Yep. That we were.” He shoved the airplane-shaped swing, his drowsy little girl drooping sideways in the contained cockpit seat.

“What’s her story? Anybody make a run at her?”

Diego knew he wasn’t a great prize, and he figured if a woman could put up with his faults he could put up with hers. But he absolutely would not share. Finding his wife with another man had damn near exploded his head, even though he’d known their relationship was on the skids after the accident. When he wasn’t her officer-and-a-gentleman flyboy anymore.

“A run at her?” Wagner’s brow creased.

“You know the…boy-girl thing. While you were in test-pilot school, did some guy with a Harley run over her Pomeranian or something? Because sometimes she sure acts like it might have been me.”

And other times not, like back in the simulator when she was more than open to a lip-lock with him.

Wagner’s brow smoothed, his eyes turning speculative. He gave the swing with the sleeping toddler a final push and joined Diego at the deck railing.

The younger man leaned toward the tap and refilled his mug, foam rising, the barley scent moistening the dry desert air. “Don’t feel special. She treats most men like that.”

“And the ones she doesn’t treat that way?”

“Are a lot less dusty. Usually shave more often than holidays and funerals. The type to roll around on the floor with kids rather than roll around on the hood of a car with a bar bimbo. No offense.”

“None taken.” Diego studied the lounging flyer through narrowed eyes. The pilot’s plaid shorts, polo shirt and deck shoes screamed straight-laced all-American. Wagner even had a spatula sticking out of his back pocket. “So you’re saying she goes for guys more like you.”

Wagner extended his arms with good-natured arrogance. “Can you blame her? Check me out. Am I a catch or what?”

Diego laughed along, then took a drag off his mug. “So? Did you and she ever hook up, before the wife?”

“Dude, I’ve been married since I was twenty.” His eyes skated over to the pregnant woman waddling toward Josie with a bag of chips. Wagner’s gaze held and warmed on his wife.

Or on Josie?

“So does that mean no?”

Wagner’s humor evaporated faster than water on parched ground. Apparently Captain All-American had a temper. “In my world, that definitely means no. I love my wife. We’ve got a kid to bring up and another on the way in three months.”

Diego raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies, Wagner. I’m an ill-mannered son of a bitch who just insulted the man supplying my beer.”

Wagner’s anger dissipated as quickly as it flared. “I’ll accept the apology, for me and for Josie, too. You’re just lucky you made that comment to me and not her. She’d have gutted you. Even if I weren’t totally gone on my wife, Josie’s sense of rights and wrongs are clear-cut.”

“Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

“She’s a damn good friend. She put in a positive word for me for this job so my wife could be near family with the second kid on the way. Josie remembers who her friends are.”

“And it doesn’t put a burr up your ass to be working for someone your own age?”

Wagner set his mug on the railing slowly as if working through a ten-count calming. “Hey, I know you’ve gotta ask these questions because it’s your job. But you’ve read her file. She earned what she got. And that file doesn’t tell you the most important part. She never stabbed anyone in the back to get there.”

“Are you trying to sell me on her?” The guy didn’t seem to realize how hooked he already was. Diego hefted his mug to his mouth again.

“I just think she gets a bad rap sometimes from people who are jealous of her connections.”

Diego paused mid-swallow. “Connections?”

“Her grandfather, the old CIA director.”

Pieces came together in his head. “Joseph Lockworth.”

How had he missed the name? Even though the guy had retired years ago, the link should have clicked. And did any of this have something to do with a smalltime program coming under congressional oversight? His dormant instincts itched.

Wagner drained his beer, swiping the foam from his upper lip. “Then there’s all that mess with her mother’s career and breakdown. Hell, Josie feels like she’s got a thing or two to prove. She works herself into the ground. She doesn’t take much time for play. None, actually.”

The younger man leaned to refill his mug, silence echoing until his words permeated. The guy was giving him advice about Josie easily when Diego had expected to pry it free.

Well, hell. The dude was giving his consent in a pseudo-brother kind of way. Diego thumbed the moisture on his mug. He would lock up his sisters rather than let any of them near an ass like him.

Yet already a plan had formed in his mind. He wasn’t the kind of guy a woman like Josie Lockworth brought home to Daddy, but he sure-shooting knew exactly what kind of play she would appreciate. “Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome.” Wagner straightened. His easygoing face made a quick shift into a hard mix of protective brother and warrior. “Just treat her right or you’re a dead man.”

What a to-die-for night.

Stepping onto Craig’s front porch, Josie inhaled perfect night air at the end of the longest evening she could ever remember. But overall, productive. Lifestyle Balancing Act 101, going good so far.

She scanned the cars lining the street, searching for a looming Harley while shrugging into her leather flight jacket. The party had been awesome—except for being hours too long while Diego’s eyes followed her wherever she walked.

Finally she could leave without seeming rude. Funny how she’d never minded staying to clean up in the past rather than return to her condo. Tonight, she couldn’t whip those dishes into the dishwasher fast enough. Only the sight of a poor pregnant woman’s swollen feet had kept her there, out of guilt.

Then Diego had offered up his thanks to the host and hostess, tossing Josie one last heated look before striding out the front door. She’d been no less than ten steps behind him.

So where was he?

A car cruised down the street, headlights sweeping the area to reveal…Diego leaning against the front quarter panel of her Mustang. Waiting.

For her.

She took her time descending the steps, enjoying the anticipation, the thrill, the challenge this man posed. She thumbed the unlock button on her key chain. “So you like my V-eight engine?”

“I just might at that.” Boots crossed at the ankles, he smoothed a hand along the hood like a tender lover. “The question is, did you buy it for the looks or the horsepower?”

“I’m not about the looks, Morel.”

“Damn lucky for me.” That wicked grin of his brought vivid reminders of his promise of a kiss to make her forget everything else. “Wanna compare engines?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Climb into your car and follow me.” Without waiting for an answer, he shoved away from her Mustang and headed for his Harley.

More surprises. Already she tingled in anticipation.

Revving the bike, he waited for her again until she turned the key and lowered the car top for an open-air ride. He peeled away from the curb, taillights glowing in the night, through base housing, out the front gate. She kept him in the crossed beams of her headlights, his broad back in leather offering a perfect pacing target.

For twenty minutes, maybe thirty, even forty, she lost track and just followed. The wind in her hair aired out stresses she hadn’t realized existed. Deeper and deeper into the desert they drove. Smooth paved roads gave way to pocked asphalt, then graded dirt ways.

He pulled off onto the dusty shoulder, pointing his bike toward a dried-up lake bed. She stopped alongside. “What’s the plan now?”

His gaze flicked to the wide-open lake bed, then back to her. His bike gave another growl. “Ready to see whose engine’s better?”

A challenge.

Oh, yeah.

Ultimately, in a long race, no car could match a motorcycle, but maybe in this short stretch, if she lunged out a second ahead of him…Either way, it would be fun to let the engine loose.

She smiled back, her hand sliding surreptitiously to the gearshift. Without blinking, their eyes held. Tension snapped while engines idled in wait for the signal to—

Go!

In lightning synchronicity, she released the clutch and nailed the gas. The Mustang sprang forward onto the hard-packed desert. Sand spewed from her tires in a puff behind her, barely visible in her rearview mirror.

She tore her eyes from the reflection. Diego wasn’t there anyway. She could feel him, hear him keeping up beside. His single beam and her double striped ahead, providing minimal warning of rocks and potholes.

Forty. Sixty. Ninety miles per hour.

God, this was dangerous as hell and so damned incredible. She hadn’t felt like this since horseback-riding lessons as a kid, tearing across the countryside with the wind in her hair, power unleashed to eat up the ground. Diego called to a side of her she’d been suppressing since her mother’s breakdown nearly twenty years ago.

She wanted to believe what he’d said about learning to trust her instincts as well as facts. She needed to think this sudden impulsive yearning to open up and feel would somehow lead her to answers about all those questions about the past. That she wasn’t just being selfish. Reckless. Plain stupid.

Her hands tightened around the wheel. Her heart raced faster than her car. Adrenaline sheeted through her veins like the wind tearing at her hair from the open-air ride.

Topless.

She grinned just remembering his audacity. Then her body tightened in response. The screaming gusts whipped inside her jacket in brazen caresses that left her hungering for the touch of a man, of this man riding alongside her. Equal, without giving ground. A man who, even if she inched ahead, wouldn’t diminish but would instead applaud her.

And challenge her all over again.

The stretch of flat land grew shorter, the gentle roll of dunes and rock drawing closer. Closer still, marking an end too soon. She sped past the border of the dried-up lake bed. Nailed her brakes. Spun out in a cloud of sand and dust and stimulation.

The dust settled around her. An image of Diego straddling his Harley emerged from the night-lit cloud.

Who had won?

She wasn’t sure.

For the first time she could ever remember, she didn’t care.

The time had arrived to stop or go forward with Diego Morel. The part of her that never backed down from a challenge insisted she face him. The wise bookworm told her that if she left the car, he would kiss her. Maybe more.

And she would like it.

Temperatures dropped in the night, but not nearly enough to cool her overheated flesh. She almost hoped he would leave her no choice, that he would swing his Harley in front of her car in some bold move. She would have to stay. She could laugh and even snap at him a little.

Instead, he swept off his helmet but stayed on the motorcycle. In spite of his “promise” of a kiss to wipe away whatever sympathetic look she’d slipped up to toss his way, he would still leave the final choice to her.

Desert winds were never gentle, especially not now as the unrelenting currents streaked Diego’s dark hair behind him. Leather and muscle. Her warrior spirit recognized his. Elemental. Raw.

Arousing.

A wise woman would throw her car into reverse and haul back across that dried-up lake bed faster than the first race. There were so many reasons she shouldn’t get involved with any man—this man—right now, if ever. But the old Josie stirred within her, daring, double daring and most persuasively reminding Josephine of an empty condo with nothing but pictures and Beanie Babies for company.

She reached for her gearshift. Her fingers curled around the stick and held. Diego’s eyes flickered with disappointment, a maelstrom of emotion from this stark man.

Decision made, Josie turned off the car.

Chapter 8

Josie threw open the door of her car, enjoying the slow smile that slid over Diego’s face. There was no mistaking his sexual intent.

Standing, she steadied her legs and determination. With the thrill of their night ride still buzzing through her like the wine she never drank, she craved more.

More than just a drink and shooting the breeze.

She leaned against her door while he walked toward her. The wind roared almost as loud as the pounding of her heart in her ears. She was a woman of calculated, safe risks in the air and on the ground. There was nothing safe about the man stalking toward her.

He stopped in front of her, inches away. A touch away.

Her hands fisted against the car behind her. “Thank you for an incredible ride.”

“You’re welcome.” He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, drawing the black button-down taut across his chest as he stroked her with his eyes if not his hands. His mouth. “I hope you’ll find the one to come as incredible.”

She shivered, her breasts tingling, tightening from far more than the chill of a November desert night. “Mighty confident there, aren’t you, Cruiser?”

He stared down at her for one long blink, neither advancing nor backing away. “Do I have reason not to be?”

She let her hands slip from behind her back, fall to rest on his shirt and toy with the top button. “I’d say things are looking good for you at the moment, but you could always work to tip the odds in your favor.”

“Worried I’ll say something asinine and ruin the mood?” He planted both hands beside her on the car in a touchless embrace.

“It’s always a possibility.”

“Guess that will just keep us both on edge.” He angled closer until their torsos met, hip to hip.

“Edgy’s good.” Unable to stop a subtle rock of her hips against his, she gazed into the molten heat of eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Good?”

“Better than good.” Her words trailed off in a whisper.

“Damn straight.” He skimmed his mouth over hers, gentle brushes at odds with the rasp of his late-day beard.

Once. Twice. Again, until finally she slid her hands up and around the back of his neck, into hair surprisingly soft. “You’re far more patient than I am.”

Josie arched up on her toes as she urged his head down. His open mouth met hers, hot and hungry. He explored her mouth, along her teeth, inviting her into him.

Yes.

“Touch me,” she demanded.

His hands answered her. He cradled her head in one broad palm while his fingers stroked back the shoulder of her jacket before skimming along her side to her hip.

He growled into her mouth and guided her closer against…oh, my…he really did want her. Now. At least as much as she wanted him.

She was nearing thirty, damn it, and at the moment, she couldn’t imagine living another day celibate. She wasn’t a virgin, but her experiences had been few and far between—only two actually, one in college, one after she’d finished the intense pilot training.

Each time had been carefully thought out after knowing both men for months. The relationships had been satisfying. But nothing that made her want to throw away caution for the risk of more.

Diego Morel was a huge risk in so many ways, one she had to have. She could handle it. He’d proved over the past couple of weeks that he could do his job well. And she trusted her own paperwork trail to protect her.

Oh, God, was she really analyzing data in the middle of the hottest kiss ever? She seriously needed to get a life. “Your place or mine? It’s about as far a drive in either direction. Maybe we could race again?”

“What about here?”

“Here? Now?” The now part was definitely appealing.

“Why not here?”

Her inexperience was showing at a time when she wanted to dazzle this beyond-dazzling man. “It’s not that I need a closed bedroom door.”

His head dropped back. He dragged in air. “Damn. I’m sorry. Not thinking. You deserve better than rolling around on the hood of a car.”

“That image sounds pretty good to me. But—”

“No need to justify.” He tipped his head forward to stare into her eyes again, his smile almost managing to lighten the tense cut of his jaw. “We’ll find a bed with sheets to mess up.”

“Honestly, it’s just…”

“What?” He smoothed back a strand of her wind-snarled hair, tangled from his hands, as well.

“That whole camera swoop of Bridges’s SUV kinda gives me the creeps.”

He tensed, scanned the air. “Anyone flying tonight?”

“Not that I know of.”

“A moot point since we have a date with sheets.” He tugged her jacket back onto her shoulders. “Yours are probably prettier than mine. We’ll enjoy the hell out of another race back. More anticipation.”

She was already primed to explode as it was. So why wasn’t she climbing into her car?

“Josie?”

A coyote howled in the silence before she finally forced the truth out between gritted teeth. “I’m just pissed at myself.”

“Well, I guess that’s a change from your being pissed at me.”

She tried to smile. Failed.

“Okay, what’s got your G-suit in a twist?” He gentled his demand by caressing his thumbs along her jawline. “Spill it, because I’m not interested in anything but your full attention right now.”

She hesitated, out of habit and yes, the very real fear that this man would think she was a paranoid nutcase.

“Josie?” he insisted, and for some reason she wanted to trust him.

She had no idea why, only that impulsive Josie was clearly in control over her more practical Josephine ways at the moment. “I really do like the idea of being wild and uninhibited out here together. And I hate that it won’t happen because I can’t shake the creepy feeling that someone’s watching me. Okay?”

He stilled against her. Already-honed muscles hardened to a sheet of steel in his wolflike wariness. “Right now? You feel like someone’s watching us now?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m spending so much time peeping with reconnaissance cameras, I’ve started assuming everyone can see. Totally paranoid, I know. And if you tell anyone I said it, I’ll vow you’re lying.”

“Your instincts say someone’s watching us now?” he repeated as if to insure her exact perception.

She hesitated, searching his eyes until she was certain he wasn’t looking at her like she was a nutcase. “Yes. Even though we’re in the middle of nowhere without a tree or hill in sight for anyone to hide behind, I feel like somebody’s watching us.”

He didn’t argue, merely nodded, all passion gone from his face and replaced by pure lethal drive. “Get in the car. Go straight to your place, since at least it’s in a populated area. Mine’s too remote. I’ll be behind you the whole way.”

“Diego?” She’d wanted him to believe her, but his quick insistence rattled her. She almost didn’t recognize this man barking orders at her, a strange contradiction of military authority packaged in a rough biker body. “I just wanted us to slow down and head home. I don’t honestly think there’s someone right here threateningly close—”

“We’ll talk when we get to your place. Time to go. Now,” he ordered.

She grappled behind her for the door handle. Diego Morel might not be wearing his uniform these days, didn’t even carry the commission any longer, but there was no denying that this man was still a warrior.

And he sensed danger, as well.

Ever aware of the danger of discovery, Birddog adjusted camera angles on the Predator’s remote control screens. Working both the pilot and sensor operator jobs was challenging, but doable with some autopilot settings. A hazardous risk? Maybe. But the payoff would be rich.

And the thrill made it all worthwhile. Besides, he wouldn’t be caught. Hadn’t he proved his invincibility over the years?

Officially, there weren’t any flights tonight. But Josephine Lockworth didn’t know everything that went on around here. He had a few connections of his own to log unofficial flight time on a regular, unmodified Predator that didn’t require a test rider on the craft.

He’d simply disguised the request as an interest in keeping skills honed on projects in his testing world. In reality? He wanted to test a little idea he had in mind for an upcoming mission.

He’d hoped the near miss at Red Flag would shake her focus, since siccing Shannon Conner on her hadn’t. But no luck. He’d been certain the adjusted coordinates at Red Flag would go undetected in the fog of practice war fighting, and he’d been correct. He’d been equally certain she would survive. Again, correct. But he had also expected her to doubt her instincts, and therefore falter on her next Predator ride.

Wrong. She’d come back stronger than ever, grabbing hold of her life.

Or rather, grabbing hold of Diego Morel.

Birddog watched the two trails of dust puffing behind the Mustang and Harley as they tore back across the dried-up lake bed.

He could get a better look if he didn’t have to man both crew positions. But something was better than nothing. She was looking over her shoulder far too often these days, double-checking her work. Listening to Morel.

Now their out-of-control necking session left him with no doubts. They’d teamed up. He could see that well enough. Morel was supposed to have been so riddled with resentment over Josie Lockworth living his dream that he would screw up and offer an easy conduit for disinformation. Instead, this woman somehow seemed to be bringing the old Diego Morel back to life.

If women had any clue how much influence they had over a man, how much power they wielded, the male species could well be doomed. Hell, wasn’t his life even now being shaped by one rejection?

Birddog swiped dust from the screen, then from beside the keyboard. Didn’t anyone clean this place? The damn dust and dirt were everywhere.

He forced his hands to still. It would never be clean enough anyway, since she never seemed to notice and appreciate his attention to detail.

The bitter gall of being tossed over for another man, an unworthy man, roiled bile up his throat. He swallowed down the burn. Who knew what the hell drove women to pick such obvious losers—men never destined for greatness because they were weak when it came to women.

He wasn’t weak. He’d lost the opportunity once, but wouldn’t fail again.

No more time for wondering. Time to act.

Inaction was about to kill her.

Josie steered her car into her parking lot. Thank God, their hour-long ride back was finally finished. The whole way, Diego had kept his bike centered neatly behind her Mustang, but there had never been a sign of anyone following them. Her sense of being watched faded with every mile.

Other gut feelings, however, were still at full roar…and were damn glad they were approaching her condominium complex, where they could find a bed. A wall, floor, sofa, hell, even a table, would work, too, as long as they were minus some clothes.

She scanned her parking lot, which was filled with cars but quiet. Logical for this late at night. Lines of two-story stucco town houses stretched, lights glowing from only a few windows. The last of her jangling instincts quieted. For now at least.

Josie flung open her car door. Diego had her by the arm, hauling her toward her condo, barely leaving her time to grab her bag from the seat. Hand on her back, he shuttled her deeper into the condo complex along the curvy sidewalk.

“Diego?” Her flip-flops slapped the walkway. “I really think we’re okay now. We’re safely home and I’m already starting to laugh at myself a little for getting wigged out—”

“I’m almost certain someone was also watching you a couple of weeks ago.”

Her feet slowed. “Then it hasn’t been my imagination all this time.”

Shooting her an exasperated look, he tugged her along. “You’ve wondered about someone watching you before tonight in the desert? Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?”

“It’s not like I’m getting creepy calls or letters. It’s just a feeling that I thought had more to do with my project being under such scrutiny.” She paused. “Hey, wait. You said you knew someone was watching me?”

“Back at the Wing and a Prayer, the first day we met.”

“But I thought you were the one watching me there. You thumped on my roof right after I got that being-watched intuition.”

“Great. You thought I was a stalker perv.”

“Apparently I got over that impression fast, since I’m here with you now.” Likely to be much closer.

“I came to your car because I thought someone was watching. Even though I never saw anyone, I was mighty certain. At the time, I figured it was some drunk looking to take advantage. But now with you having the same sense—more than once—that’s too much to put down to coincidence.”

“You didn’t need a ride that night.”

He shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me then so I wouldn’t have to worry that I’m losing my freaking mind?”

“I thought it was just someone looking to hit on you. I didn’t have reason to believe otherwise.”

She scrunched her toes in her flip-flops and started walking again. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yeah, I hear ya, Buttercup. But sometimes it doesn’t hurt to have a little help on your side to tip the scales. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Stopping in at the corner unit in front of a silver gray door with stained-glass stars inset, she reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. “Sorry for being an ingrate when you were just worried about me.”

“There you go again, being all fair and genuine.” Backing her under the safety of the porch overhang, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know people like you still existed. I figured they would have all been gobbled up by the Big Bad Wolf a long time ago.”

“Is that a proposition to gobble me, Mr. Wolf?” She gripped his shirtfront, yanking him closer.

“I believe it could be. How will you protect yourself?”

“I do have some serious martial arts training.”

Angling her hips closer to his, he grinned. “Wanna mosey inside and wrestle?”

She smiled back. “I’m a black belt.”

“And I’m a street fighter. Should be fun.”

“It could get messy.” She tugged the leather band from his hair.

“I fight dirty, as big bad wolves are known to do.” He flattened her against the door.

She plowed her fingers through his hair. No teasing brushes of mouths and tongues this time. She went after what she wanted. Took it. Demanded more.

Her fingers tangled in his hair while her other hand scaled along his back, lower to guide him against the cradle of her hips.

He mumbled against her mouth, “Give me your keys.”

“My keys?” She held up both empty hands. “Oh, uh, I thought I had them. I must have dropped them when I—”

Damned if her face didn’t heat.

“When you put your hands in my hair? Or on my ass?”

Josie swatted him. “The keys are probably on the sidewalk or in the bushes somewhere.”

She leaned just as he scooped the key ring from between his boots. He began to straighten. She didn’t.

“Hey, Buttercup? You okay there?”

She was still staring at the dim glow streaking through the stained-glass inset on her door, casting shadows on the walkway. Her brain tried to push reason through the passionate fog. “I didn’t leave the light on inside.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I always turn off the lights.”

Someone had broken into her apartment. Might still be inside. Even as her fingers dialed 9-1-1, she wouldn’t wait idly by, allowing the intruder the opportunity to sneak back out. And she knew without question there was no way in hell Diego would stand by while she tackled this alone.

Black belt and street fighter, they were going inside together.

Chapter 9

Diego could actually see Josie’s muscles bunch in preparation for whatever threat waited inside her condo. Undoubtedly, she could put up one helluva fight. But with his instincts still on high alert and testosterone in overload…

Well, hell. He just couldn’t bring himself to let her take the lead. Now he had to figure a way to maneuver her into staying outside the condo and out of the intruder’s path. She could chew him out later.

And he didn’t doubt that she would.

“Is there a back entrance?” he asked low.

She nodded. “With a fence around the patio about five feet high. And a balcony on the second floor off of my bedroom.”

“No need for either of us to go in. Just kick the door wide. Loud. Most likely whoever it is will make a dash out and we can tackle him.”

“Works for me.”

“You watch the front. I’ll take the back entrance.”

“Since he’s most likely to leave out the back?”

So much for maneuvering her any-damn-where. “Hey, I’m a guy. I don’t care how capable you are. The protector syndrome comes with the testosterone for us men. You’re lucky if I don’t lock you in your car until this is done.”

Josie rolled her eyes. “And you’re lucky I don’t have time to argue. Take the back exit, Thor.”

He knew how to accept a win gracefully.

Without a retort, Diego tucked around the side of the corner unit and stopped behind one of the trees planted for decoration and watered endlessly to survive in an environment not meant to support shallow-root life-forms.

Of course, wasn’t he as out of place with Josie?

Mind on the moment, Thor, he mentally thumped himself.

From this vantage point, he could keep his eyes on Josie at the front and the patio out the back. She slid the key into the lock, turned. Click. Click. He tensed.

She flung the door wide with a crash. Then flattened herself to the stucco wall beside the portal.

Waited. And waited. For nothing. Not a sound drifted from the condo. Maybe the intruder had already left. He debated how much longer to wait.

A shuffle sounded from inside. “Josie?” a female voice called. “Is that you?”

Josie’s shoulders sagged as she all but deflated against tan stucco.

What the hell? Diego eased from behind the tree.

Spinning into the open doorway, Josie propped her hands on her waist, one hip jutting too damned enticingly. “Holy crap, Diehard. You’re lucky we didn’t kill you.”

“You could have tried.” A woman, mid-twenties maybe, scuffed toward the door in holey sleep socks with a bowl of macaroni and cheese cradled in her hand.

Diego assessed her as a possible threat in spite of Josie’s—warm?—welcome. Medium height. It was tough to gauge her build or muscle tone buried under layers of baggy black sweats at least a size too big. Cheese sauce drips stained her left shoulder and the insignia on her top—a lightning bolt slashing through a red-and-gold crest.

Her short blond waves were swept back from her face with a wide green sweatband. Most women he knew would have run screaming in the other direction if faced with a man while wearing slouch clothes. Yet her oblivion gave her an appeal most women wouldn’t understand.

There was potential under those sweats. Waaay under those sweats. Not that he was interested in looking, beyond making sure she wasn’t out to hurt Josie. He had his hands more than full with a certain mouthy test pilot.

Diego ambled up to the two women exchanging hugs with a hint of awkwardness, as if out of practice. Watching them both so close, the family connection clicked as he spied their common ground. “Moxie.”

“Huh?” Josie and Diehard answered in sync.

“You two don’t look a thing alike, other than your eyes and similar height, but I could tell you’re sisters by the attitude alone.”

“No kidding?” Diehard shuffled back inside, Diego and Josie following. “I take after Dad, she takes after—”

“Our crazy mother.” Josie slammed and locked the door.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tension washed from Josie’s spine. “I know. Sorry for snapping. Just one of those hot buttons, I guess.”

Diego filed away the cryptic statement along with all the rest of the surprise personal info about Josie to process later. When his body wasn’t testosterone fogged to Thor level.

He thrust out his hand. “Diego Morel.”

The woman’s eyes widened in recognition before she took his hand and shook. “Diana Lockworth, and it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Sir. Diego winced. “Thanks. But if you start telling me about how you studied my work ‘back in the day’ I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“Like I said before.” Diana hitched her hands on her hips in more of that sisterhood-inherited moxie. “You could try.”

Josie stepped alongside Diego, close, oddly so in a way she’d never done before. Damned if she wasn’t claiming her man.

Testosterone levels rose. Thor-overload alert.

Diana simply laughed, turning to mosey into the great room. “Sheathe the claws, Josie, I’m not into poaching.”

Diego winked down at Josie. “Does that make me a piece of meat or a carcass?”

Josie scowled.

Diana jerked a thumb in his direction. “I like him.”

Hooking her hand through the crook of his arm, Josie stared up at him, scowl long gone and replaced by pure sensual hunger. “Me, too.”

Need hammered through him like…well, like Thor’s hammer. And there wasn’t a chance in hell of relief tonight, thanks to Josie’s surprise company. He needed an about-face away from temptation. And all told, the night had still been damned incredible. “I’m going to head out so you two can visit.”

Diana gestured with her mac-and-cheese spoon. “Give me twenty bucks and I’ll do the good little sister disappearing act with a movie and some jujubes.”

“No,” Diego insisted, “really, it’s okay. I need to feed my dogs.”

Josie followed him toward the door, calling back to her sister. “Hold on a minute and I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time. I’ve got a pot of mac and cheese calling my name for seconds.” Diana disappeared into the kitchen with a shoosh-shoosh of her slipper socks along the tile floor.

Josie stepped into his arms. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for us tonight.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yes.”

“Then they worked out just fine.” He met her kiss halfway. Ah, hell. He groaned against her lips. “How long is she in town?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered with a hint of regret. “I wasn’t expecting her at all.”

“I’ll be at the Wing and a Prayer tomorrow night if you want to bring your sister along.”

“Such a romantic date, my sister and a bar.”

At least he didn’t have to wonder about her picking up men in bars like his ex-wife used to do the minute his plane took off. “I’m meeting with a subcontractor who’s pioneering new technology in pro peller propulsion. None of which has been made public yet.”

A purr vibrated up her throat. “Better than roses for this girl any day of the week.”

“That’s what I figured.” His arms convulsed around her. His lingering physical regret over having to leave was at least somewhat appeased by relief that her intruder had only been her sister. “Be careful. Keep your eyes open and don’t doubt your instincts for a second.”

He issued the warning. There was nothing more he could do tonight. Yet his instincts were cranking again with impending doom, the sense that a death spiral was imminent and all the skill in the world wouldn’t pull him out alive.

Wouldn’t save her.

Damn, but he needed some perspective back. He grazed a final kiss over her lips, the last taste of Josie and orange he dared allow himself if he wanted to make it out her door without flattening her against the wall.

Closing the door after Diego, Josie sagged back flat against the hall wall. Silver picture frames rattled.

By the time Josie cancelled the 9-1-1 call, Diana emerged from the kitchen with two bowls of pasta and a smug smile. “Looks like maybe you don’t need this after all.”

“Think again.” Josie arched away from the wall, her voice not much steadier than her knees, and snagged the second bowl from her sister.

How strange to have Diana here, since they rarely talked, much less visited. With her super-spy intel officer skills, Diana certainly hadn’t needed to use the key Josie had given her—a token gesture at reaching out.

Navigating Diana’s prickly nature was tricky enough long-distance. She would have to tread warily if she wanted to get through this visit without a hufffest. And more than she would have thought, Josie wanted to reclaim some neutral ground between them. They’d lost so much time together because of dodging land mines in discussing their mother’s breakdown.

Diana plopped cross-legged onto the leather couch. Her oversize sweatsuit draped around her like a bunched black blanket. “Guess my timing really sucked then.”

“It’s okay,” Josie rushed to add before Diana hopped out the front door. Josie dropped onto the white sofa beside her sister and flung off her flip-flops. “I’m probably not ready for him anyway.”

“That intense, is he?”

“More so.” She swung her legs to the side and tucked a pillow to her stomach. Josie thumped the stack of computer printouts on her coffee table absently. Thank God, she’d made copies in case someone genuinely had broken into her apartment.

The pieces of information were starting to shuffle in her head more and more each day. Back in her mother’s testing days, computer data had still had a mystique. Far more had to be accepted on faith when it came to software.

The best she could do was cross-check the software versions notated with updated, current knowledge perceptions. All was accurate, each version the same. Yet for some reason the hard drive on her mother’s program had been replaced frequently. Sure, parts were swapped out, but why so often? Probably nothing. Or could be everything.

“Are you seeing him again?”

Diana’s question pulled her back to the present—to thoughts of Diego. Damn it, she should have been thinking about work tonight, not sex. How was a person supposed to balance both sides of life?

Hell if she knew. “Tomorrow night, at the Wing and a Prayer.”

“A bar? You?” Diana’s brows shot toward the headband holding back her mop of wavy blond hair. “But I thought you never drank. The whole Josie-never-loses-control-like-Mom mentality.”

Josie bit her tongue. Hard. How like her sister to toss the big pink elephant out there in the middle of the floor and then get pissed if someone pointed it out.

“It’s a business meeting.” Subject-change time. She swatted her sister with a throw pillow. “It’s great to see you, but what brings you out this way?”

“I had the day off with nothing better to do and frequent-flyer miles to burn.” Diana flicked at the cheese sauce crusted on the front of her faded sweatsuit, then shrugged like the attitude-queen teen she’d once been not so long ago. “I guess Rainy’s death has made us all think a little more about what’s important. So, after I heard your voice on the phone, I decided maybe we could visit in person.”

Josie winced over how close she’d come to e-mailing instead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“No big thing,” Diana garbled through a spoonful of mac and cheese.

Rainy’s death had been officially labeled an accident—falling asleep at the wheel. But too many facts didn’t add up, and the Cassandras had all been digging for answers, Kayla in particular. As if Kayla didn’t already have a full plate as a single mother with a full-time job on the police force.

Josie’s eyes tracked to the bookshelf full of Beanie Babies, the collection started by her mother. With Rainy’s death still weighing heavily, Josie couldn’t help but think about time being precious. Precarious. And sometimes tragically limited.

Her hand fell to rest on the stack of printouts. “Speaking of Rainy, did you ever find out anything more about that assassin—Cipher—who died last month?”

“There’s nothing much in the official channels to add to Kayla’s investigation. Doesn’t help either that dead men don’t talk, and Samantha sure put the Cipher six feet under.”

A damned shame, information-wise, but their Athena comrade hadn’t been left with a choice when it came to saving her own sister. Josie could see herself making exactly the same choice.

“So there’s not even a lead to pass on?”

“No leads? I didn’t say that.” Diana’s hazel eyes glinted with mischief. “Just that info from official channels is sparse. But I have my sources and I can hack almost anything out of a computer.”

“And what do your sources say?”

“This guy was somehow affiliated with an obscure government lab numbered thirty-three. Something to do with an experiment, not a person. That’s all I could find before I hit a massive firewall. This must be hot info for someone like me to have trouble cracking it. I’ll forward you what I have once I get home.”

Josie eased back, unwilling to damage the tenuous connection they were reestablishing. “I’ll call Kayla this weekend so she can add the puzzle piece. However the hell it fits.”

Josie sagged into the giving softness of the sofa and spooned macaroni into her mouth. Her endorphins shouted a huge thank-you for the much-needed boost. Thinking about Rainy’s senseless death made her weary to her toes.

Diana stabbed her pasta into mush. “While I’m relaying the fruits of my cyber labor here, would you like a verbal summary of my other report before I leave in the morning? Or would you rather have an official printout once I get back?”

“Your other report?”

“On your guy Diego.”

Her sister had gone above and beyond for her. She wanted to cry—which would probably send Diana into heart failure.

Now, how would she tell her sister she didn’t want the report after all, since wouldn’t he just be pissed at the invasion? Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have cared. Two weeks ago he hadn’t put his tongue in her mouth. “Uh, I’m not sure I need it anymore.”

Diana’s spoon paused mid-lift. “You made me work my computer geekdom magic into overtime for nothing?”

“I’m sorry.” And God, she really was, for so many things when it came to her sister. “But I wasn’t involved with him when I asked you to look. Now it seems…”

“Dishonest? Like something that might piss him off too much to go horizontal with you?”

Totally. And more. “I want to hear about it from him.”

“Ooh!” Diana waved the spoon at Josie. “You’ve got it bad, sister.”

“No. It’s not like that.” And if it was, she didn’t want it to be. “We’re attracted to each other. No doubt. But long-term? We’d combust.” Too true.

“Then why not let me pass over the scoop on him?”

“Because he likes that I’m honest with him.”

“Do you think he’s playing you?” This prickly, blunt—smart—sister of hers never pulled punches.

“Why would he?”

“You tell me?”

She didn’t even want to go there in her mind, where whispers of the abandoned kid still echoed, no matter how hard she tried to pretend she didn’t care what the hell her father did. “Quit with the intelligence-officer interrogation crap, little sister.”

“Excuuuse me for helping.” Diana slouched back on the sofa in a mass of wrinkled fabric and surly sulk.

Contrition chomped hard. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch. It’s not your fault this guy messes with my focus. Is there anything you found out that I need to know? Is he involved in anything illegal?”

“No.” Diana’s slouch eased to mere flounce level. “He’s pushed it a few times with speeding tickets—excessive speed. There was also one near miss at a ‘drunk and disorderly’ in a bar right after his accident, but that’s about it.”

“Is there any reason for me to worry about him being sent in by the oversight committee? Any reason to suspect he’s on the take? Or has some hidden agenda?”

“Not that I could I find.”

If her computer-whiz sister couldn’t find it, it didn’t exist. Her ability to squeeze information from the cyber waves even made the military uncomfortable at times. Right now, it brought Josie nothing but relief. Diego might have shaken her focus, but he wasn’t a threat to her project. She hadn’t screwed up.

So far.

Josie stirred her pasta. “Does he have bizarre habits like communing with outer-space creatures or collecting toenail clippings?”

Her mouth twitched. “Absolutely not.”

“Well then, as long as he doesn’t have a wife tucked away at home, there’s nothing else I need to know.”

Silence echoed. Diana shoved an overlarge bite in her mouth and made a major production of chewing.

Josie’s spoon never made it to her mouth. “Ohmigod. Please say he isn’t married.”

“He isn’t married,” she answered with too much precision.

“Really?” Her spoon clanked against gray stoneware. “Or are you just saying that because I told you to?”

Diana’s gaze met and held without faltering. “I promise the guy is completely single and currently unattached to anyone else.”

Josie stared back, searched, found honesty. Her arms turned limp with relief, her bowl dropping to rest on the pillow in her lap. “And I know for sure he’s straight.” She could still all but feel the imprint of his rock-solid arousal. “Very straight. So I guess I’m set then. I’m sorry to have put you to work for nothing.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

“Thank you…for looking and for coming here.”

“I appreciated the call.” Eyes so like her own skated to the carpet. “It’s strange how our parents worked through everything and we still get pissed over it.”

“I was thinking the same thing recently.”

Diana studied the carpet as if it held some kind of mystery in its silvery expanse. “So we’ll agree not to talk about who’s right and who’s wrong?”

“Probably a smart idea.” Josie spooned macaroni up to her mouth, suddenly in need of the oblivion of starchy comfort more than ever. Cheese saturated her taste buds. “Hey, this isn’t too bad, Diehard.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice lately, thanks to my sporadic love life. Thus my free weekend to visit my sister.” She rested her empty bowl on the coffee table. “So why did the two of you freak out so much over my being here?”

Josie opened her mouth to catch her sister up-to-date on the bizarre sense of being watched. She could use her sister’s military intelligence insights.

Except she was about to leap out of her skin with nervous energy and frustrated cravings that had nothing to do with starch. “First, let me throw on some sweats. We can hit the gym and talk it over there. It’s open twenty-four hours a day and I really need to work off energy.”

Diana’s smile turned dry. “Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be pounded by my big sister?”

“Don’t try those mind-game tricks you intel officers study.” Josie swung her feet to the carpet and stood. “You hold your own just fine.”

“Hey, I’m using whatever weapons I’ve got in my arsenal to lower your defenses.”

“Fine.” She tossed over her shoulder on her way to the staircase. “But it won’t work any more than that boo-boo lip garbage you used to toss my way when you didn’t want to clean our room.”

“But that did work.

“Argh. You’re right.” Starting up the steps, she held up her hand. “Forget the boo-boo lip, though, because I’m not looking.”

Eyes watched her.

Josie’s instincts didn’t scream tonight as they had the evening before in the desert with Diego. Rather they whispered, stroking her reason with a sinister insistence.

Outside the Wing and a Prayer, she tugged on the hem of her brown leather flight jacket. Even worn with jeans, the coat still gave her an extra sense of armor and invincibility.

Parking-lot lights hummed. Damn it, why couldn’t Diana have stayed on another day rather than leaving on the first flight out in the morning? Then she wouldn’t be out here alone.

And their sister time had been some of the most fun they’d shared since…God, she couldn’t even remember when.

She wouldn’t have minded the reassurance of a second person walking alongside, affirming the spidery sensation. Or even to laugh at her silliness.

Only a few more steps and she would be inside the bar. Diego knew to expect her. And she could handle a mugger.

She hoped for just a mugger.

Her tennis shoes smacked gravel. If the recurring creeped-out feeling could be trusted, stalker was more probable. She’d heard and heeded Diego’s warning by tucking a 9mm in the jean bag slung over her shoulder, had even parked under a light. She wasn’t stupid or reckless. But she felt more like a paranoid nut than ever, packing a weapon against an imagined threat.

She reached for the knob just as the door swung open. Music, laughter and the clank of glasses blasted outside, red light flowing over her.

“Josie!” Mike Bridges blocked the entrance with his body and smile. Red light and noise faded as the door shooshed shut on its receding arm. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Diego’s meeting with a subcontractor who’s apparently right on the edge of a breakthrough with propeller technology.”

“Come to think of it, I did see him inside.”

“I should go on in. Diego’s waiting for me to join them.”

“Mixing work with play? Excellent.” He gripped her elbow to guide her away from a large group streaming outside. “You’re almost relaxing—and still keeping your project ahead of schedule.”

“Thank you, sir.” She inched her elbow free, although at least with Bridges around she wouldn’t have to worry about creepy eyes. “I heard what you said at Red Flag and am taking it to heart.”

“I’m glad. Your work’s top-notch. But since you’re already talking business, there are a couple of things I’d like you to bring up in conversation.” He sidestepped another couple leaving. “Let’s move out of the way over here for a minute so I can catch you up to speed.”

She hesitated.

“We can talk in the bar, but then the guy Morel’s meeting with will know I tipped you off.”

Valid point. And the parking lot was well lit. If he’d wanted to hit on her, there had been ample opportunity in Vegas. Nodding, she followed him away from the entrance, past a row of cars until he stopped by his looming SUV.

“Okay, sir, what did you need to tell me?”

“Mike.”

Her gaze jerked back to him. “Pardon me?”

“I’m not that much older than you, younger than Morel, in fact.” He leaned one hip against the quarter panel, far more casual than any business chat. “When we’re out of the office, it’s fine to call me Mike.”

Damn. Damn. Damn! She’d really wanted to be wrong about Bridges. Panic bubbled, even a little fear, but she refused to let it overtake her.

A calm head and plenty of distance would take care of this. “No, I can’t. And it’s time for me to join the others.”

She started past him.

“I really wish you would reconsider.” He circled in front of her, bracing one hand on the SUV, trapping her, blocking out the light and lot as he stepped closer.

Too close to be mistaken for anything but sexual intent.

Her throat closed. He had her back to the wall, professionally and personally.

But damned if she was going down without a fight.

Chapter 10

Where the hell was Josie?

From his chair at the small round table, Diego searched the bar for about the thousandth time. Easily he could envision her backing away from him. The woman was more than a little bristly about relationships.

Relationship? Sex. It was about sex, hard-driving lust.

Ah, shit.

Who was he kidding? Josie Lockworth had crawled right up under his skin like a burr he didn’t particularly need in his life but couldn’t avoid. He more than suspected she felt the same way about getting involved. So yeah, he could envision her standing him up in a heartbeat.

But he could not imagine her being a no-show for meeting a subcontractor with scoop on her project. Without question, Josie Lockworth lived for her work. Something he understood, since he’d been there himself, once upon another lifetime ago.

Then why wasn’t she here? Scooting aside his untasted beer, Diego scanned the bar again for her silky brown hair in the crowd of bobbing heads. All those unwanted warning instincts twitched to life again. He shot from his chair, cutting off the subcontractor mid-ramble.

“Hold that thought, Pete. I need to make a quick phone call.” Sprinting toward the door, Diego shouted to the waitress to add any more drinks to his tab.

Outside and away from the noise, he fished his cell from inside his leather jacket and punched in her number with impatient fingers while he searched the parking lot. The phone rang. And rang.

Her voice mail picked up at the exact moment he spotted her Mustang spotlighted in a fluorescent circle. The car was empty.

His brain burned.

“Josie?” he called in a voice deep and full of authority. With luck, his approaching presence would stop any possible threat, like the night in this same lot when he’d sensed someone watching her.

No answer, just the distant rumble of cars echoed from the highway leading out of this middle-of-nowhere bar. He strode deeper into the parking lot, muscles bunched.

And then he heard it—just a rustle, a slight whimper two car rows over.

“Josie,” he called again, calmly, in defiance of his slamming heart and feet picking up speed along gravel.

He rounded yet another row of vehicles, visibility dimmer without a light nearby. His eyes adjusted, saw—Josie and Bridges against the bastard’s SUV.

Both bodies blended into one without enough room to slide so much as a military reprimand between them.

Blood pounded to his brain, clouded his vision, until all he could see was his ex in too damn near the same position outside a bar with a guy from his squadron. The final showdown had ended their marriage—the day he’d gotten shit-faced drunk because he was officially out of the air force.

Diego inhaled deep into his belly to clear the crimson haze. She wasn’t his ex-wife Stephanie. Josie might not want him, either, but she sure as hell cared about her job enough not to risk it for a quick grope with Bridges.

Bridges was hitting on her against her will, pressing her too flat against the car for her to move. An entirely different red fog fired through now.

Diego forced a casual lounge against a truck bumper and let his voice stop the action. If this turned into a fight, he intended to have Josie at least a few inches away from the man.

“Bridges, the way I see this you’re about a tonsil tickle away from a court martial.”

Diego’s voice cut the air with a lazy—and damn welcome—authority.

Disgust churning her gut, Josie took advantage of Bridges’s momentary shock and shoved her way clear of him. She scooched along the car, under the bastard’s arm and away, straightening her shirt and leather flight jacket with shaking hands. “Diego, am I ever glad to—”

“Well hell, Morel.” An angry vein pulsed at Bridges’s temple, making lie of his easygoing smile. “You’re interrupting something that’s none of your business. Head back inside the bar.”

Diego shifted to look at her. “Is that what you want, Josie?”

“No! No.” Her shaking voice steadied. “Of course it’s not.” It was all she could do not to hurl on the gravel.

Bridges raked his fingers through his mussed dark hair. “Fair enough. If the lady wants to go, by all means she can go. Nothing’s happening here against anyone’s will. Just two adults getting carried away by the moonlight. Luckily, nobody but you saw a thing. Right, pal?”

And with that came the implication that Josie couldn’t file a complaint because there were no witnesses to anything beyond a kiss that had probably appeared mutual since Bridges had flattened her to the car.

She’d shoved at his chest repeatedly—without budging him. She could have taken him completely out. But that would have risked an article 15 for hitting a senior officer. Definitely damned unfair for him to ignore the very rules that kept her from delivering a much-deserved pummeling. So she’d been forced to resort to simple shoving and waiting for him to move just an inch so she could slide away.

Her jaw worked in frustration. “I hear and understand. But you’d better understand this, sir,” she delivered the surly salutation with lengthy disgust. “If you ever lay so much as one finger on me again, I’ll make sure your career ends in the fastest crash and burn you can imagine. And I won’t care if mine ends, as well.”

She scraped her hand slowly, roughly across her mouth.

The major continued, “You don’t want to do anything rash. There are already enough questions going around about you after your rescue stunt a few months ago for that friend. Then there’s your mother’s history and that near miss at Red Flag. Even if you make it through an investigation, do you really want yet another dark cloud of doubt following you for the rest of your career because of a simple misunderstanding?”

Stepping in front of Josie, Diego stared Bridges down. “Thing is, I don’t care much about my career these days. So there are no constraints on what I may or may not do.”

Bridges held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, back down, pal. I thought the lady was interested. I misread the signs. Not the smartest moment in my life, but nobody was hurt.”

No one hurt? The guy was nuts. Sure she’d had a momentary attraction to him once, but she’d never, never said one word or acted on it. She wanted to confront him here and now on words that smacked of that clichéd “she asked for it” bullshit.

But now wasn’t the time. She knew that, and would plan her next move carefully. When she didn’t want to gut-punch the man.

Diego continued his deliberate look, not moving. Finally Bridges shrugged, smiled again and slid into his SUV. Gravel spit from the guy’s retreat. Josie sagged back against a truck bumper.

This was so unfair.

She didn’t consider herself one to shake her fist at the moon and bemoan her fate. But the horrible, flat-out injustice of Bridges’s come-on enraged her. She’d said no. Emphatically. Right before Bridges had plastered his smarmy lips onto hers.

She wanted justice now, but knew she would have to be patient and follow the channels in place.

First thing Monday after her Predator flight, she would find a senior officer she trusted. She would be calmer, more rational and articulate after a breather. She would then make an official signed, dated, sealed Memo of Record about the incident for that officer to keep, detailing everything that had happened with Bridges. That would lay the groundwork for establishing a pattern of behavior. If anything ever arose from him again in regards to her or anyone else—and she prayed to God it wouldn’t—her statement would be opened. She would take great pleasure in slapping it down on Bridges.

Meanwhile, she definitely had some swelling anger to vent.

Knowing that Diego was an undeserving target didn’t stop words guaranteed to halt him in his tracks. “I can’t believe you threatened him. I can fight my own battles. I do have a plan for dealing with this.”

“Excuse me.” Leaning against the hood of a Ford F-250, he hooked his boot heel on the bumper. “I thought you didn’t want to play tonsil hockey with him.”

“I don’t.” She shuddered.

Diego’s words registered. He really believed she wasn’t at fault in spite of Bridges’s adolescent posturing. There Diego went again, being fair and deflating her anger. She wanted the chance to get all-out mad and stomp.

She needed a good fight.

Apparently she wasn’t going to get one from Diego. “Thank you for not assuming I invited that crap from Bridges.”

“Oh, I did actually—for about four red-fog seconds. And then I managed to think.”

“You realized I really want you.”

“I realized you wouldn’t jeopardize your career with such a stupid risk.”

Well now wasn’t it just swell that he hadn’t assumed she would turn Bridges away because she was already involved with another man? The hardheaded biker jerk standing a foot away was lounging against that truck so casually she wanted to knock his boot back onto the ground.

Maybe she would get her fight after all. “Good God, Diego, I was ready to sleep with you less than twenty-four hours ago. No way would I turn around and crawl all over some other guy. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Know you?” He shook his head, hair grazing shoulders encased in black leather as dark as the night and his eyes. “Not really. We only met a couple of weeks ago. It’s not like we have some relationship going.”

His words slapped her with the implication that she was only after sex with him. Something that, sure, she’d told herself. But somehow the words sounded ugly coming out of his mouth.

“Screw you, Morel.” And screw this whole damn evening.

Men. More colorful, uncomplimentary terms came to mind.

Already she could see a punching bag at the gym with some specific male faces on it. She stomped away, mad at Bridges, Diego, herself and, hey, why not toss in some frustration with her dad and global warming while she was at it?

“Hold up.” Diego stopped her with a hand to her arm without moving away from the truck. “I’m a rude son of a bitch.”

“Is that an apology?” She sure couldn’t tell from his stony face.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Well, thanks.” She shrugged off his arm. “But I’m not accepting it. I’ve taken enough crap off men for one night, thank you very much. Do you have any idea how frustrated, upset, flat-out pissed I am right now?”

Anger glinted in Diego’s eyes. He folded his arms over his chest, stretching leather taut across his shoulders. “No one can understand exactly what another person has been through.”

“That’s right!” She shot back in his face, too close, too tempting.

Her anger was misdirected and she knew it. None of this was Diego’s fault. He’d never been anything other than straight up with her. Even super cyber sleuth Diana couldn’t find anything on the guy. So he must be trustworthy on at least some level.

She angled around Diego and slumped beside him against the truck. “God, I couldn’t even rack the guy’s family jewels to get out of that for fear of being brought up on charges of assaulting a senior officer. That comes with a far harsher penalty than if Bridges ended up accusing me of being the one to instigate the lip-lock. What the hell was he thinking?”

“Some people don’t think when it comes to sex.”

“It’s just so damned wrong that he would use his position of authority this way.”

“I wish I’d come looking for you sooner.”

“I wish Bridges had gone somewhere else to drink tonight.” Although she suspected that would have only delayed exactly the same situation. She shivered beneath the warmth of her flight jacket. “I had to wait and hope for a moment to break away before things got out of control and I was left with no choice but to deck him.”

Josie gasped in gulps of chilly night air that did little to ease her tightening lungs. “I need to hit something and you’re making yourself too easy a target. I gotta get out of here.”

She spun away and toward the bar, where the subcontractor was hopefully still waiting.

“Bridges is going to start trying to cover his ass.”

Diego’s low words rode the ever-constant desert wind, stopping her more effectively than his grip a moment ago.

She turned to face him again. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen his type before. He’s going to make a preemptive strike.”

How could Diego stay so calm when she could barely understand English through her disillusionment? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s going to start dropping subtle hints that you’ve been hitting on him.”

She shook her head. “He wants this to go away as much as I do.”

“His ego’s bruised and his ego is definitely tied into the size of his airplane, and thereby his career. He’s going to be gunning for you now. You need to strike first if you want to protect your test project…and your career.”

“I will. After my flight Monday, I’m going to write up an official Memo of Record. If he tries this again with anyone, there will be a paper trail to nail him.”

“Good. Excellent move and completely warranted. But why stop there?”

“You think I should file an official complaint now?” She returned to slump against the truck beside him. “Even though it’s just my word against his? That won’t accomplish anything without corroboration.”

He turned his head to stare down at her. “That isn’t what I meant by preemptive strike.”

“Excuse me for not taking Devious One-oh-one when I was in college. What do you suggest?”

Reaching, he gripped her chin in two fingers, tipping her face up to his. “Make it clear to everyone that you’re involved with someone else so Bridges knows he’ll look like a fool if he says you were hitting on him.”

Oh, my.

Desire tangled with frustration and anger, dangerous emotions to mix with passion. But then, her feelings for Diego had never been gentle or pretty. And kissing him sure beat hitting a punching bag.

A car door slammed in the silence stretching between them. The bar door opened, people exiting. “Well then, Diego, I guess there’s no better time than the present.”

Catapulting into the plan with the force of too-many fired-up emotions inside her, Josie pressed her lips to his.

Ah. Yes. Just as good as she remembered. How could that be when she’d been certain she couldn’t have experienced anything this mind tingling?

His mouth opened beneath hers. A growl swelled from him into her as each bold, insistent, possessive swipe of his tongue bathed away the bitter taste of Bridges’s betrayal.

Losing faith hurt. She should have developed calluses over the years, but instead each broken trust slashed deeper than the last. Too many foundations of her world had been shaken, starting with a child’s certainty that Mama would always care for her and Daddy could fix anything.

She’d thought at least she could believe in the credo of duty, honor and service she’d found in her air force commission. Bridges had made a lie of that. And damn him for tainting something so many were willing to die for.

God, she didn’t want to think anymore, just lose herself in sensation, Diego’s hand sliding up to the side of her breast to erase memories of the press of Bridges’s body against hers. His kiss deepened until she could have sworn she saw stars. Bright sparks shimmered behind her eyes once, again, flashing brighter like—

A camera.

Sparks turned to icy shards of premonition. Josie tore herself away from Diego.

Shannon Conner stood a few feet away with her camera and a smug smile.

Chapter 11

Josie blinked to clear her vision, if not her anger over Shannon Conner’s latest backstabbing attack. No question, Shannon was gunning for more than photos to use as backdrops in some docudrama.

Well, she would be going away empty-handed.

Josie strode forward, anger lifting with the wind to swirl around her. “What the hell are you doing here, Shannon?”

“Searching for a story.” Shannon held up her camera. “And it looks like I found one. These still shots will make fabulous insets during the rest of my video footage of Athena grads.”

Josie snorted. “A few pictures of me making out with my boyfriend? How’s that network-worthy news?”

Shannon zipped her camera case, swishing her nodoubt processed blond hair over her shoulder. “He’s working with a congressional oversight committee looking into your test.”

How did a television reporter know that? Suddenly a helluva lot more was going on here than she’d originally thought.

“Big freaking deal,” Josie forged ahead. “There’s absolutely nothing in the regs that says I can’t see him if I want to. And if you learned nothing else about me, you know I don’t break rules.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with me including a few of these pictures in my little piece on Athena Academy graduates. I got a really flattering shot of you with his hand plastered on your breast.”

“I’ve had a crappy day, Conner.” Josie issued a final warning. “You really don’t want to mess with me.”

“Well, here’s a newsflash for you. I’ve had a crappy lifetime. Athena grads like you and Alex Forsythe never understood what it was like to scrap for everything, to make my own opportunities.” Her lip curled. “You with your CIA granddaddy and Alex with her family fortunes. But this story will show you all for what you are and finally launch me.”

“Any grief that’s come your way, you’ve brought on yourself. If your own stupid jealousy hadn’t led you to set me up on that bogus stealing charge, you might have actually graduated from Athena.”

“Bullshit.” Shannon leaned forward as if to spit the word out of her painted mouth with all the venom she could muster. Her veneer peeled away in layers, revealing a mighty damn pathetic resentment beneath. “Right from the start, you elitists in the Cassandra group had your clique and all the privileges that went along with your collective family influences. I didn’t stand a chance at being number one.”

Josie’s feet planted. She wasn’t backing down. “You just don’t get it. It was about the whole group succeeding. You could have been a part of that. But you’re right on one thing. Athena Academy women do stick together. Just like you said during our desert flight about us being there for Kayla when she had her baby girl. Support and friendship helps you get ahead a helluva lot faster than going it alone.” Her shoulders sagged with a sigh. “When are you going to let go of this vendetta?”

“When you and your coattail-riding friends are washed up.”

“And how does taking cheesy clinch shots of me improve your chances for respect?”

“I call this news, hon.”

“God, Shannon.” Josie swung her jean sack purse to the ground. There was no other way. Shannon Conner was seconds away from eating gravel. “It’s so damn sad to see someone as smart as you turn out to be such a pathetic loser.”

Diego smelled blood in the air.

He assessed the two women. They seemed evenly matched height wise. But the blond cupcake had a mean edge to her. That one wouldn’t fight fair. Still, his money was on Josie pulling out a win if the fur started flying.

He figured since there weren’t any senior-officer issues here and the parking lot was pretty much abandoned, he would step back and let Josie have her outlet by handling this one on her own. And heaven help that soon-to-be-pounded reporter.

Shannon launched, swinging her precious camera bag like a medieval spiked mace toward Josie’s head. Diego’s muscles bunched. Before he could move, Josie’s arm shot up. She snagged the camera strap, taking only a glancing blow to the shoulder from the bag. She spun, leg raised, the flat of her tennis shoe catapulting Shannon backward.

The reporter scrambled, swiped her feet to knock Josie’s legs, toppled her off balance. The two women rolled, each seeking dominance. Cupcake had a few moves of her own that attested to martial arts knowledge.

Another time, he might have fallen victim to that male tendency to get fired up by a catfight, especially one he knew Josie would win in spite of Cupcake’s training. But there was no thrill in this for him tonight, with fury still storming over Bridges’s stunt.

Josie slammed Shannon onto her stomach, kneed her in the back and twisted her arm behind her. She wrenched the camera-case strap from the reporter’s tight grip and tossed it to Diego. “Get rid of the film. I may want people to know about us, but not this way.”

He totally agreed with Josie on that.

“Can do.” Diego popped the camera and exposed the roll with one gratifying jerk.

“Jesus, Josephine.” Shannon spit grit from her mouth, her cheek still pressed to gravel. “It’s not like the two of you are Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston, for crying out loud.”

Still, Josie didn’t let go. A battlefield sheen he recognized well from his past slicked her eyes.

“Hey, Josie?” Diego squatted beside her. “Are you with me here? We need to haul out of the parking lot before somebody calls the cops.”

Her eyes blinked clear. “Oh, right.”

Diego angled his head into Shannon’s line of sight. “And don’t even think about pressing charges, because I will testify very honestly that you threw the first punch. You can be sure those charges will be reversed right back around on you.”

Diego dropped the camera case in front of her.

Hefting Josie gently by the arm, he passed her purse to her. Shannon snatched her bag and scurried off to her car.

Josie stood silently until Shannon’s nondescript blue rental left the lot, before turning back to Diego.

“Thank you for not interfering,” she said with all the formal precision of a stranger.

“You had the fight covered.”

“Such as it was.” She flicked dirt off her leather flight jacket and picked at the split in the knee of her jeans. “She wasn’t much of an opponent for somebody in need of a good tension-relieving workout.”

“Wanna wrestle with me after all?” he offered, only half-joking.

Josie didn’t even smile, just stared up at him with cold anger—and a hint of hurt. “We only met a couple of weeks ago, remember. You don’t even know me.”

“Okay. No wrestling.” Disappointment stabbed. Too much.

She made a big production out of dusting the rest of her clothes, her black jeans, adjusting her belt buckle, in control and so distant. “Is the invitation still open to speak with your contractor friend even though I’m no longer on the market for a wrestling partner?”

He was insulted that she would even have to ask. But then the male species hadn’t done a lot to redeem themselves in her eyes over the past hour. His ex-wife and Mike Bridges would sure make a helluva pair.

“Of course the invitation is still open. He’s inside waiting for us.”

She nodded, lips tight as she strode toward the bar. “Then let’s get to work. I’ll eat off your French fry plate a few times and that should go a long way for starting the couple gossip without Shannon’s pictures.”

Diego opened the bar door, voices and music swelling out. “One sampler platter from the bar menu, coming up.”

He’d learned something valuable tonight that didn’t bode well for him. Josie Lockworth carried a grudge.

Man, Diego Morel pissed her off.

Josie stretched along her living-room sofa, head propped on the armrest. She tossed a Beanie Baby up again and again and again, working out the ache in her shoulder from the glancing blow of Shannon’s camera case.

Pitch. Catch. Pitch. Catch. Her military bear. Up in the air. Kinda like her future.

She snatched the Beanie bear mid-plummet and plopped it on the coffee table. Leaning over the arm of the sofa, she hefted her flight bag up and open. She fished out the latest stack of data and dropped it into her lap.

Thud.

Great.

And she was only halfway through the stuff.

Josie shuffled aside the pages upon pages of data streams that were already blurring together and tugged free an old scheduling logbook instead. Musty pages crinkled as she turned them for…yawn…she glanced at the clock.

Five hours.

What a way to spend a Sunday afternoon. She scrubbed a hand over her eyes, turned the page, reading dates for TDYs to bases in Florida, New Mexico, Ohio, back to New Mexico.

Josie slammed the book closed. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. Maybe her mother really had screwed up. But if she had, was there faulty logic lurking in this test, as well?

Damn it all, she’d gone over everything in her current day procedures. Diego hadn’t found fault either. Must be that mess with Bridges that had her doubting herself. Come Monday, once she filed the Memo of Record, she would feel better, more proactive and in control of her life. Instead of feeling lonely and frustrated on a Sunday afternoon with nothing to do but play catch with a toy.

Her feet twitched with the need to act. Maybe there was something she could do now. Diana had e-mailed the requested information on the Cipher early this morning. Did her sister never sleep?

She could forward it to Kayla for the investigation into Rainy’s death. Or she could call. Hadn’t she been trying to reach out and connect with something more than cyber waves?

Tossing the Beanie bear to the coffee table, Josie snagged her cordless phone from beside the stacks of papers. She keyed through until she found the stored number and hit dial.

The phone rang once, twice…until by the fourth ring she was about ready to give up.

“Hello?” a gasping voice interrupted the ringing, background noise of computer games and a television cartoon pulsing through.

“Kayla? Josie here. Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. I can call back later.”

“Josie! Great to hear from you. And there’s never a peaceful moment anyhow. I have a daughter. Remember? I’m just trying to restore order to the house before we start a new week. Jeez, I welcome the excuse to sit with a soda for a few minutes.” Bleeps and music from the computer game grew louder in the background as Kayla yelled away from the phone. “Jazz, turn that down! I’m trying to talk, sweetie.”

The noise level lowered from deafening to a dull roar. “Okay,” Kayla exhaled a long breath. “I’m here now. Sorry to sound so scattered. What’s going on with you?”

Josie couldn’t imagine Kayla anything but mega-organized and intense. A single mother, she juggled solo parenthood and a high-pressure job on the Athens, Arizona, police force with seeming ease.

Which brought Josie right back to the reason for her call. “I wanted to let you know I’m e-mailing some new scoop for you that may or may not have something to do with Rainy.”

“Once I get the youngun’ off to bed tonight, I’ll log into the secure lines.” The pop and fizz of a can opening crackled. “Where did you find the information?”

“My source would prefer to remain anonymous.”

A low laugh wafted through the lines. “Did your computer geek source enjoy her mac and cheese while she turned over the information?”

“Damn, you’re good.” Josie tried to laugh along, but this weekend had sucked the life right out of her and her chuckle came off like more of a strangled squawk.

“Are you okay?” Concern coated Kayla’s solemn tones.

Innate defensiveness rose at any mention of possible depression or, heaven forbid, instability. “Of course I’m okay. Talking about Rainy just makes me a little blue. Normal blue though, understand what I mean?”

“Completely.” A pause stretched with the sound of Kayla changing the phone to the other ear. “And there’s really nothing else going on?”

“Just some crap at work.” She scooped the bear up again and started tossing higher and higher. “My boss thinks it’s okay to hit on me.” The tumbling toy deflected off her hand to the floor.

“Oh my God. Did you kick his tail?”

“And get thrown into Leavenworth?” She angled off the couch to snag the poor bear from his crash landing on the gray carpet. “I don’t think so. I warned him not to come near me again. I’m also going to make a sealed Memo of Record tomorrow after my flight to back up my story in case there’s a second incident. But beyond that, without more proof—or his admission—there’s not much else I can effectively do.”

“Sounds like you’re following procedure and doing what needs to be done. You hang in there, now.”

She smoothed and redistributed the uneven lumps in the tiny beanbag after its fall. “It just sucks seeing someone you admired turn out to be so—”

“Scummy?” Kayla offered between slurping sips of soda.

“Pretty much sums up Mike Bridges.”

Silence filled the phone lines. Kayla always had been good about listening with a sympathetic ear, but Kayla’s silence grew more thunderous than the bleeping computer game blaring in the background—way beyond sympathetic attention.

“Kayla? Are you still there?” Josie asked even though she could still hear Jazz’s computer game.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice shook then leveled. “I was just pouring Jazz some juice.”

“Mom,” Jazz’s voice floated through. “Did you just say juice? Can I have some?”

But hadn’t Kayla just said…

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out her friend was lying to cover an awkward silence. “Kayla? What’s going on?”

More quiet screamed through, followed by a heavy sigh. “Hold on. Let me shut the door so Jazz doesn’t overhear.” Footsteps and a click sounded before one more deep breath vibrated through. “Do you remember how we used to admire all those lieutenants in uniform when they came to town? Well, I was actually involved with one.”

Oh, God, this couldn’t be going where she thought.

“Mike Bridges is my daughter’s father.”

Holy crap. She hadn’t seen that one coming.

Josie dropped the Beanie Baby onto her lap. She’d known the guy Kayla had been seeing was named Mike, but she’d never imaged…“You’re serious? But you were a teenager when Jasmine was born. He was an adult. A commissioned officer in the air f—”

“Stop,” Kayla commanded, her near whisper carrying an indisputable authority that would halt criminals in their tracks. “I was young, easily dazzled and God knows he had charm.”

Josie clenched the phone. She couldn’t deny Kayla’s words. Hell, even as an adult, she’d almost been snowed by Bridges. And the man must have some good points if he’d managed to charm serious Kayla for any length of time. “God, Kayla, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m over him. He didn’t want to get married, and quite frankly after the way he acted when I told him about the unexpected pregnancy, I wasn’t so sure I wanted him anymore, either. I mean it that I’m over him. It was just strange hearing his name out of the blue like that.”

Bravado on Kayla’s part? Or truth? Either way, Josie knew proud and serious Kayla would never admit a lingering hurt.

“It’s not a big secret per se. We just don’t want to advertise the fact and get Jazz worked up. He makes his child-support payments like clockwork. I’m not too proud to take what my child deserves. But he isn’t a part of her life or mine. Mike and I decided it was better that he stay away completely rather than break Jazz’s heart by not being a good father.”

“And you let him live?” Josie would have kicked his butt for abandoning a child. An image of Jazz’s sweet little face flashed to mind, those wide hazel eyes that—holy cow—the child had inherited from her father.

Josie’s fist clenched around the toy in her lap. Her desire to pummel Bridges now far outstripped anything she’d felt earlier. And she’d been mighty darn mad at the man earlier.

Kayla continued, “It’s his loss, missing out on this incredible little girl. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Contrition nipped. Firing up her friend wouldn’t make the situation better. “You’re right. I’m sorry for saying the wrong thing.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ve had years to come to peace with this.”

“You’re amazing.” Josie wished she had Kayla’s calm.

“I’m glad somebody thinks so.” Blips and music swelled in the background again, Kayla returning to her normal life. “Oops, I think Jazz is trying to hint at me to get off the phone. It’s been great talking to you, but I promised I would join her for a computer game of Roller Coaster Sim.”

“Take care.”

“You, too, friend. I’ll be looking for the files after the youngun’ here goes to sleep tonight. G’bye now.”

“Bye.” Josie turned off the cordless phone and replaced it on the coffee table, draping the cammo bear on top. Her eyes skipped over to the shelves full of other Beanie creatures crammed into every nook in a rainbow splash of color.

Quiet blanketed her condo, the silence even thicker now in contrast to Kayla’s full and noisy life. And how pathetic that she was sitting here feeling sorry for herself when Kayla had yanked her life back together after a tough start with the teenage pregnancy. Kayla had overcome so much to be a successful cop already on the fast track.

Josie gave herself a mental thump. Time to quit whining and be honest. She was totally pissed at Mike Bridges and was transferring that to Diego. Oh, her biker boyfriend had been a butthead, no doubt. Yet not so much in comparison to her boss.

Yeah, she was a prickly, tattletale grudge holder, all a product of that nagging, deep-seated sense of fair play. But she wanted to forgive Diego. If only he would offer her bruised pride some salve first.

Standing outside the control room on Monday, Josie watched Diego Morel stride up the empty hallway. Jeans and black leather had never looked so good.

Her temper had cooled somewhat. But the Josephine inside her still cringed over what Diego had said about their kiss in the desert being a meaningless encounter. Words hurt. More than punches as far as she was concerned.

After being the target of so much gossip over the years, she should have been immune to hateful barbs. But somehow the verbal slap from Diego stung her in a way Bridges never could. Although currently Bridges was high up on her dirt list.

She should have been strapping on to the Predator for today’s morning test flight. Instead that bastard boss of hers had ordered a crew change in some macho, message-sending power play. She would fly the remote control instead, while Craig Wagner rode in the saddle for this exciting-as-hell mission, taking the modified aircraft to a higher altitude.

Thanks bunches, Boss.

Kayla’s revelation about Mike Bridges only added more tinder to her fiery anger. He didn’t deserve her respect. And once this mission was complete, she would take great pleasure in filing that Memo of Record.

Diego drew closer in the solitary corridor, his dark hair pulled back today. Her fingers itched to tug it free.

Biker boots thudded down the thin industrial carpet in a swagger that somehow kept a hint of the military precision. He halted beside her, one shoulder to the wall. “I owe you an apology.”

Yes, he did. But in spite of her wish for ego balm, she was now starting to wonder if she could afford to accept it. “You already gave me one back in the parking lot this weekend.”

“One that you rejected. I was there, too, and yeah it was a half-assed apology that didn’t deserve to be taken seriously.”

“We do agree on something then.”

A dry smile kicked up one side of his face before it faded again. “I was in a crappy mood because of things that had nothing to do with you. I owe you a real apology. Whether you want to accept it or not is up to you. But I’m still damn well going to say my piece.”

Ah, hell. He was going to be reasonable, something Josephine would never be able to resist.

Still, the ever-fair Josephine said, “Go on.”

“I was wrong to make the ‘couple of weeks’ crack, and I was wrong to insinuate you would hop from my bed to his—”

“Insinuate?”

His half smile returned, dug deeper into his face. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you, Buttercup?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know everything about you, but I do know you better than that. And I like what I know enough that I—” he paused, skimmed a hand up to smooth along her French-braided hair “—really want to know more, which is why all of this torqued me off until I went into Thor mode.”

“You were jealous.” Her breakfast flipped in her stomach.

Diego bit out a curse. “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way if it helps.”

“It shouldn’t. And somehow it does anyway.”

He hadn’t gone violent with his jealousy the way some guys might have. Just been a jerk.

Hands jammed in his pockets, he studied the top of his boot scuffing the carpet. “My, uh, ex, wasn’t exactly the faithful type. That doesn’t excuse what I said, but maybe at least you’ll understand where I was coming from.”

An ex? Jealousy sure was an ugly emotion. Josie forgave him a little more. Practical Josephine, however, wanted to know more about this ex of his. “Your ex-wife?”

“Stephanie. We were married for five years, during which time she plowed her way through every available guy in town the minute I went TDY.”

“That bitch.” She wondered why she hadn’t thought to ask him about an ex in his past. Hadn’t Diana hinted Diego had been married? “What she did was inexcusable. You deserved better than that.”

Diego shrugged. “Well, I was an ass…and an idiot. I didn’t believe what my buds tried to tell me until I saw it with my own eyes—her in a bar parking lot on the hood of a car with her dress hiked up around her hips. She was quite clear on the fact it was totally consensual.”

Seeing her plastered against the side of Bridges’s car would have been a hellish replay for him. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Nearly three years ago.”

Which would have been shortly after his recovery from the accident. The bitch had left him because he couldn’t fly. Josie knew it with a certainty that fired her righteous indignation over the injustice of it all. He’d lost so much in a short time.

Josephine gave up the fight against forgiveness.

He continued to study the tops of his dusty boots. “I would have sworn it didn’t bother me anymore. I got most of my anger out during the six months I was too damn afraid to have sex for fear she’d brought some disease back to our bed. Once the last round of lab results came back, I got rip-roaring drunk and—”

“I get the picture.” Or rather, didn’t want that picture anywhere near her head. Yeah, jealousy bit the big one.

He shifted his focus from the floor to Josie, eyes direct, hard and still more than a hint angry. “When I saw the two of you, I went a little nuts again. Not your fault and I apologize.”

Yet even with all that baggage, he’d helped her and been fair in not assuming she would welcome Bridges. Diego had anticipated Bridges’s next move, even offered to help her. In light of what she’d learned about Bridges from Kayla, how could she not admire Diego’s grassroots honesty and integrity?

She touched his arm lightly. “You’re forgiven.”

“That easily?” His muscles tensed under her fingers.

“Oh, somehow I don’t think it was all that easy.”

He sketched his knuckles across her cheekbone. “You’re too good, Josie Lockworth.”

A few days ago she would have invited him to help her be bad, then. But while she’d forgiven him, she wasn’t ready to hop into bed with the guy. Before, it had been about sex. Now the whole relationship had somehow become more complicated by his personal revelation.

Her hand fell away from his arm. “Let’s hope I’m more than good when it comes to flying this aircraft. Time to roll, Morel.”

Josie settled behind the controls in the windowless room, preflight complete. After today’s mission there wouldn’t be any question for the oversight committee but that her test project was fast on its way to being an unqualified success. Furthermore, her unspoken fears that maybe, just maybe, her mother had been wrong would be laid to rest.

Would that send Diego out of her life? Or only out of her work world, since he did live in the area? An hour wasn’t that far, although it had been far enough to keep their paths from crossing in the past.

She needed to shuffle questions aside. None of it mattered if she didn’t get through this flight. Thanks to Mike “Small-minded” Bridges, she was stuck with this last-minute change. She knew the mission inside out, due to the practice runs she’d made to insure the plan was pristine for Craig to pilot from the remote-control booth. Frustration over being on the ground today churned anew.

Josie adjusted the fit of her headset earpieces, then the small boom mike by her mouth. “Cowboy, how’s your mojo today?”

“This filly is ready to go, P.C.” Craig Wagner’s voice flowed through loud and strong. Enthusiastic. Pumped to fly. “Say, could we change the call sign of the control box to Bunkhouse to go with my new name here? I kinda like the whole cowboy theme.”

“I’ll think about it.” His enthusiasm was infectious, darn him. She settled deeper into her seat. “Ready for power?”

“Roger, ready for power out here.”

Josie flipped switches, ran further checklists with the sensor operator, Don Zeljak. Displays and gauges hummed to life.

When her pilot-view camera on the nose of the craft materialized, the screen filled with a man in a Stetson on top of his headset. Afternoon rays sheened the image.

Laughing, she keyed up her radio. “Cowboy, you may be getting a little too into character.”

“Gotta have fun with this.” The pilot struck a six-gun-drawing pose with a vast desert backdrop. “We may be the last of the cowboys out here.”

“Roger that.” And the sooner they got this mission complete, the sooner she could breathe easy again. “Now put on your helmet. Ready for engine start whenever you are.”

“Copy, give me a few minutes to change headgear and strap into the saddle.” He disappeared from view, minutes passing. “Okeydoke, P.C., all set to go.”

Josie called back, “Prop clear?”

“Roger. Prop clear.”

Josie flipped the starter and advanced the throttle. Her engine instruments began a steady climb until all indications entered green bands. “All indications good here. How’re you doing up there, Cowboy?”

“Systems nominal. Feels like this baby is ready to slip the surly bonds.”

Josie switched radio frequencies. “Palmdale ground, Pred two-zero, spot seven, ready to taxi.”

“Copy Pred two-zero, altimeter is three-zero-zero-one. Winds are from the north at ten knots. Cleared to taxi to runway twenty-five. Hold short of the active. Cleared local area VFR.”

Josie repeated back the required information to the ground controller in the tower responsible for deconflicting aircraft on the ground. The Predator proceeded to taxi toward the runway, holding at the hammerhead. “Palmdale Tower, Pred two-zero ready for take off.”

Finally the tower responded, “Pred two-zero, cleared for take off. Altimeter three-zero-zero-one. Cleared test profile altitudes.”

Advancing the throttles, Josie guided the aircraft around and onto the runway. “Ready to ride, Cowboy?”

“You bet. Put the spurs to her.”

Josie swept her instruments one last time, then ran the throttles up to the stops. The aircraft advanced, sped, the front camera providing a straight-ahead view. She tapped the rudder pedals a touch here and there to stay centerline, ever aware of Craig, strapped into the saddle seat, out in the open.

At rotation speed, she gently raised the nose, her camera switching from desert to sky. She set her climb angle and began instrument cross-checks while Master Sergeant Zeljak smoothly did the same. Zeljak was a great old guy with solid test knowledge honed in the early days of stealth. He had hands to trust.

The test profile had a planned level-off at three thousand feet for final checkout of the new instrumentation before climbing to the nine-thousand-foot test altitude. Once she leveled at three thousand feet, she allowed herself an exhale of relief. Most accidents happened at take off and landing. She eyed the screen full of sky. Clouds puffed past.

God, she wanted to be there. No matter what doubts she may have had lately about her profession and future, she did love to fly. She knew if she turned to Diego, she would find his gaze glued to the screen image, hunger in his eyes.

The sky image swooped upward, fast, steep. What the hell? She glanced down at her hand, doing exactly what she told it to on the stick, a slow and steady climb. Not this screaming ascent that had taken over.

A scan of the instruments showed the aircraft climbing at too high an angle. Her throat closed. She called on training to override niggling panic. She pushed the throttle all the way forward and lowered the nose.

Nothing happened.

All right. No sweat. That’s why they had secondary override controls on the craft to abort the flight and bring the Predator home. Craig would have some piloting fun now and the craft wouldn’t go crashing into anywhere dangerous, risking lives on the ground. “Cowboy, assume control of the craft. My controls have malfunctioned.”

A single crackle over the headset echoed before, “Roger. Taking control.”

Craig’s heavy exhales echoed over the radio waves. Josie kept her gaze locked on the dials, the climbing altitude. Too steep. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry, Craig.

“Crap, P.C.,” Wagner barked. “Mine aren’t working either.”

No freaking way. This shouldn’t happen. Didn’t happen.

Screw calm. She shouted into the headset, “Get the hell off that thing. Now!”

“I’m fixing to, P.C.” Panic lent a shake to his tone.

Heavy breaths huffed through the audio waves while Josie scrambled to regain control of the Predator. She felt Diego at her back, leaning, watching. Even the seasoned sensor operator beside her tensed. She jammed code after code into the system and nothing changed.

Memories sledgehammered her brain of being a little girl on the edge of the runway, so proud of her mama’s work, then seeing it all explode into a ball of flames. She could still smell burning flesh.

Her breakfast revolted upward. She swallowed it down through sheer will alone.

“Diego,” she snapped without looking up. “If you have any ideas, speak.”

“Bailing out’s the right call,” he answered, fast, clipped. “No question. There’s nothing else. The whole computer system’s crashing.”

Airspeed bled from the craft. Dials fluctuated.

The Predator stalled.

Her heart pounded denial in her ears. The aircraft rolled over, lurching into an inverted spin toward the ground. Her screen, as well as the sensor operator’s multiple screens, all showed variations of the same image.

Tumbling sky.

Oh, God. “Cowboy, did you get off?” Please, please be long gone with your parachute inflated.

No answer came but the roar of winds and whisper of her prayers.

Her hands sped over the controls as if she could force her will into the malfunctioning equipment. She stared, riveted by the spinning camera image. Then at the altimeter.

The screen went blank.

Chapter 12

Whomp. The explosion rocked the ground, rattling the walls and up through her boots.

Josie tore off her headset, blasting out of her chair on the way to the door. Already she could hear fire-truck sirens screaming outside.

She started a nonstop prayer chant.

Diego jammed open doors ahead of her so she could continue to run unfettered down the hall, around corners. She accepted now that she would see flames, a crashed craft, but none of that mattered as long as she also saw a parachute drifting down.

Panting, she dashed through the last door out onto the runway.

Black smoke bloomed from the cracked desert about a hundred yards from the cement’s end. Fire trucks, security police, an ambulance all raced across the packed earth. She scanned the horizon for the speck that would prove Craig had made it off in time, even looked behind her, praying that for once her eagle eyes were wrong.

She flagged a military Suburban and crawled inside, Diego still less than a second behind her. The door slammed behind him as the tires squealed against pavement.

Diego’s hand dropped onto her shoulder. She shrugged off his hand and comfort, because, if she took it she would have to step into that next realization and into a reality she wasn’t ready to accept.

For some absurd reason, she kept thinking Craig couldn’t be dead. There hadn’t been time to have his new call-sign naming ceremony so he could officially be called “Cowboy” instead of “Opie” from The Andy Griffith Show, a reference to his clean-cut looks.

Sirens and wind swirled through her brain. She kept searching the sky through the window and found…

Nothing.

Boom.

The first reverberation of the twenty-one-gun salute vibrated from Diego’s feet, up his spine and through his memory. Seven gunmen, firing three times in tribute to a fallen comrade in arms.

Captain Craig Wagner’s funeral mirrored the one Diego had attended three years ago. Back then, he’d left the hospital against orders, stumbled into his uniform and somehow managed to stand unwavering while they buried his wingman.

Today, Diego wore the uniform again, hand still snapped to his forehead for the twenty-one-gun salute.His uniform fit looser, but he’d resurrected the precise creases for the pants. Shine for the shoes. Alignment for his rows of ribbons.

Wind skimmed his hair along the sides beneath his hat, hair freshly shorn to regulation out of respect for the funeral, for the uniform. For the man being buried.

Boom.

Now, as then, planes roared overhead, flying the missing-man formation, signifying that one of their own had been lost. Through it all, Josie stood tall in her military precision and pressed blue uniform. Dry-eyed. Stoic. He’d expected as much. The emotional crash would come later. Hard. Fast. And unrecoverable even years later.

The crowd was packed with uniformed service members. Wagner’s death sent far-reaching shock waves through the air force testing community. Every one of them almost certainly imagined themselves strapped to that aircraft, unable to cut loose in time to parachute.

Even General Quincy had attended. Diego refused to look over at Mike Bridges. None of them needed extra crap messing with their heads right now.

Diego knew there wasn’t a way to get over carrying the weight of another person’s death on your shoulders. Nothing could replace what a widow and her children had lost.

Boom.

Flanked by her parents, Wagner’s wife clutched a folded flag to her chest above her pregnant belly, a flag that had minutes prior draped her husband’s coffin. A toddler girl gripped her mother’s dress in one fist and a basset hound Beanie Baby in the other.

Lowering his salute, Diego adjusted his hat. That other funeral washed over him again, threatening vertigo on the ground. But that was in his past. This was about Josie’s present. He’d patched his wounds alone.

He would make damned sure Josie didn’t have to do the same.

Josie dropped into the front seat of her car. Alone. Oh, she knew Diego was only steps behind her, but she couldn’t face all the emotions that knotted whenever she spoke to him. Her control frayed by the second. How odd to feel so numb yet fragile all at once—an alien emotion for a woman used to fighting the world head-on.

She’d felt his presence throughout the afternoon, looming there quietly behind her. Yet somehow that support made her eyes burn and she would not crumble.

Although she had almost lost it when he’d walked into the church. Seeing Diego in his full dress uniform with his stacks of hard-earned ribbons—and, oh, God, his beautiful hair gone—somehow that had broken her heart all over again. She barely recognized him, had in fact almost scanned right over him at first. Everything was different, and she wanted more than anything to rewind a few days.

Four, to be exact.

Eyes on her rearview mirror, she watched him close in on her Mustang while a few desert trees rustled overhead. Even his walk now fine-tuned that military essence he’d never totally lost. The even steps clipped with more exactness as if the shined shoes had retrained his feet.

She gripped her steering wheel in white-knuckled fists. “Diego? Thank you for being here, but I can’t talk to you today.”

“Well, fine then,” he drawled, and at least sounded like himself inside that crisp uniform. “We won’t talk, but you’re not driving. Slide on over.”

Hadn’t she made herself clear? Could this man be so dense? Or was she? Heaven knows she had been in a fog, running on fumes and autopilot since realizing Craig hadn’t made it off the Predator. Her Predator. The ride she should have taken to test the modifications she’d ordered. Had her insistence on proving her mother right cost Craig his life? Oh, God, she was going to be sick.

Pressing her hand to her stomach, Josie worked down bile again. She wouldn’t dishonor her fallen friend by puking in the cemetery.

Who was she kidding? Diego was right. She wasn’t in any shape to drive.

She dared a look up at him, his face all strong angles that somehow seemed older and even harder without the wild hair. “You really don’t want to talk? You just want to see me home?”

He swung wide her door. “I’ve been wanting to drive this car since you gave my Harley a run for its money across that dried-up lake bed. Now move on over.”

“What about your bike? You can’t leave it.” She offered up a token last effort at arguing even though her heart wasn’t in it.

“I left it at the base chapel and caught a ride here. It’s safe there.”

He’d planned to go with her from the start.

His thoughtfulness and concern flicked warmth along the iciness inside her. She shifted her legs out of the car. No way could she scoot over to the passenger seat in her pencil-straight uniform skirt, especially not when her every move felt like swimming through peanut butter.

She circled the hood while Diego took off his uniform jacket. He folded the coat in half lengthwise and draped it on the backseat then unhooked the tie from his starched shirt, transforming the service dress uniform into regular blues.

Gravel crunched under her military, low-heeled pumps all the way to the passenger side. She removed her own jacket and placed it on top of his in back, a somehow intimate mingling that brought an unwelcome shiver.

Josie settled into the embrace of the leather bucket seat. How strange that her senses were so in tune to the sound of cars lining to leave, the rustle of wind in the cemetery trees. The sickening smell of graveside flowers. The urge to hurl.

And yet she couldn’t “feel” a thing.

“That’ll come later,” Diego said from behind the wheel, tucking on sunglasses and apparently reading her mind.

“What?”

“The letdown, the rush of emotions,” he answered as he pulled out onto the road. “You’re numb now. Be grateful and hang on to it for a while longer to give your body a chance to rest.”

Rest. That sounded good. She slid on her own sunglasses and tipped her head back against the seat. Elbow hooked out the open window, she let the wind and miles blur into the fog. She had no idea how long she drifted before she jolted awake.

She straightened, looked, found her exit passing—“That was my turnoff.”

“We’re going to my place.”

Irritation feathered through the fog. “I’m not much in the mood for sex.”

He glanced over, her face reflected in his sunglasses. “Who’s offering? Because I’m sure as hell not in the mood, either.”

“Oh.”

He shifted front again. “I thought you might not want to be alone in your condo.”

Of course he could read her mind about this. How could she have forgotten what had happened to him three years ago? The man had most definitely walked this walk. The past few days must have been hell for him.

And in that realization, she linked with him enough to relax at least a little. “You’re right. Thank you—again.”

He lowered the top as he cleared the city out onto the open roads where Joshua trees led to his remote home. The wind felt good ripping at the constraints of her French braid, swirling inside her to stir words she would have sworn earlier that she didn’t want to say. “I thought I understood how my mother must have felt when the crash in her project killed a pilot. I was so damned wrong to assume anything.”

“There’s no way to know it unless you live it.”

“It’s enough to make a person crazy.” Understanding her mother brought a fresh wave of pain.

“Yes, it is.” His bass drawl resonated long beyond the simple statement.

She abandoned mindless desert sight-seeing and glanced back at him. “How did you stay sane?”

“What makes you think I’m sane?” He peered over the top of his sunglasses, eyes again the barely civilized Diego she knew.

“Fair enough.” Who knew what sane was anymore? She picked at the hem of her uniform, snapping a thread free. “How do you keep going then?”

Telephone poles whipped past again and again before his chest rose with an inhale. “I’m still trying to figure that one out. And somehow, while I’m trying, the years continue to pass.”

She nodded. What he said made sense.

But for now, she would settle for getting through the night.

Stuck in the sleepy fog of being half awake and half asleep, Josie batted at the tickle on her face. She snuggled deeper under the covers, not sure why she didn’t want to wake up, but certain if she considered it overlong she would be sorry.

The tickle—furry—continued against her cheek and grew more persistent, followed by a wet nudge to her chin. She pried her eyes open and stared straight into the translucent blue eyes of the ugliest dog ever. The mix of mutt and wolf left the animal with spiky fur and mismatched features that would have scared the hell out of most people.

Somehow she found it endearing.

Josie sagged back onto her pillow in Diego’s bed, where she’d slept alone except for the two dogs keeping her company. She turned to look at the empty pillow beside her. Not even an imprint marred the plain white pillowcase. Definitely alone.

Memories steamed into her brain of the crash, funeral, ride home with Diego. She’d been so zombielike yesterday she hadn’t even argued about staying with him.

Scooching up to sit, she wrapped an arm around the dog’s neck, the god-awful, ugly brown blanket pooling around her waist. “Morning, puppy. Which one are you again? Bogey or Bandit?”

At the sound of the last name, the shaved retriever at the foot of the bed lifted its head. She vaguely recalled Diego introducing her on his way to showing her the shower and tossing her a T-shirt for sleep. Thank God he’d left her alone in his sparsely furnished bedroom after that.

Where was he now? She didn’t know and wasn’t ready to find out until sleep cleared from her head.

She nuzzled Bogey. “Thanks for keeping me company, fellas. You’re definitely more snuggly than those tiny Beanie Babies.”

Her muscles hadn’t ached this much since she’d started martial arts training at Athena Academy. After meeting the mat about twenty times, she’d decided she didn’t like that much and had set about determining how to be the best.

Right now, she felt pretty much rock bottom again.

The first couple of days following Craig’s accident had been filled with data gathering…and collecting evidence from the crash site. Her empty stomach rolled.

The actual investigation would likely take months, but the initial finding had been “total system failure.” Cause? Her modifications to the system were incompatible with the aircraft.

Everyone assured her this sort of thing simply happened. Proposed new projects failed more often than they succeeded. Albeit not always with a casualty. But that was just a horrible reality of military testing, a risk they all understood and a mistake any of them could have logged.

As if that made her feel better.

Meanwhile, she’d been ordered to take a long weekend and encouraged to apply for personal leave beyond that. Just be on hand to answer questions for the accident review board’s investigation. And once she returned, she would likely be assigned a new test project.

The knots in her shoulders doubled. She needed to work off tension, punch something or somebody. Or at least run a few miles. Maybe Diego would run with her. There was certainly plenty of wide-open space out here where he lived. Of course she didn’t even know if he worked out, but he certainly appeared more than fit.

There was so much she didn’t know about him, and there were few hints in this desert-rat home of his. Only that he cared next to nothing about decor, yet invested obscene amounts in electronics and his grill.

And he had pets. There was something sweet about a guy who loved animals.

She scratched behind the wolf-looking one’s ear. The shaved retriever nudged her other hand for equal time and attention while she woke up. On the bedside table rested gym shorts with a drawstring and a fresh T-shirt. He would have stood inches away from her to set down the clothes while she slept. Had he watched her? She shook off the image and hustled her butt out of bed to get dressed.

Baggy clothes on, she couldn’t avoid Diego or the day any longer. “Come on, puppies.” She snapped her fingers. “You probably need to be let out or something.”

Like she knew anything about pets. A woman who’d grown up in a boarding school and now didn’t risk attachment with anything more than toys. Small ones at that.

The animals leaped off the bed one thud after the other. Doggy nails clicked on the hardwood floor as she entered the sprawling great room. The spacious room sported a butt-ugly burnt-orange sofa, a wide-screen TV and no Diego, just a rumpled blanket and pillow on the couch. This pillow definitely bore the deep imprint of a head.

She glanced down at the two dogs swinging up alongside her like good wingmen. “Where’s the big guy? Huh? Where’s Diego?”

Bogey sprinted for the door and scratched.

“Okay, so I guessed right on the going-out thing. Hang on.”

She swung open the door, but still no Diego, just her car parked in the middle of a dusty yard without any real driveway. Bogey loped toward the garage, hesitated, looked back, tongue lolling.

“Ah,” she sighed, understanding. “He’s out here.”

She followed barefoot, but the dog didn’t dart into the open garage as she expected. Instead, he circled around back and plopped down in front of a wooden windowless hut.

She tapped on the door. “Diego?”

No answer.

She twisted the knob slowly. Not locked. It gave. She opened to find what looked to be a dressing area in a tiny cedar-wood room. A bench with a stack of towels lined one wall, hooks on the opposing wall. Diego’s jeans dangled, a hint of boxers peeking from behind them. Straight ahead she saw another door, which unless she missed her guess, led to a sauna.

Holy barrel roll, Batman. He was in there naked.

Again she glanced at Diego’s clothes, envisioning him in nothing more than a towel—if even that. All the frustration and pain and tension she’d wanted to run out with him suddenly found a new outlet. It felt damned good to be in control of something right now.

After a quick trip back to the house for her purse and some hopefully soon-to-be-needed birth control, Josie whipped the T-shirt over her head.

Chapter 13

Head back against the cedar wall, Diego stretched out his legs on the planked bench. A stark bulb overhead illuminated the two benches, which met to form an L in the rectangular room. The other two walls held the stove and door.

Dipping a ladle into the bowl beside him, he scooped and flung more water onto the stones. Steam hissed into the air and blanketed him. Sweat slicked his skin after only fifteen minutes. He swiped a towel across his face, then tossed it across one thigh. Still he couldn’t shake the hell of imagining Josie lost in that ball of flames at the crash.

He’d intended to sweat out his frustrations in his sauna. Instead emotions were boomeranging right back around on him, leaving him more than a little raw. Probably for the best that he’d left Josie sleeping. He hadn’t wanted to risk waking her. Soon enough she would come back to life, her brain as well as her body. And when she did, she would arrive at the same conclusion he had right around midnight.

Wagner’s accident wasn’t so accidental.

“Diego?” Josie’s voice called through the thick wood door as if he’d conjured her from the steam. “I assume that’s you in there.”

Damn. He’d thought for sure she would sleep for at least another hour. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you up for company?”

Just the sound of her voice threatened to have him “up” for something else entirely. She didn’t need him coming on to her any more than she needed to discuss Wagner’s crash just yet.

He adjusted the towel more strategically over his lap. “You’re welcome to join me—” understatement “—but be warned, this is a clothing-optional locale and I’m definitely on the optional side right now.”

“I’m counting on it.”

No mistaking the intent in that one. Surprise stilled him.

The door swung wide and, holy crap, he couldn’t breathe, much less move. Josie stood silhouetted, wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel. Long legs stretched, ending in bare feet with painted toenails. He wouldn’t have pegged her for pink polish, but the splash of soft color somehow enhanced her strength and allure all the more.

His eyes worked their way back up to where her hand clasped the towel’s knot between her creamy breasts. Farther up he looked to the curve of the neck he had dreams of burying his face against once he buried himself even deeper into her.

Dangerous thoughts for a man with only the piss-poor cover of a hand towel over his lap.

He met her gaze straight on and found her eyes no less tempting than the rest of her. Determination, hunger, need exuded from her as if the steam had already begun to take its cleansing effect. Much like after her encounter with Bridges, Josie seemed to need an outlet.

Although he doubted she was looking to kick his tail the way she had Shannon Conner’s.

Still, he couldn’t afford to misstep here. She’d have to make herself totally clear before he would put so much as a finger on her. He hitched his knee up to shield what was rapidly becoming an uncomfortable erection.

Josie’s fingers closed around the condom she’d retrieved from her bag. One look at Diego’s towel and she knew without question.

They would be using the condom soon.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the empty bench.

She padded across the planked floor, stopping beside him until her towel brushed his arm. “I was hoping I could sit here with you.”

“You’re more than welcome to sit anywhere you want. But be warned you’re hot and I’m not unaffected. Doesn’t mean I’ll do anything about it unless you want me to. But I’m a guy and you’re damned near naked. And hell, you could be wearing a potato sack and I’d still get hard when you walked into the room.”

Sweat trickled down her neck between her breasts, soaking into the towel. “Thank you. Now are you finished?”

“Just so we’re clear that you’re calling the shots.”

“If I’m calling the shots, then I want to be on this side with you.”

“Fair enough.” Diego swung his feet down.

She couldn’t resist the temptation to step between his legs rather than dropping to the bench beside him.

He kept his hands on his knees, while each pointer finger stroked up into her towel. “I assume you’re up on your sauna protocol. If you’re not a frequent user, then you’ll want to limit your time to fifteen minutes.”

“I use the sauna at the base gym after daily workouts. I’m fine in here for an hour. The question is, can you last that long?”

One hand still clutching her towel, she extended her arm over him, fist closed. Her fingers unfurled. The condom package plopped onto his thigh. She couldn’t be much clearer than that.

Still he didn’t move forward. “I guess I don’t need to ask if you’ve thought about this.”

“I thought about it all the way back into the house to get the birth control once I realized you were in here, and then during every return step with the condom in my hand. I want this.” Her knuckles whitened around the knot in her towel. “I want you.”

The last words were torn from her with a reluctance he no doubt wouldn’t miss. But damn it, surely he would understand. Alone might be lonely, but in many ways it was so much safer.

Leaning, he ladled more water onto the stones, the cloud swelling forward over them. He straightened to face her again. “Then I reckon I’m lucky that you made the trip back to the house, because I don’t have a thing on me right now.”

“Lucky us.” She dropped the towel.

He swallowed hard, eyes raking her body, lingering on her breasts. “Definitely lucky me.”

Reaching around, he palmed her back to bring her closer, her breasts level with his face and her tightened dusky nipples the perfect targets for his free hand.

The sparks that danced behind her eyes had nothing to do with the heat of the sauna or the stark lightbulb above and everything to do with the electrifying caress of Diego’s fingers teasing her breasts.

She’d been right to join him. Already the rest of the world began to recede behind the passion hazing her vision. And through the red, she saw Diego watching her while his fingers tugged tantalizing magic on one nipple.

Diego raised his hand and she almost whimpered, until he brought it to her mouth, sliding a finger between her lips. She sucked deeply, fully enjoying the taste of him and looking forward to more.

He withdrew slowly, deliberately and returned his tutored attention to her breast again. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you walked toward me all full of fight and challenge.”

His damp finger traced lazy circles around a bead so taut she almost cried out, felt certain she would before he was through with her. “And what else did you think about doing to me? Because I want it all.”

His growl answered a second before he angled forward muttering, “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

Josie nudged aside thoughts of his ex and other women he’d known and focused on the here and now. While he stroked her left breast, he lowered his mouth to her right. His tongue laved and his fingers toyed and her skin burned, her legs threatening to fold.

Sweat trickled down her neck, trailing along her over-sensitized skin. Whether the heat came from the sauna or Diego’s sheer magnetism she didn’t know or care at the moment.

She just needed more.

Hitching one knee then the other onto the bench, she straddled his lap. She cupped his face in her palms and brought his mouth up to hers. “Well, I most definitely want you. Here. Now. For as long as you can last.”

“A challenge?”

“If you dare.”

“Oh, I would dare more than you could imagine, Buttercup.”

Wildness lurked in his eyes and for the first time since she’d seen him in his uniform with the military regulation haircut, she recognized him. She saw the Diego she knew, the man who called to every suppressed impulsive yearning.

“Try me.”

He cupped her head and met her mouth in a raw fervor of tongues, teeth, sweat, lust and something more she didn’t want to think about because thinking was dangerous. She wanted to feel. Experience.

Forget.

Finally she could kiss him without reservation, confident the passion he inspired would have an outlet this time. She wouldn’t go home frustrated, yearning and alone.

She explored with her tongue, wanting to learn all she could about this man on a fundamental level. She stroked down the corded length of his arms, farther, one hand flicking aside the towel as quickly as her other found the steely length of him. Inching closer, she worked him against her damp folds, the heat and hardness rubbing a silken friction against her straining bundle of nerves.

He seemed to understand her need for control over at least some part of her life right now. And although that practical side of her insisted Diego could turn the tables in a heartbeat, somehow she knew she could turn them right back around on him. Ultimately, the thrilling power play would stretch pleasure tighter for both of them.

Perspiration glided between her shoulder blades just as it dotted his thighs. The sound of him sagging back against the wall thrilled her, led her to continue until he gripped her hand and smacked the condom into her palm.

She sheathed him with excruciating precision before lowering herself onto him, slowly, pausing at the first thick pressure of entrance. Holding back. Sustaining that precipice moment between before and after.

Before knowing the complete feel of him.

After taking him inside her.

He stared back at her with eyes shifting from brown to opaque black. His hands stayed gentle on her hips, but his jaw flexed, clenched. Cords of restraint bulged along his neck. A pulse throbbed in his temple. The rapid beat mirrored her own pounding in her ears.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she steadied herself, lower. Lower still, yes, as her body adjusted and sighed its acceptance of him. She sank against the hard expanse of his chest, slick skin melding to her.

Sweat dripped down her brow, into her eyes, and he kissed it away. Thank heaven, for once her brain managed to shut up and allow her impulses to assume control. She moved. He groaned. Her body clenched in response, squeezed and milked him.

“Enough,” he grunted, lifting and setting her onto the cottony softness of her towel. Before she could breathe or question, he knelt in front of her and draped her legs over his shoulders, her slippery skin siding against his corded expanse.

Her head fell back with a thunk, hair snagging on the knotty cedar wall as she sank into deeper sensation, the warmth of his circling tongue, the rasp of his whiskers along the insides of her thighs. Sensation. So much. Almost too much when she wanted this to last.

As if he heard her thoughts, he drew away, lowering her flat on her back. He thrust into her in a stretching sweep. Her feet traced up the backs of his legs higher, wrapping her legs around him higher still to open herself for a deeper connection.

With rational thought gone, the floodgates on her emotions ripped free. A roaring mass liberated inside her—all the hope of clearing her mother’s name, the agony of Craig’s death, even her own loneliness, a loneliness banished by the excitement of night races with the uninhibited man over her.

Everything lashed through her in a storm of passion and feeling that left her clawing down Diego’s back for anchor. He answered her with firmer thrusts that sent reason deeper into hiding. Hell, and why not? This howling hurricane of need scared her a little.

But it excited her more.

She threaded her fingers through the scant hair along his head and again mourned the loss. She would have liked to see that hair hanging from his face as he stretched over her.

Would she ever experience that vision with him? Thoughts of the future threatened to chill her in spite of the rising temperatures in the small confines of their heated haven.

She nipped him, tasted the salt on his skin. He pumped harder, faster in piston time with her racing pulse. Her nips turned fiercer, each reddening spot soothed with a frenzied kiss.

“Don’t hold back,” he ordered, demanded.

Challenged.

How she thrived on challenge even as her mind protested against the total surrender of her body only seconds away.

Gasping, she inhaled and savored the scent of cedar and them mingling in the steamy air. Her body stretched tight within, dizziness gripping her with a G-force sensation of the blood leaving her head to rush downward. If she had to crash and burn in this surrender, damn it, she wasn’t going alone.

She glided her hands down his sweat-slicked back to cup the crest of his butt and urge him closer while her hips writhed against him in just the right position to bring—

Sparks exploded behind her eyes in a shower of sensation riding the waves of her release and scream. Restraint ripped away, leaving her free-falling into a pulsing plummet of wind echoing with Diego’s growling shout of completion.

Her arms flung wide as if to find hold or balance as she arched up to wrest every last imploding shimmer that brought her the welcome oblivion she’d sought. One hand slapped the varnished wooden wall. The other grasped air until finally she glided back to earth again.

She couldn’t breathe. She thought maybe the gasping sensation came from the heat or the weight of Diego pressing against her chest. But then he levered off her and the constricting heaviness remained, swelled, pushing all the pain of the past four days and maybe even longer than that up to sting her eyes. She wanted to curl away and hide, embarrassed and overwhelmed and too damn exposed.

Wordlessly Diego scooped her up onto his lap and held her naked body against his while, finally, she cried.

Chapter 14

An hour later, Josie stood flush against Diego in the outside shower stall and tried to hang on to the buzz of incredible sex a while longer before they returned to the house. Soon enough they would have to get dressed and start the day. Not that she was in a hurry by any stretch.

Because that would mean meeting his eyes.

Steam filled the small cubicle, spiraling up into the morning sky through the open top. Eucalyptus and cedar scents hung in the damp air—two new erotic smells she would always associate with this man.

Leaning back against the planked wall, he tugged her closer, running his hands along her back. Slowly emotions returned to her spent body.

Embarrassment for starters.

Not about the sex. Although he likely wouldn’t be going around shirtless for a few days until the marks on his back faded. But after the sex…

Her tears had nearly blasted her apart. She wasn’t a gentle crier. Probably because she didn’t allow herself much practice.

Instead, she was all red eyes, mucus, shakes and words flooding out in choking bursts. She’d babbled about memories of Craig’s humor from test-pilot days, shuffling to her ache for Craig’s children, which had led too easily to more tears and ramblings about her friend Kayla and precious little Jazz who had a father, after all, in Bridges. A father alive and well and totally uninvolved.

Then she’d cried over being a bad friend in telling him about Kayla and Bridges.

Now she stood silent, still and abashed in his arms. The shower poured over them to the cement floor, swirling down the drain and rinsing away so much more than perspiration. She wasn’t totally steady. But she was better, which meant she would be on her own again soon.

Shouldn’t that be what she wanted? God knows Diego didn’t seem particularly interested in cleaning up his own act to the extent of letting a woman into his life long-term. She would expect him to paint his walls, throw away his ugly couch. Rejoin the human race. And now she understood just how difficult that could be.

She skimmed her fingers up his neck, tracing to his ears and pressing her fingers into the sensual pulse point. “Your beautiful hair.”

“It grows fast.”

She angled back, surprised. “So you’re planning to let it grow again?”

“Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

“The uniform looked so surprisingly right on you yesterday.” Her fingers continued to toy with his hairline. “I know in my head you wore it before and have even seen some photos of you from the past. But it wasn’t real to me…not until I saw you in it.”

“That part of my life still doesn’t seem real to me, either. Sometimes…ah, hell.” He cupped her hips and rocked against her. “Screw discussing that. Let’s talk about the part where you got to see me out of that uniform.”

She grazed her hand over him, pausing and curving to cup his weight. “You sure can be a hoo-hah sometimes.”

“A hoo-hah?”

She caressed, stroking until he stirred in her hand. “That’s what I said, Morel.”

“Hey wait.” Water clung to lids fast going sleepy, as if he struggled to stay alert even while she worked to distract him. “At the bar that first night, you whispered hoo-hah under your breath and vowed it was your own private cheer. When all the time it’s really your name for a—”

“Oops.” Laughing, she stroked up the growing length of him. “Busted.”

He gripped her chin and eyed her with mock shock. “You actually called me a d—”

Josie covered his mouth with her free hand. “I did.” She slid both of her hands over his wet chest. “But I changed my mind about you later.”

“Well, I would hope so since we’re currently standing naked together in my shower.”

“Actually, you changed that impression for me.”

“Would that have been when I raced you across the desert?”

“Partly.”

“And the other part?” He swept her hair back from her face, gathering it into a wet twist.

“When you made my sister smile.” A similar smile warmed her now. “She doesn’t do that very often around me anymore.”

“I thought you were jealous. My ex sure as hell always was even when I never once gave her cause.” His grip tightened on her hair. “Every time I returned from a TDY, she searched my bags, certain she’d find some feminine contraband to prove I was screwing around on her. Later, I realized maybe she was hoping to find something to justify her own actions.”

Apparently they all had their ghosts to work through and she’d been selfishly focusing on her own.

“Jealous?” she repeated, determined to do something for him after all he’d done for her. Reassurance wasn’t much, but it was about all she had right now. “Not really. I trusted that I had your undivided attention.”

“That you do.” He dropped his chin to the top of her head while the water and rising sun beat down on them. “So why doesn’t your sister smile around you very much?”

Her head landed against his shoulder again. Hiding? Yeah. “Since things fell apart with Mom, well, everything changed. We didn’t lose just one parent. We lost both.”

“I thought your father was still alive.”

“Oh, he is. But he pretty much checked out when she did, just in a different fashion. He hired a nanny and buried himself in work. Once we were old enough, he shipped us off to Arizona to Athena Academy. I shouldn’t complain really, since Diana went even younger than I did.”

“I thought you liked it there.”

“I did, actually. It was like an all-girl Harry Potter kind of school environment and camaraderie—without the wands and three-headed dogs, of course.” She grinned, caught up in her memories. “The opportunities there were incredible. By the time I graduated from high school, I spoke three languages, aced my college entrance boards. I can outshoot, outrace, outride just about anyone—”

She stared down at the swirling water. “I’m rambling again. Suffice it to say, the whole Athena Academy experience taught me more than I would have learned anywhere else, opened doors and gave me lifelong friends who’ll never let me down. There’s a bond with all of us I’m not sure I can adequately explain.”

“I’m sure your grandfather was proud to see you attend, since he was instrumental in starting the place. Maybe your dad had an instinct about the whole thing, family legacy fulfilled and all.”

“Maybe,” she answered vaguely, then tickled her toe along the top of his bare foot. “Enough about me. Your turn again. What about your folks?”

“Alive and kicking in Mississippi.”

“Were they military, too?”

“God, no. My parents are good, working-class, small-town Mississippi folk. Dad owns an auto hobby shop that specializes in rebuilding bikes, which is where I learned to appreciate a finely tuned engine. Mom runs a day care out of the house—although half of the kids are my nieces and nephews.”

“Sounds noisy, normal and wonderful.”

“They are.”

She stared at his chest, drawing lazy circles through the whorls of hair. “I can see you racing your bike along the railroad tracks, shooting tin cans with your pals and all the while planning how you were going to head out. Do I have it right?”

“Close enough. No one tried to hold me back. Hell, I was their damned hometown hero.” His sigh steamed through her wet hair. “Makes going back mighty awkward now.”

“So you don’t go?” She knew, even though he didn’t answer. “I’ve been ignoring messages on my voice mail from my mother since the accident hit the news.”

“She’s worried about you.”

Josie nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Worried about me?” After her big weep-fest, she wouldn’t blame him, the main reason she didn’t indulge in tears. The last thing she needed was to give people more ammo to suspect she was losing it.

Especially now.

He cupped her chin and lifted, looking down with steady, no-bullshit eyes. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I understand that hurt. But bottom line? No. I’m not worried about you. You’re strong. You’ll make it through this and come out even stronger.”

And he was right. She knew it. She was just relieved he knew it, too.

“Enough talk.” He shifted to press her against the wooden wall, water beating his back. “I have other ideas for how to spend our time this weekend.”

Damn straight. Monday would come soon enough. “So show me, Cruiser.”

Her legs slid up his and around his waist and she was more than glad to delve back into their common ground for a while longer. Because, yes, she would be strong again soon. And strong meant alone.

Birddog wanted to walk away from the office window overlooking the flight line, but the scorched patch of desert cordoned off for investigation held him mesmerized.

Absently he scratched a nail against a fleck on the window. Things weren’t supposed to have happened this way. He’d planned carefully. Craig Wagner had been a damned good pilot and an asset to the air force. Not a wave-making, stubborn pain in the neck like Josie Lockworth.

He’d only wanted the test to fail to put her in place. He’d intended there to be a simple in-flight emergency that would stall the program for Josie and perhaps give Diego Morel a few nightmares about his own final, fatal project.

Instead, someone had died. Not that it could be traced to him. He hoped. While he liked to consider himself invincible, he couldn’t afford to leave anything more to chance. No more warnings. And no more mistakes.

She would have to be stopped.

Dirt from the window and this whole damn mess itched along skin that he couldn’t seem to get clean enough. Tearing himself away from the view, he spun back to the office and into the bathroom to wash his hands again before settling behind the looming desk. He jerked open the bottom desk drawer and pulled out his two vices. A bottle of Scotch and a small snapshot taken on the desert base flight line.

He poured himself a shot, bolted it back and refilled again. Fire flamed down his throat and into his gut, blazing almost as hot as the ones whipping through him after just one look at the picture. Long legs and brown hair radiated a blaze she never saw fit to share with him, someone worthy of her.

He’d let Josie live at Red Flag. A mistake. He considered taking care of things quick and simple. He had contacts after all. During his time as head of the acquisitions team selling old F-16s to Malaysia, he’d been appointed a bodyguard, a man he’d later found had L.A. mob connections. Those came in handy on occasion.

A simple call on his cell phone would take care of it. Birddog swept a tissue along the rim of his glass and considered the option of a quick hit—then decided to place that alternative in reserve. Better to exhaust other options first. Why risk another fatal accident with an investigation into Wagner’s crash already underway?

Still she had to be kept out of the office. Once she returned to work, she would no doubt be prodding for answers with the help of that washed-up desert rat she’d been seeing.

Birddog bolted back another shot of liquor, alcohol sanitizing gritty anger from thoughts of women attracted to unworthy men. He was damn near certain he’d covered his tracks, but Josie Lockworth would turn this into some kind of personal quest.

He definitely needed her otherwise occupied.

Flipping through his Rolodex, Birddog stopped at the Cs. Conner, Shannon.

The number and purpose both branding his brain, Birddog slammed the Rolodex back and dialed.

Slamming her car door, Josie started toward the standard military-shade brown building that housed her office. Only a few minutes more and she would be back on the right path for restoring order.

First, she would file the Memo of Record about Bridges’s come-on. Second, return all the data printouts from her mother’s test. That hurt. But she had to focus on Craig’s accident now or she wouldn’t even be working at all. Maybe the answers to the past waited in the present.

The never-ceasing grit-filled wind tore at her flight suit and braided hair. She clapped her hand to her hat and ducked into the gusts toward the entrance.

She hated that so much time had passed since the incident, but she hadn’t been able to focus on anything except Craig’s crash. Aside from the near-debilitating grief, there had been practical concerns at work. Questions. Investigations. She’d been running flat-footed for nearly a week.

Except for the mind-blowing weekend of sex with Diego.

He would probably be pissed when he realized she’d slipped out of his bed without waking him. But since the project was on hold, his role with the congressional oversight committee had ended anyway.

And even as she recited the logical reason for him not to accompany her, she knew she was avoiding the truth. She needed to face this alone, and she couldn’t think with him around. The temptation to lean on him was too great. Hearing him snore had tugged at something deep inside her, more than an impulsive Josephine longing. Knowing that his obnoxious and kind of endearing snore came from his accident squeezed at her heart.

So, yeah, she’d run like hell.

Guilt tweaked. She had left him a note, damn it. It wasn’t as if she intended to cut him off altogether. Just keep him out of her workplace for a while. And maybe sketch a few boundaries against more probing questions in the shower that left her feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with discarded clothes.

Was it even possible to segment herself into clean delineations of practical Josephine at work and impulsive Josie with Diego? She would have to, starting now.

Josie yanked open the door, mind already on the stacks of files to review, aerial footage to scrutinize, people to question. Deeper into the building she charged, the walls closing around her to swallow her back into the routine world she understood.

The door to Bridges’s office swung open. His desk loomed behind him with stacks of what she suspected were copies of the same files she would be searching in a few minutes.

She smoothed her face into what she hoped was an emotionless mask. She didn’t want to gift him with any hint of her intent about the memo.

Josie saluted without stopping. “Good morning, sir.”

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, Captain.” Bridges returned the salute. “You were given extra time to regain your balance for a reason.”

And let the investigation into her test crash go on without her supervision? Uh-uh. “I would prefer to keep busy.”

She didn’t trust him not to pull another stunt while she was gone. Did he perhaps feel even the least bit guilty over his scheduling change? As much as she wanted to think she could have saved the craft in flight, chances were she would have died instead.

Except she wouldn’t have left behind a spouse and a child. She couldn’t even bear to think about that other baby who would never see its father, or she would be a mess all over again.

She almost couldn’t contain her hatred for Mike Bridges, loathing made all the worse by the fact she didn’t detect the least hint of culpability on his handsome features. Just an odd blankness, as if he didn’t want her reading him at all.

What was he covering?

The sooner she started searching for answers, the sooner she would be able to prove whether Bridges had been responsible for more than a schedule change. “Well, I need to get to my office.”

She started to turn.

“Oh, Captain?”

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s fortuitous that you came in. It actually saved me a call. General Quincy wants to see you.”

A meeting with the general? Her skin burned with foreboding. Maybe she’d gleaned some of Diego’s feel-the-plane instincts after all, because she couldn’t escape the sense that she was headed for a crash and burn.

Chapter 15

Josie stood outside the office and listened to the general’s aide announce her. Her mind raced through the million things General Quincy could want to discuss with her. Some positive, like maybe they’d already traced the problem in Craig’s flight and it was a tragic accident but not her fault so all would proceed on schedule now.

Fat chance.

Other more reasonable options loomed darkly. That somehow in spite of all her careful planning, she’d screwed up and Craig’s death was truly and completely her fault.

She braced herself and entered. The general oversaw squadrons and detachments at a number of bases, and this office was simply the one he used while in town. Minimal extras lent a spartan air, just a big desk, a few chairs, a computer—and of course, flags.

Major General John Quincy filled the leather chair with his presence more than size, a fit man in his fifties with a full head of blond hair fading to gray. He wasn’t known for his enlightened views on women in the military, but at least there had never been so much as a whisper of him ever hitting on a female service member. All encounters with him at formal military functions showed an apparently happily married man with twins nearly her age.

She didn’t completely trust him to look out for her welfare in the workplace, but at least she didn’t have to worry about him grabbing her ass.

Josie snapped her salute. “Captain Lockworth reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Captain.” He returned the salute then steepled his fingers under his chin.

Her arm lowered but still she stood, meeting his eyes now. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry to have to call this meeting so close to the events with Captain Wagner. But a situation has arisen that involves you.”

“In what way, sir?”

“I’ll let these pictures speak for themselves.”

He opened a file and tossed down an array of five photos—all of her kissing Mike Bridges. Her leaning forward as if to deepen the kiss with the scum-sucking bastard, when she knew damn well she’d only been leaning to shove past him without kneeing him in the balls. Even though she knew the events had unfolded in a disgusting case of Bridges breaking protocol, the pictures seemed to suggest something different.

Only years of military training kept her rigid stance from crumbling. Her fingers itched to snatch the pictures from his desk and shred them. Shannon must have snapped shots of her with Bridges before catching her with Diego, probably a whole roll of film that she’d neatly stashed somewhere besides her camera bag.

Why hadn’t she seen a flash? Could her anger have been that blinding? No matter how it had happened, the pictures were there and somehow Shannon had captured angles that made Josie seem the aggressor.

General Quincy scooted the photos into a single stack. “As you know, a certain television correspondent has been working on a special about Athena Academy graduates, showing whether or not the grant money funding the all-girl’s prep school is paying off. A sort of ‘where are they now’ focus.”

Where was she now? From the picture on top it appeared she was working Bridges toward a hotel romp. Who would have thought disgust could look so much like passion?

She forced herself to listen rather than shout in her own defense. She needed to stay calm and logical.

“I’ve already met with Major Bridges to question him. He says you expressed an interest in him the first day you met.”

Damn Bridges and his quibbling. She may have glanced at him before she knew his rank and position. But she’d never once made a move toward him.

Josie kept her head high, much preferable to staring at herself in compromising photos that brought the disgust of that encounter roiling through her again. “The photos and Major Bridges are lying. He came on to me, sir. I was on my way in today to file a Memo of Record to begin documenting a pattern of behavior.”

“But you haven’t already done so?”

Frustration and the first hints of fear smoked through her. “No, sir. There hasn’t been time with Captain Wagner’s crash.”

“I see.” The general rocked back in the office chair. “Do you have any evidence or witnesses in your defense?”

“Diego Morel walked into the event in question, sir. He knows what really happened.”

Already the general was shaking his head. “A jealous boyfriend? I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that. Of course he believes the other man was at fault. That isn’t going to help you, Captain. I would advise you to stop talking now and contact a lawyer.”

Fear mushroomed into a toxic cloud inside her. She would rather face combat than this. “A lawyer?”

“Yes, you can make the call here or once you’re confined to quarters.”

“Quarters? Excuse me, sir, but I’m not following.” Confinement to quarters was extreme for a charge like this, which expanded her fear. But she had no recourse to argue his decision.

“Captain,” the general said slowly, as if to a dense child, “this is a court-martial offense and charges have been filed. As much as I would like for it to go away for the good of the air force, this—” he shook the stack of photos “—makes a quiet resolution impossible. You are being confined until the mess is settled. If you lived on base, we could keep you under guard there. But you don’t. So you will be held in the Visiting Officer’s Quarters over at Edwards Air Force Base. Much better than a prison cell, don’t you agree?”

As though she had a choice. Cold realization hit her with leaden force. “Will I be allowed visitors?”

“Of course.”

Did she even want Diego around right now? No. Definitely not. She’d be in his lap naked and crying again in a heartbeat.

Unacceptable.

But she would need help given the extreme measures already in the works by confining her. She would start with contacting her Athena network to find…something, anything to make this right.

She kept her shoulders squared, military posture intact even as the world around her tumbled out of control.

“Captain.”

“Yes, sir?” She forced herself to focus through the dizzying haze.

He relaxed forward on his elbows signifying an us-against-them shift to the meeting she couldn’t afford to trust. “Fraternization rules are important, but I understand human nature. I’ve been around for many years and battles. My guess is that very likely there will be a deal put on the table.”

She knew better than to think a deal would leave her unscathed. “And what kind of deal might that be, sir?”

“You’ll probably be offered the chance to resign your commission in exchange for all charges being dropped.”

Denial howled through her. A few weeks ago she hadn’t been certain about staying in the air force after the test project wrapped up, and now she couldn’t imagine leaving. What a bittersweet way to find out how much the uniform meant to her. “Not an option for me, sir. I’m innocent.”

“Captain, pressures have been intense for you lately.”

A spidery tingle started over her as she sensed his logical direction.

“Take this time to level out and plan your life so family patterns don’t repeat themselves. Choose wisely, Captain. There are plenty of other ways to serve your country. None of which will be possible if you’re in prison or have a dishonorable discharge hanging over you.”

He reached to press the buzzer on his phone and the door opened again. Footsteps sounded behind her just before two SPs—Security Police—fanned to her sides.

The general stood and returned their salutes. “Escort Captain Lockworth home to collect some personal belongings before you see her to the VOQ.”

Military training assumed command and she functioned, registering her own automatic reactions, a salute, a precisely executed pivot toward the door with her escorts ever present.

Josie shuddered even imagining how her parents would feel about this and the old wounds it might open for her mother. As frustrated as she was with her father sometimes, she had tried to demand as little as possible from them given their own difficult times.

She couldn’t think about that now. She had to get her butt out of this sling. Fast. With every second wasted, the trail grew colder on how that flight had gone wrong.

Now more than ever she believed someone was gunning for her. Personally. If the crash wasn’t accidental, then Craig’s death proved they didn’t care who went down, as well.

She stepped outside, mid-morning sun blinding her until she slipped her aviator glasses in place. She couldn’t escape the crushing weight of her own flaws. She’d been so focused on losing Craig, on the defeat of her program, she’d all but forgotten about the incident with Bridges. And that brief lapse in defenses had been too costly.

No more emotional weakness.

She climbed into the back of the SPs vehicle, the demoralizing moment making her all the more determined.

Pressure?

Hell, yes, she was under pressure, and she was learning something about herself. She thrived on pressure because damn it all, that was just challenge in another form.

She tugged out her cell phone and her e-mailer. She needed to get in touch with a lawyer. Athena grad Selena Shaw Jones, with her law degree and current position as a CIA legal attaché, would recommend the best. Diana would need to know, too, so she could troubleshoot with their parents.

Josie considered calling Diego, after all—the man she’d run from, leaving just a paltry note. But the reasons for stepping back from him still applied. Besides, this was her mess, not his. If she called, he would come. And help. And then she would lean at a time she needed to hold strong more than ever.

Josie gripped her cell phone and called her sister.

Straddling his humming Harley, Diego scanned the desert road stretching out of the testing facility. If he had his timing right, he should be seeing a certain vehicle come his way any minute now.

Thanks to the heads-up from Diana Lockworth.

Josie would be pissed as hell when she discovered her sister had sold her out. But Diana had been scared spitless of what would happen to Josie in the hours it would take Diana to get on a plane and head back to California.

In Diana’s own words, Josie would never put herself first, and right now somebody needed to. She trusted that he would do what was best for her sister.

Diana was right.

He didn’t give a shit about rules and fighting fair, and he sensed that perhaps Diana Lockworth might skirt a few rules herself on occasion. Their rebel kindred spirits recognized each other and together they would make sure people like Josie, pure of spirit and intent, were protected.

He figured he had two options for straightening this out—take on Mike Bridges or Shannon Conner. The decision cost him less than a quarter of a brain cell.

Bridges was the weaker of the two.

Diego gave the idling Harley another pulse of gas, the hum, rev and growl echoing the one inside him, anticipating Bridges emerging into view.

And if not? Diego kept one foot planted on the ground, the other on the bike. Well, he was a patient man when it came to righting the wrong done to Josie. Yeah, he was torqued with her for walking out while he slept, but the emotion definitely took a back burner to dealing with Bridges.

An SUV peeked into view, drawing closer, clearer on the road empty but for the SUV and his own Harley. It was him. Bridges. Diego revved his engine, waited for just the right moment to—

Swing his Harley out into the middle of the road.

Diego roared his way out, cranked into a turn, sliding, forcing the SUV to swerve onto the shoulder. Sand spewed from Bridges’s tires. The vehicle jerked to a halt.

The door flung open. Bridges stepped out in a cloud of sand and fury. Aviator glasses did little to hide his anger. “What the hell was that about? I almost killed you, you crazy son of a bitch.”

Diego swung off his bike. “I wanted to make sure we had a chance to talk without interruptions.” He advanced toward the uniformed man with slow, deliberate steps. “And I didn’t trust that a weasely bastard like you wouldn’t whimper for help on base or back at your place when we have our talk about what you did to Josie.”

“Whoa, hold on there.” Bridges held up two hands. “You don’t want to make this any worse for your girlfriend than it already is.”

“No.” Sun had baked the sand into a hard, cracked surface, pretty much like his anger. “Things are going to be just fine for her once I tear you apart.”

“Kill me and everything’s better?” Bravado starched up the man’s noodle spine now that the shock had worn off. He strutted forward.

“It would be for me. But that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re going down one way or another. I’m only giving you a chance to set this right so it goes easier on Josie.”

“How big of you. But you can pound the hell out of me and it won’t change my story. You went through the same POW survival camp training I did. I’m not impressed with your fists or your mind games.”

“No mind games.” Diego stood his ground, watching Bridges strut and posture—and fidget. He had the guy on the run. “Facts. See, I figured pretty quick that you’ve probably got a history with this sort of thing.”

A flicker of unease whispered across Bridges’s face before his cocky assurance slid into place again like a shield. “You don’t have jack-shit on me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You seem to have forgotten Josie’s sister works military intel for the army. That lady can wring things out of the system you would think were impossible to squeeze free,” Diego continued with a slow-blink stare, studying for the right moment to break the man. “If there’s a whisper on you anywhere—on file, in print, even so much as a suggestive e-mail, she’ll find it. If that’s not enough for you, think on this name for a minute. Kayla Ryan.”

Shields slid away to reveal pure wariness. Everyone had a weak spot, and apparently Kayla was his. Bridges stayed silent. Smart man.

“She was a teenager when you seduced her, you bastard. There’s no denying it since your daughter’s DNA and age proves you did it. You’ve managed to keep it quiet with your timely child-support payments and damned good luck that the woman didn’t decide to skewer you. I won’t be so generous.”

“You’ll be hurting Kayla and Jasmine.”

Like Josie wasn’t already hurting? He refused to feel guilt over this man’s mistakes. “You scum. You don’t even know they call her Jazz.”

“Jazz?” Remorse flickered, fast, but there. “Damn it, leave my kid out of this. Josie would never go for dragging Kayla through this.”

“Josie won’t have a choice. I’ll do damned near anything before I let her lose her commission, much less go to jail.”

“She won’t forgive you for interfering.”

A lone car hummed in the distance, neared, passed by.

“Then that’s the way it will have to be, Bridges. But make no mistake, I’m going to pull apart your reputation layer by layer. Once Josie’s side becomes public, then with Kayla’s story, as well, there will be enough questions to start people talking. Maybe even give other folks confidence to speak up. Now, if you don’t have more skeletons in your closet—”

“Fine, damn it,” Bridges spit out, muscles bunching and jumping under his flight suit. “Just leave Kayla and Jasmi—” He paused, frowned. “Jazz. Leave them out of this.”

Possibly the guy really did care what happened to them. Maybe he had a human bone in his body after all. Diego wrestled with the surprise revelation. But then scumbags weren’t always clear-cut evil. Still, even knowing there was some good buried deep—way down deep—wouldn’t stop Diego from delivering one last message.

“Hey, Bridges?” Diego advanced, slowly, stalking.

“Yeah?”

Diego jabbed his fist up into the bastard’s gut. Bridges grunted, doubled over, stumbling back against his SUV. Diego pressed his forearm over the gasping man’s neck.

“How does it feel to be pinned against this car? Not so great, huh?” He flexed his arm a few millimeters deeper into the guy’s Adam’s apple. “And by the way, that was from Josie, the punch you deserved from her in the parking lot. If you ever hurt her again, I swear I will kill you.”

She was free.

Sitting in the passenger seat of her car, Josie hitched her elbow in the open window and let the wind swirl around her. Her head was still reeling from the shock of being detained then released all by the end of the workday.

And somehow Diego was in the middle of it, because when word came through to let her go, he’d been waiting by her Mustang shortly before sunset. Now he filled the driver’s side, unspeaking as he guided the car toward her condo. She hadn’t even bothered arguing. Even if she’d been able to grab hold of her tilting world, the fierce gleam in Diego’s eyes would have stopped her.

Was the anger directed at her for leaving him? Or at the situation with Bridges? Regardless, Diego was in some feral territory she was wise enough to steer clear of.

After that horrifying meeting with General Quincy, the SPs had escorted her to her condo to pick up clothes and other necessities. She’d packed her belongings and barely made it back to the VOQ before the whole mess simply disappeared.

Quincy had arrived at the VOQ with an apology and release. Apparently Mike Bridges had cleared up the “misunderstanding.” Quincy would do his best to see that the television feature never aired—probably easier now that the reporter had been discredited for her incorrect information.

How damned ironic.

When it was her ass on the line, the show ran. But when Bridges was at fault, suddenly everything went away. All this injustice could really start to give a girl a complex.

All the same, she owed Diego. She’d walked out on him—had it only been that morning?—hadn’t even bothered to call him and still he’d been there for her. She didn’t doubt for a minute that somehow he was at the heart of her release. Even as much as she’d wanted to save her own hide, she wouldn’t be an ungrateful brat.

“I don’t know what you did to make all of that go away for me, but thank you.”

“No problem.” His eyes stayed hidden behind the shades, his jaw taunt.

“Did my sister contact you?”

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips tight to keep from calling her sister an insulting name she would later regret, because Diana had only been concerned. She counted telephone poles whipping past to calm herself.

Seventy-nine later, it hadn’t helped.

Why couldn’t Diana have just looked up the questions on Bridges like she’d asked? There had to be dirt on the guy that wouldn’t bring Kayla into the picture.

Kayla.

Mortifying heat tingled. She’d told Diego all about Kayla and Jazz while crying her eyes out in the sauna. “Diego, what did you do?”

“I threatened him.” Diego downshifted gears with deceptive calm, muscles flexing under faded denim as he slowed. “Then I gave him the punch you should have been able to deliver.”

“And he crumbled that easily? I’m not buying it.”

Diego turned into her condo complex. “Guys like him are basically cowards. I brought up your sister’s amazing ability to find any dirt in the guy’s past, not just in formal records but unofficial channels, as well. You had even asked her to do just that. You set this in motion by calling her.”

Had she subconsciously known Diana would call him? She chewed her bottom lip, which was devoid of orange tryst today.

He cut the engine. “Confronted with that, just as you undoubtedly expected, Bridges folded. My guess is he’ll cut his losses and take the offer of an assignment out of here.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. He gets to move while I was threatened with a court martial.”

Once the roof was secured, Diego turned off the engine and opened his door. “Unfair without a doubt. At this point, I think Quincy wants it all to go away, too.”

He rounded the car while she sat. He raised a brow and waited. But she couldn’t go into her apartment with him because they would have sex. She wouldn’t be able to resist him. If she’d thought her emotions were vulnerable before, she’d been stripped of a fresh layer today. She didn’t want to be that close to him. And she definitely didn’t want to cry again.

Diego hitched his boot on the running board beside her. “What the hell’s wrong now?”

“I’m pissed because I have no control over what’s going on around me. Bridges set me up. You take him out. Now I can’t even tell you to get on your bike and go home because you drove me in my car.”

“Buttercup.” He hooked one arm on the edge of the roof and leaned inside, filling the doorway. “You really don’t want to mess with me today. You may have forgotten this, but I woke up in an empty bed because somebody’s too much of a coward to face the morning after. I don’t consider myself Mr. Sensitive by any damn stretch of the imagination. But common courtesy applies when two people exchange body fluids.”

She studied her bootlaces. “I didn’t leave you stranded. You had your truck.”

“Don’t even insult me by pretending that’s what I’m talking about. Or hey, wait, maybe I should get you a pen and paper so you can write it all down in another note to leave me while I’m asleep.” Anger leaked into his curt tones.

She understood well the tendency to hide pain behind anger. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re not.”

“What?” So much for feeling sorry for him. “Now I don’t get control over my life or my own feelings?”

“Do you even know what your feelings are?”

He had her there.

“I didn’t think so.” Inches of crackling air separated their faces. “I’m a big boy. I can get my own ass home. But if you want me to leave, have the guts to tell me to my face,” he challenged.

“Leave.”

“Fine.” He pivoted on his boot heel.

Ah, hell. This guy really did level her defenses. She slid out of the car. “Diego?”

He looked back over his shoulder. Josie’s hand shot out, gripped his fringed jacket.

And yanked his head down to hers for a hard and deliberate kiss.

Chapter 16

Birddog resisted the urge to ram the car ahead and shout at other drivers passing him on the desert highway. All of which would make him look insane.

And he wasn’t.

He had faultless control of his senses. He checked his speedometer. Perfect.

The fact that he could manage at all through the howling outrage over Josie Lockworth’s release attested to his sanity. That he hadn’t strangled Diego Morel with his bare hands for interfering said much about his strength of will.

He only needed a drive to clear his head and remove himself from the temptation to wreak havoc in his office. Mile after mile away from the base, he talked through his options.

He wasn’t speaking to himself or hearing voices. Hell, no. Just reasoning aloud to test how things sounded.

His skin burned raw where he scratched away dust, and he forced both hands onto the wheel. His foot twitched heavier on the accelerator. Sandy landscape blurred in his side window.

Something had to be done soon.

Why couldn’t Josie Lockworth have crawled into a hole after the crash like her mother had done years ago? After all, the present mirrored the past so cleanly with the accident and death of a co-worker, he’d thought surely the daughter’s reaction would follow the mother’s.

Things didn’t have to get this complicated. He’d only needed Josie out of the way long enough to plug in his own test theories. They would work as well if not better than hers. He could finally get the credit he deserved.

And show her his worth.

Now Josie had messed every damn thing up by wriggling out of the net so quickly. There was little time for him to cover his tracks and start the new path—unless she was completely out of the picture.

Reaching an empty stretch of desert, he roared off the road, skidding to a stop in a tidal wave of sand. He bolted out of the car, slamming the door, his long-bottled howl begging to be set free. The primal scream tore up from his throat until he gasped for air.

Last echoes fading, he bent to grasp his knees. No question about it, Josie Lockworth would have to die. That bastard Morel, too. Birddog straightened, resolve set, in control and already reaching for his cell phone.

One call to his old bodyguard outside of L.A. would set the contingency plan in motion within an hour.

Fingers digging into Diego’s shoulders for balance, Josie wished it were as easy to brace herself against the storm of emotions pummeling her. Her world was a jumbled mess. Work and personal. Past and present. Her days of controlled emotions and careful planning hadn’t gained her jack.

The logical part of her brain told her she should get hold of herself and think. But at the moment, with her mouth plastered to Diego’s, her hand tunneling under his leather jacket, she couldn’t come up with a single reason why she should stop.

What else did she have to lose?

She’d been so sure she was stronger than her mother, that if she never lost control, if she dotted every i and crossed every t, things would work. How damned arrogant.

Her mother had been meticulous. Her mother had most likely been right, too. Hell, her mother had even known how to maintain a steady relationship with someone other than a pile of tiny stuffed critters.

She’d tried to stay in control and her life had fallen apart anyway. Why not take what she wanted? And right now, she wanted to get inside her condo and get naked with Diego.

Without breaking their kiss, he kicked the car door closed and backed toward Josie’s condo. Their feet tangled, her combat boots with his biker leathers, yet somehow they managed to make it to her front door without landing on their butts.

“Key,” he grunted against her lips.

Devouring his mouth, she flattened her foot on the wall beside him while she fished in her calf pocket. He wrapped his fingers around her thigh and brought their bodies closer—nowhere near close enough, with so many clothes between them. All the pent-up emotions of the day bellowed inside her, and apparently she’d found a matching frenzy in him.

Her mouth nipped an urgent path down his neck while he jerked the keys from her hand and jammed the correct one home into the lock. They stumbled into the entry hall and again he kicked the door closed, blocking out the world and problems.

He pivoted her against the wall, anchoring them both before they truly did fall on their butts. She should probably call his behavior Thor material. But all she could think of at the moment was how damned awesome it was to be with a man who didn’t care if she carried a big knife or if she flew jets. Diego gave as good as he got and she respected that in him.

He braced both forearms to the spackled wall. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. Yes,” she panted, clawing at his jacket. “I want this, you, now. Here, or I would have flipped you onto the cement back in the parking lot.”

“So you’re sure? We could go upstairs to your bedroom for slow and thorough—”

“We’ll do slow and thorough later. After.”

“Fair enough.” He jerked down her flight-suit zipper. She shimmied her arms out and raised them over her head in an unmistakable invitation. He gripped the edge of her black T-shirt, sweeping it up and off to reveal her sports bra, which he sent sailing, as well.

Her frantic hands tore at his belt. “Birth control.” She worked fly buttons free. “Do you have it or do we go to my bedroom after all?”

“Wallet,” he barked as his hands rose to cup her breasts, teasing tight nipples between his fingers. “Back pocket.”

Sighing, she sagged into his touch for two breathless seconds before regaining her balance. She abandoned his fly and reached behind to tug his wallet and smack it onto his palm. With determined hands she opened his pants, reached into his boxers and found…

Yeah, he was more than ready.

He whipped out the condom, ripped it open and rolled it down while she whispered her impatience against his neck. The scent of leather clung to him, drifting up and spiraling through her. A swift sweep sent her flight suit and panties down. Could he be any hotter? Could she get any hotter?

And then he plunged inside her. Hotter still.

He filled her again and again while she rocked her response, moaned her pleasure, called out her assent with a ramble of yes, yes, yes.

Pictures rattled against the wall alongside them in an echoing tattoo setting a pace, encouraging, louder. One silver frame slid and crashed to the floor. Glass shattered. Not that she bothered to look since the sight of Diego fighting back his release with gritted teeth held her, aroused her as much as his thrusts.

Then her eyes refused to stay open. Her breath hitched. She was close. So close, so soon. So incredible.

Crying out, she arched against him, taut and moaning for…she didn’t know how long the sensation pulsed. Until finally Diego’s growl of completion against her ear launched a final soaring release. No other word for it.

Slumping against the spackled wall, she couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. Cool and logical was no longer an option.

Five minutes—or was it five hours?—later, Josie hooked her arms around Diego’s neck to keep from crumpling to the ground. Her fingers glided along the bristly, shorn hair at his nape. She didn’t want to think about the emotional meltdowns that seemed to follow sex with Diego. She certainly wouldn’t indulge in one now.

Not even twenty-four hours ago, she’d been certain she needed distance from Diego and yet here they were again, open and vulnerable to each other after another explosive encounter. Maybe she needed to ride the wave of this passion. Nothing could be this intense forever. It would have to crest and disperse eventually. They would move on. At just the thought, a sadness pooled deep inside her.

Diego’s chest expanded with a breath, muscle pressing against her sex-sensitive breasts before he hefted himself away and zipped his pants. She angled from the wall to right her clothes, but he dipped, swinging her up into his arms.

Josie gripped his shoulders for balance. “Going back into Thor mode are you?”

“Thor?” Diego sidestepped the shattered glass from the picture frame. “Not even close or I’d have pitched you over my shoulder instead.”

“All right, then more of a Rhett Butler deal. But be warned, I’m not the Scarlett O’Hara type.”

“Rhett?” He snorted and tossed her onto the sofa, her legs draped over the arm with her flight suit still tangled around her ankles. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not hero material.”

Clicking on a lamp, he studied her with an unmistakable gleam. He unlaced her boots with practiced hands, tossed both aside and peeled her flight suit off before stripping away his clothes.

“Nice view, Cruiser. So there’s more for me tonight?”

“Definitely more. I owe you one that lasts longer than five minutes.” He flung his jeans over the ottoman and stood before her in totally unselfconscious nude glory. “Unless you’d rather talk.”

Talk? Not a chance. Too much turmoil bubbled inside her. She couldn’t risk ending up blubbering in his lap again.

Josie stood, bare and thoroughly enjoying the appreciation in his eyes. She pointed to the sofa. “Get your naked butt over here right now.”

She definitely needed to be in control of something today.

“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped to the couch and stretched out, arms behind his head.

She swung a leg across to straddle his hips, draping herself over him and losing herself in the luxury of lazy kisses they’d been too frantic to fully explore earlier.

He shifted under her.

“No.” She cupped his shoulders to urge him back down again. “This show’s mine.”

“Yeah, and I’m looking forward to that, but there’s something—” he reached under his waist “—beneath my back here.”

His hand reappeared with her horsy Beanie Baby that had captured her attention because it reminded her of riding lessons with her sister. She started to take it from him but he kept it out of reach.

“I meant to ask about these when I was here before, but I got distracted by you.” He skimmed the fuzzy toy along her spine. “Why do you have a gross of Beanie Babies in your living room?”

So much for losing herself in sex. Was his an idle question? Or a move to venture into a more personal connection? Her chest went tight as if trying to hold back sharing words.

How silly.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. “The day I was commissioned, my dad gave me a new nine-millimeter to carry into battle. My sister gave me a year’s worth of ammo for target practice. All my Athena Academy sisters—the Cassandras—gave me the ranks and insignias for my uniform.”

“And?” He traced the toy along her shoulders over skin still tingling from the power of a release more intense than any she could remember.

“And my mother gave me a camouflage Beanie Baby. She told me I was strong and that she was proud of me. But never to forget that being soft could sometimes be the greatest strength of all.”

Except that was so much easier said than done when it seemed every time she let down her guard something went wrong. So she had collected the doggone Beanie Babies on the sly and hid them in her condo until the place was damn near bursting with them. “Remember when we were talking earlier in the parking lot about my note this morning and whether or not you should go home tonight?”

The tickling softness stopped on her back. “So this was ‘wham bam thank you, sir’ sex?”

“No!” Everything inside her rebelled at treating him that callously. “That’s not at all what I meant. That the words would come out that way is just all the more proof that I’m not thinking straight or making smart decisions. I need my objectivity back, Diego, and I can’t be objective around you.”

He tossed the tiny horse onto the coffee table. “Somehow I don’t think you’re complimenting me.”

She braced up onto her elbows and searched his darkening eyes. “Are you going to go ballistic on me again if I tell you I need a little space?”

“Not as long as you tell me to my face.” His jaw flexed.

“I really do need breathing room.” And how strange did that sound with her naked body pressed to his? Her peaking breasts already betrayed how much she wanted him again. “That’s what the note was supposed to be about. I can’t think when you’re around and I have a helluva lot to wade through. I need you to take a step back. Not a big one. Just enough that I can clean up my life—”

“Okay.” He sat up and swung her off his lap and to the side.

Her mouth went slack. “That’s it? Okay?”

He glanced sideways at her with a don’t-give-a-shit blandness. “You wanted me to fight for you Thor-style?”

She’d gotten her way. She should be turning backflips. Instead the pool of blue melancholy inside her darkened to purple. “Maybe I wanted you to be a little disappointed since this is tearing me up.”

“Tearing you up inside?” His don’t-give-a-shit look shifted to pure anger. “Good. Because you’ve damn near shredded me today.”

The anger didn’t soothe her pride after all. This man confused her and she hated that. “I just meant we wouldn’t work together right now.” Her hands fell to his shoulders. “We can still be together, like this. Let’s go upstairs.”

He looked down at one of her hands on him until she slid both away. “You want to segment me off into your apartment like those toys over there. Maybe once in a while you’ll take me out for a ride in your car. Oh, and I’ll get to have sex with you, too. Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

Every fair and P.C. bone in her body protested at the scenario he’d painted. If the roles were reversed she would be furious—and rightly so. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, right.” He hiked on his jeans. “If I just wanted sex, there are plenty of women out there who are a helluva lot less trouble than you are.”

She scooped her flight suit off the floor. “As always, you’re the king of tact.”

Josie swept her flight suit back on, yanking the zipper up with as much speed and emotion as it had been tugged down earlier. Once she finished, she looked up to find Diego watching her with narrowed eyes. Brooding came easy to him. All his emotions seemed to flow.

Diego stalked forward until they stood nose-to-nose. “You want to boot me out of your life? Fine. But first we need some things settled. Somebody’s gunning for you, Buttercup. And if my suspicions about Wagner’s crash are right, this person’s not afraid to kill. Until we find out who’s pursuing you so damned doggedly, you’re stuck with me in the workplace. As far as in bed? I’m not feeling particularly turned on at the moment.”

She wanted to argue with him. She could handle this on her own. Still, he’d put his butt on the line for her often enough and she was grateful.

A noise sounded from upstairs, stretching her taut nerves to near breaking. Diego tensed beside her.

The spare bedroom door at the top of the stairs swung wide.

“Josie?”

Diana. Josie gripped the sofa arm. Relief melted through her.

Her sister stepped from behind the door with her hand clapped over her eyes. “Are you two about finished?” She padded barefoot into the hall, gray baggy sweatsuit making her nearly indistinguishable in the dark. “If not, throw a blanket over yourselves or something because I can’t stay hidden out of the way up here any longer without a bathroom break.”

Josie climbed the stairs, Diego’s shadow stretching as he followed her. “Jesus, Diana! You scared the hell out of me—again. I’m grateful to see you and all, but I never expected you’d be here so fast.”

“I tried to announce myself, but then you two went at it so fa—”

A noise from behind gave her only enough time to spin around before—

Her bedroom door exploded open. Two masked men charged into the hall.

Guns drawn.

Chapter 17

Surprise and adrenaline jolted through Josie like a double shot of espresso strapped to a stick of dynamite.

Two men in dark clothes and ski masks charged from her bedroom, guns drawn. The sliding-glass door in the master bedroom to the garden balcony gaped open behind them.

“Stop right there.” The left-handed gunman, bulky in build, swung his weapon toward Diego, stopping him halfway up the stairs.

The right-handed attacker, lean and tall, alternated his gun from Diana to Josie and back again.

Tension coiled inside Josie, ready to spring. She took quick mental inventory of the intruders. Clothes fit snugly so as not to snag on anything, as if worn with careful planning—often. Each man carried a black automatic pistol in gloved hands, a Glock for Lefty and a Beretta for Righty.

“My jewelry box is on the dressing table. There isn’t much there, but take it,” Josie offered in steady tones, testing their motives, hoping to speed them on their way.

Righty snorted. “We don’t want to pawn any cheap rings, lady.”

“Our wallets then.” She angled down as if to get her wallet, trying to decide whether it would be wise to whip free her survival knife from her boot.

Her heart thudded in her ears. She could face dying, had in fact worked through the possibility in combat and test flights. But she could not lose another friend because of whatever mess she’d stirred with her test project. And Diego and Diana were so much more than friends to her.

Diego’s shadow stretched up the steps.

“No farther up those stairs, dude.” Lefty hauled Josie back against his bulk. No way to reach for the knife now. “I mean it. Stop, or we blow away the babes.”

Diego froze, his gaze flicking from Josie to Diana. “I hear you. Just stay cool.”

“Damn. There weren’t supposed to be three people,” Righty barked in raspy grunts swinging his gun onto Diana. “Just her and her boyfriend.”

“No problem,” Lefty growled with hot garlic breath. “We’ll dump all three of them in the desert where the coyotes can get ’em.”

This wasn’t a random hit or burglary. They’d been sent. And they were apparently either stupid or overconfident. She now had no choice but to fight, since they’d removed hope of being left alive.

Lefty waggled his gun at Diego and banded his beefy arm tighter around Josie’s waist. “Dude, I can see you thinking there about taking us out now, but here’s the deal. You cooperate and we won’t rape the women before we pop ’em in the head.” He caressed the cold gun barrel along her temple. “You can even be the last to take a bullet to the brain, dude, just to make sure we’re good on our word. So? We have a deal?”

As if they could trust these bastards on anything.

But the bastards wouldn’t know they were up against women who could defend themselves. That element of surprise would be an advantage they could only wield once.

“So, dude,” Diego drawled lazy and slow, swinging the attackers’ attention ever so subtly to him and buying time for the women to act. “I guess you’re not interested in cutting a deal here for my Harley?”

“Harley?” The gun slid from her temple.

Josie jammed her elbow back, pivoted, reached to grab his arm. A gunshot exploded into the floor inches from her feet. Scuffling sounded behind her as Diana no doubt kicked the crap out of her opponent. A shot blasted the ceiling. Plaster rained on their heads.

She leveled Lefty just as Diego launched forward up the stairs, landing flat. He grappled for the gunman’s hand and twisted. Cracking bones echoed with the man’s scream as he rolled to his feet.

Josie spun to her sister. Diana’s hands were wrapped around the other attacker’s wrist, wrestling the gun above their heads. She brought her knee up between his legs.

Howling, Righty tumbled forward, ramming Diana against the wall.

Josie grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him off. She slammed his head against the wall once, twice, again until he stopped resisting. He collapsed into her bedroom.

“Shit,” Lefty said, and stumbled back from Diego’s fist, nose spurting blood. Decisiveness burned in the dark eyes in the mask a second before he spun away. Righty scrambled after him.

Whipping her knife from her boot, Josie sprinted, so close, if she stretched her reach a little farther…Footsteps pounded behind her with backup.

Both masked men dove out the balcony window.

Josie screeched to a halt against the wrought-iron railing, regaining her balance, readying to scale down to the lot. She swung one leg over the barrier—

The men climbed into a waiting car and squealed away.

Damn.

She brought her leg back over and turned. “Everyone okay?”

Diego was covered in blood.

The knife slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor. “Oh my God.”

She rushed forward. Her hands hovered along him, careful not to risk touching and possibly hurting him until she knew. “Where are you injured?”

“I’m fine.” He gripped her shoulders and hauled her close. “It’s just blood from his broken nose. At least the cops will have a decent DNA sample to go with that license plate number. Diana?”

“I’m okay,” her sister answered from beside the bed, telephone already in hand. “Just calling the cops.”

“Josie?” His hands stroked down her hair again and again. “What about you? You’re awfully quiet, Buttercup.”

Her cheek pressed to his chest. His heartbeat slugged against her while she stared at the empty parking lot. Diana’s voice relaying details to 9-1-1 broke the night silence.

They both could have died—because of her. Just like Craig.

“I’m fine.” She inched out of the comfort of Diego’s arms that threatened to weaken her with softer emotions. “Totally fine and completely pissed.”

The bastard responsible for this was going down.

Three hours later, Josie stabbed at her supper—cashew chicken. Delivery Chinese food would have to take the place of mac and cheese for comfort tonight. Diana sat across from her at the glass-and-chrome dinette set, stirring her chopsticks through a carton of sweet-and-sour pork.

Josie’s damp hair stuck to her neck. Diego had hugged her so hard he’d smeared the blood from Lefty’s broken nose all over her flight suit, necessitating a shower and change into shorts and a T-shirt.

Now, Diego was showering back in her bedroom, which too easily brought to mind images of bathing with him at his place. Was that only a few days ago? Since then she’d been threatened with a court martial, arrested, released, had wild sex with Diego against a wall, been attacked by two gunmen and filed police reports.

And it was only Monday. She’d faced combat situations that hadn’t given her heart as heavy a workout as it had received in the past twelve hours.

The cops had responded quickly to Diana’s call, scouted the area, run the license-plate number. Stolen plates. No surprise there. Josie couldn’t fault the police. There wasn’t much more to go on or much else to do from a civilian angle.

Still, someone was definitely after her.

Now Diego and Diana had come into the crosshairs, as well. Especially Diego, since hadn’t the men noted to expect a boyfriend? She needed to get them both the hell away from her.

“Don’t even go there, Josephine,” Diana ordered between bites of fried pork.

“Go where?” Josie swung her feet up onto the chair beside her.

Diana dropped her chopsticks into the carton. “You’re blaming yourself for calling me and that’s just crap. I’m an adult. Nobody makes me go anywhere I don’t want to anymore. I’m not leaving until we have some answers for you. I don’t think you’re going to have any luck budging Diego, either.”

She suspected her stubborn sister was right. Even as that scared her hair nearly dry, she couldn’t stop a smile over Diana’s not-so-subtle reference to the times a much younger Josie had hauled her baby sister around—by her pigtails, if necessary. “I still believe you should go home. But I’ll try not to feel like pond scum for bringing you here.”

“Well, try harder. And while you’re at it, pass the pot stickers please, Buttercup.” Diana drew out the last word with the torturously teasing emphasis that only a sibling could deliver.

And she’d thought her sister was too occupied calling the cops to have heard Diego use that silly name. Heaven forbid Diana had overheard it earlier during the sex-fest against the wall.

Diana smiled wickedly. “I’m never going to let you forget that one you know.”

“I figured as much.”

“So from the, uh—” Diana scooped up another pork bite, red sauce dripping onto her sweatshirt “—activity earlier with you and Diego, I’m guessing you’re officially a couple now?”

Big-time blush alert. “Why didn’t you let us know you were here right away?”

“I tried to say something, even hollered a hello once, but you two went at it so fast and, uh, loud, you must not have heard me.” She snatched a napkin from the middle of the table and dabbed at her sweatshirt. “I didn’t want to embarrass you. I thought I was being polite.”

Her sister sure seemed to be getting a kick out of making her blush now. Buttercup. Josie rolled her eyes. “Well, you could have put a pillow over your head.”

“I did. It helped, except for that crash,” Diana continued with a wicked grin.

The picture frame.

“Okay! Okay.” Josie closed her eyes, raising a hand in surrender. “I get the idea.”

“Actually, I decided it wasn’t a bad time for a nap. Noise from the guys breaking in must have triggered those agent instincts and woken me.”

Memories of the hellish moment when the gunmen had burst in rolled back between them in a toxic cloud. Being almost certain they could kick their attackers’ butts didn’t stop a healthy respect for the lethal power of a gun. Any or all of them could have died so easily.

Diana’s napkin wadded in her tight fist. “Are you ever going to pass my pot stickers?”

Josie thrust the box of Chinese food. “Sure. Sorry.”

“Thanks, Buttercup.” The need to insert levity was obviously mutual.

Josie lobbed the Beanie Baby horse at her sister’s head. “Brat.”

“Ouch! Don’t make me come over there and hurt you.”

“I’d welcome the fight.”

“That bad a week?”

“The worst.” Craig’s death. The possible end of her career. The end of salvaging her mother’s dream.

Diana jabbed inside the cardboard carton with her chopsticks and speared a doughy dumpling. “Are you upset with me for calling Diego?”

“A little,” she answered truthfully. Didn’t she always? Which compelled her to continue. “Although I’m starting to wonder if on some subconscious level I knew that was exactly what you would do since I couldn’t bring myself to ask him for help. Is that messed-up logic or what?”

“We Lockworth women sure do know how to get mixed into some screwed-up relationships. Of course, we didn’t have much of a model for a mother.”

Defensiveness rolled to the fore on already plank-taut nerves. “She was sick, Diana. Isn’t it time you cut her some slack?”

“Maybe you should take your own advice with Dad,” her sister snapped back.

“There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with him.” Josie dropped her carton on the table, leaning forward on both elbows. “Just because he tried to cook us macaroni and cheese once doesn’t make him a good father or a good husband. He can fawn all over Mom now that she’s well, but where the hell was he when she was staring at a wall like a zombie for hours on end? And when he dumped us off at boarding school?”

Diana sagged back into her chair in surly silence.

Hell. Way to go, Buttercup. She comes to save your ass and you pick a fight.

Josie formed a time-out T with her hands. “Whoa. Hold on. Let’s take this down a notch. We were actually getting along for a while and God knows I appreciate your help even though it scares the hell out of me having you here. Let’s agree to leave the other subject alone.”

“Sure. Worked in the past, I guess. Whatever you say. You’re the big sister after all.” Diana scraped her chair back from the table and shuffled toward the kitchen.

“Ah, come on, Diehard. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

God, that sister of hers reverted to the sullen teenager so easily she made it tough to remember she was an adult officer.

“Hey, ladies,” Diego called from the hall. “Hope y’all saved some of the Chinese for me. I’m damn near starving.”

Scrubbing a towel over his wet hair, Diego ambled down the stairs, wearing fresh jeans, a clean T-shirt and a just-showered smell that watered Josie’s mouth more than any box of cashew chicken. “Do you need to check on Bogey and Bandit?”

“I took care of that before I picked you up. They’re with a neighbor.” He smoothed her hair back with a lover’s caress before continuing into the kitchen.

He’d definitely intended from the start to stay overnight, otherwise why bring a change of clothes? Her watering mouth dried up. She’d slept in bed with him twice over the weekend. No problem. Except now there was this big pink elephant in the room between them after her note and request for distance.

She watched him over the bar separating the dining area from the kitchen. Angling past Diana, he hooked the towel around his neck.

“Hey, little sister, want a—” he swung the refrigerator door wide and grimaced “—bottled water?”

“No long-necks, huh?” Diana groused.

“’Fraid not.”

Josie envied his ability to call Diana “little sister” without generating a nuclear sulk in return. But then Diego had that sort of easiness with just about everyone. Even in brood mode, he didn’t set people on edge—like she somehow managed to do too often.

Taking the seat beside Josie, Diego twisted the top off his water and grabbed the carton closest to him. “Any thoughts on what move you want to make next?” He set his bottle on the table. “I’m thinking we’ll want to act fast since apparently somebody’s upset you dodged the court martial so easily.”

Josie snagged a steno pad from the middle of the table. “I agree.”

Diego pointed to the paper with a chopstick before stabbing his beef lo mein. “Make sure you save yourself a sheet for your note to me in the morning.”

Ouch.

Diana studied the sweet-and-sour sauce stain on her sweatshirt with exaggerated interest.

Josie ignored Diego’s jab and picked up her pencil. “I guess we start with who has reason to hate me.”

“Bridges.” Diego’s fist tightened around the water bottle until the plastic dimpled.

“Yeah.” Josie wrote his name. “And if Bridges is responsible, then he’s been defused now.”

Diana strode to the table. “Unless he’s so mad he’s prepared to go for broke on revenge.”

Josie frowned. “Even to the point of hiring thugs? And why? It all seems to come back to someone wanting to derail my project. Too many things went wrong for it to be coincidence—including Craig dying. What are the odds that every safeguard would fail on that flight?”

“A flight you were supposed to be on.” A tic twitched in the corner of Diego’s eye as he shoveled more noodles into his mouth.

“But Bridges pulled the schedule switch. So if he’s the problem, he doesn’t want me dead.” Options churned through her head. “Unless he yanked me off the flight just to get back at me for turning him down, like I thought, and someone else was responsible for the crash.”

“Two agendas?” Diana dropped into her chair. “Two people after you? That’s a little paranoid.”

“Thanks bunches, Diehard.”

“You’re welcome. Do you know for certain Bridges was the one to change the schedule?”

“Yes, um, no. I’m not sure. I could ask Zeljak on Monday since he works in scheduling.”

Diana frowned. “Unless this Zeljak fellow made the scheduling change. What do you know about him?”

Zeljak? Josie mentally reviewed his file. “Seasoned master sergeant. Over two thousand hours in flight test. Family man. I can’t imagine…ah, hell, I guess I have to consider everything and it all goes back to the crash. The investigation will take months, which gives somebody too much time to bury evidence.” Which meant she needed to be a step ahead of them. She pushed away from the table and folded the lid on her cashew chicken, grateful for a chance to actively fight back. “What do you say we head over to the testing facility and start digging before somebody else has the chance?”

Diana leaped to her feet, the gleam in her eyes burning away any residual anger. “Who needs sleep? Diego, pack up your supper while I change into something fit to be seen in public.”

Standing, Diego folded the lid on his lo mein to take along. “Just need my boots and I’ll be set to go.”

Her arms full of the extra cartons, Josie hesitated. Fair play made her rise up onto her toes and brush a kiss over his surprised mouth. “I really am sorry.”

And she meant it. She just wasn’t ready to figure out what she should do in place of note writing. They truly did have pressing concerns, life-threatening stuff and an ungodly amount of data to plow through searching for that needle in a haystack.

She turned to her sister. “Give me ten minutes to grab a fresh flight suit and switch out my patches and pockets.”

With Lefty, Righty, Bridges, Zeljak and God only knows who else to worry about, she’d definitely be packing her knife tonight.

Chapter 18

Josie made tracks away from her office, folders of data under her arm, computer disks stuffed in her flight-suit pockets. Diana and Diego trailed a couple of steps behind, discussing road rallies and biker gear since apparently Diana had a secret stash of black leather to wear when she morphed into secret-agent girl. Josie rounded the corner—

And stopped short.

A light shone from underneath an office door—Mike Bridges’s door. Her heart revved even as she told herself nothing would happen in the security of a military installation. If Bridges was responsible, it wasn’t as if he would blast out of his office and gun them down in the corridor.

However, having already been shot at once today, she couldn’t help but be on edge.

She glanced over her shoulder and shushed the biker buddies behind her. Pointing to the light under the door, she continued past but at a stealthier pace. Diego tucked in beside her and she never even heard him increase speed.

The exit loomed ahead. Closer. Just a few more steps.

A door opened behind her. “Lockworth?”

Bridges’s voice stopped her. Diego damn near growled. She rested a hand on his arm and faced Bridges, keeping the healthy distance of half a hall length between them.

“Yes?” She couldn’t bring herself to say sir to this man, and likely he wouldn’t quibble with her.

“I would like to speak with you for a minute—if you don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Diego snapped.

She did, too. “We need to leave.”

Tension clouded the air and she couldn’t help but notice the new droop of defeat to Bridges’s shoulders. Why wasn’t there any joy in this victory?

“It’ll only take a minute, Captain. You can both stand right there. I’m not asking your guard dog to leave.” When she started to turn away anyhow, he pressed ahead in a louder voice, “These past few days have made me do some hard thinking, life reevaluation and all of that.”

“I’m glad something positive has come out of this nightmare.”

“I know I don’t have any right to ask you this. But would you talk to Kayla for me and tell her that I want to see Jazz?”

What the hell?

A request to see his daughter was the last thing Josie had expected to fall out of Mike Bridges’s mouth and the one thing sure to make her hesitate in leaving. Could he know that and be tricking her into staying? Or did he really think she might help him? Dirtbag. “Why?”

“Everything that’s happened this past week, what with Wagner’s accident, the whole TV exposé nightmare, it all shook me up. Made me do some reevaluating about where my life’s headed and what’s important.”

As much as she knew Jazz would love to have a father in her life, Josie noticed Bridges was careful not to call Jazz his daughter. A Freudian thing? It bothered her, especially since this turnaround of his was so darned fast. Bottom line, Jazz’s interests had to come first.

“I can’t help you. This is between you and Kayla. I’m not being petty.” Even though she would really, really like to be. That doggone sense of fair play of hers worked both ways.

He stepped forward. She held up a hand and he stopped, wincing. “I guess I deserve that.”

“Damn straight you do,” Josie retorted, ever aware of Diego at her back. She didn’t need these two men duking it out and she didn’t want Bridges asking questions about the files under her arm. “I would like to think you’re truly interested in being a part of that little girl’s life, but forgive me if I don’t have a lot of faith in you anymore. You’d better be sure before you step into Jazz’s life, because losing a father’s love can really mess with a woman’s mind long-term for other relationships, as well.”

Now wasn’t that a personal-lightbulb moment?

Too bad she didn’t have time to mull it over. Josie spun on her heel, leaving Bridges standing alone in the hall—without her respect or salute.

Josie punched in the cipher lock code and swung wide the door to the warehouse room for storing data on current test projects at the Palmdale military testing facility. The answer had to be here somewhere. She only needed to find it first—with Diego and Diana’s help.

She didn’t like that Bridges knew they were around. She liked even less that he’d seen her hauling files out of her office. They were all three perfectly legal in being there, given their clearance levels, but still she wasn’t thrilled about alerting anyone to their digging.

However, it was done. Bridges seeing them gave her all the more motivation to search faster. Only someone with clearance could find them here—which, of course, didn’t offer much reassurance right now.

“Jesus, Josie.” Diana pivoted in the shelf-lined room, about the size of a two-car garage, as the door swished closed. “We’ll be here until the next millennium going through all of this.”

Binders, tapes and disks crammed every inch of wall space. Tables stretched down the middle with televisions hooked up to different viewers—VCR, DVD—to watch the recorded flight footages. And these were only the active test projects. Once a test finished, the “cold data” was catalogued, shipped out and stored in mammoth facilities.

Folding his arms over his chest, Diego lounged against a shelf. “You’re the boss on this one, Josie. Give us our marching orders.”

Work. Action. Already she felt more in control than she had since Craig’s crash. “Cruiser, how about you start with checking the data-stream readouts. I’ll review video footage.” She hefted up three twelve-inch stacks of computer printouts on green-and-white striped paper. “Diehard, let’s put your computer skills to work. Review the codes on the flight control program for each mission, check the algorithms.”

Diana’s hazel eyes gleamed with an anticipation only a computer geek could summon for such a tedious task. “You want me to look for sign errors, divide by zero errors, illogical lines of code.”

“Exactly.”

“And what are you and Diego looking for?”

Rising up on her toes, Josie slid free the first two tapes in the test project. “We don’t have a clue. Just something that feels…wrong.”

Five cups of coffee and countless hours later, Josie’s face cracked with a yawn. Only the blast of air from the vent overhead kept her from falling out of her chair. The windowless room provided no sense of time passing but the clock told her the early-morning sun must be shining outside.

At the far end of the length of tables, Diana propped her cheek on her fist, scanning page after page in her latest stack. Diego sat beside her flipping through data-stream readouts while she viewed flight video segments. The lone drone of recorded flight voices echoed, control tower, pilots, sensor operators.

She stifled another jaw-cracking yawn. They’d taken turns snagging power naps through the night so the data wouldn’t blur, but there was just so much of it. She drained her mug of lukewarm java.

Bleck.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Josie’s muscles tensed, every fiber of her going on alert.

Diana and Diego rose from their chairs along with her, shifting to a less vulnerable part of the room. Nothing would look amiss to an innocent person, but they would be at a better vantage point for another blast from Lefty and Righty type thugs.

The door opened. Master Sergeant Don Zeljak stepped into view, popping his chewing gum.

Josie exhaled half her held breath. “Good morning, Sergeant. You’re out and about early.”

“Morning, Captain. I didn’t expect to see you here this early, either.”

Was there a hidden meaning? But what would Zeljak have to do with any of this, even in a small way? What would he have to gain by tampering with scheduling?

He really was one of the last people she would suspect. He was one of the air force’s best, the reason she’d handpicked him for her team. It would shake her confidence something fierce to learn she’d misjudged him.

“Sergeant Zeljak, you remember Morel. And this is my sister, Lieutenant Lockworth, in town visiting. They’re helping me weed through data as I wrap up paperwork now that we’re on hold.” That sounded like a logical cover for him to relay. “What are you doing here?”

“The accident-investigation board sent me to pick up some tapes and mission data disks.”

Time was running out. Josie hefted the stack of tapes she and Diego had already reviewed and passed them over.

Zeljak scanned the labels, his mono-brow bunching with his frown. “What about the tape from your initial liftoff flight? I don’t see it in here. The board mentioned needing that one in particular since it was the first airborne mission.”

And the board would have to wait. Josie inched to sit on the edge of the table on top of the tape in question. Ouch. “Hmm. I don’t see it right offhand. How about I bring it up when we find it?”

“And the mission data disks? They can only find the copies, not the originals.”

A couple of which were burning a hole in her calf pocket waiting to be reviewed. “I’ll track those down, as well.”

“Thanks.” Zeljak backed out of the room. “I’ll let them know.” He paused. “Captain, I’m glad everything got straightened out yesterday. We need more like you around.”

She wanted to believe those supportive words from someone whose work she so respected. “That’s good to hear right now. Thank you, Bubbles.”

Nodding, he left. The door swished shut.

“Bubbles?” Diana squawked.

“His call sign, because he’s always got a wad of bubblegum in his mouth.” Springing up from the table, Josie whipped the tape out from under her. “All right. Let’s see why the review board really wants to check out this particular mission.”

Nothing.

Josie swiped the grit from her eyes and watched the same flight for the fourth time, and still she saw nothing new or unusual. Diana had given up on the video after the second viewing and transferred her attention back to the stacks of computer codes.

Diego sprawled in a chair beside her, silently watching, processing—the tape or her? He’d been oddly silent since they’d left her apartment, other than pointing out different aspects of the flight data that might or might not compile into something promising.

Was he truly that angry with her over the note and her request for some space? She so stank at the dating thing—and she suffered no illusions. They had somehow shifted into the boyfriend/girlfriend realm over the weekend.

Maybe she was only nervous since she had little experience in the dating deal. Given her confidence in the workplace up to now, facing a situation where she doubted herself would undoubtedly shake her even more. And she didn’t know how to handle doubting herself.

She’d been so driven during high school and college there hadn’t been time for dates. Her mother hadn’t been around much to offer advice about boys and men, either.

Yet, the discussion with Mike Bridges about Jazz and the importance of a father’s love earlier kept echoing in her head at a time when she really needed to concentrate on this damn video footage. Although she was starting to think her instinct about watching it was off.

Another dead end.

Maybe she was simply borrowing trouble when it came to the flight and Diego, but she’d been so hopeful. On both counts. Her brain started to fog from sleep deprivation until she could have sworn she was strapped on a test-model Predator again.

She could feel the wind kissing her face, the sense of flying as it must have been for pioneer pilots. The adrenaline pump of hurtling out there in the open with nothing but a flight suit, helmet and your butt strapped to a machine you hoped would bring you home safely. Defying the elements with your new twist on flying.

She couldn’t imagine never going up again. Just a simple spin around the flight line had been worth risking everything. Craig had been willing to die. Diego had almost died during his last mission.

Josie let the roaring sensation of flying suck her in deeper, further away from the frustrations around her as she lived out this mind flight simulator of her own making.

“Josie?” Diego’s voice joined her in the sky. “You can’t hide from me forever.”

His rumbling words sent her mental flight plummeting back to a cold-storage room with even colder coffee. She kept her gaze glued to the video. “Now’s not the time, Diego.”

His hand landed on the back of her chair as he angled closer. The heat of him beside her negated the air conditioner and sent her temperature soaring.

“I understand you have pressing priorities. Hell, I’ve got pretty much the same ones since they involve keeping your most excellent ass alive. But eventually, you have to accept what’s going on between us.”

A dry smile played with her tired face. “Can’t we just keep having sex against the wall instead?”

Across the room, Diana slammed aside a stack of readouts. “You two really suck at stage whispers. I’m going to find more coffee.”

The door whooshed closed, sealing them in privacy.

She kept her eyes on the screen, a convenient excuse not to risk looking at him. “I meant it when I said I’m sorry for walking out on you yesterday morning. That was wrong of me. What I said about Jazz earlier and how a distant father could give a girl a complex? Well, that’s me. Okay? I just need you to be patient.”

Silence hung between them, cut only by the crackling sounds from the television of recorded voices in flight, her own voice on the Predator and the surreal sound of Craig’s as he flew the remote.

Diego leaned on his forearms closer. “You’re cheating yourself.”

He studied the screen so intently she thought for an instant he was referring to the flight. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ve watched how you operate,” he continued, following her lead in keeping his eyes on the TV while his scent and gravelly tones stroked her senses anyway. “You ask me to be patient. And while I’m doing that, you’ll close yourself off from participating in the world around you. You have your facts lined up, but when it comes to any true emotional investment, you check out.”

Checking out emotionally? Her father was the one who’d done that. Not her. She felt things—deeply—and hurt just like everyone else. She simply didn’t feel comfortable making those emotions public.

Ah, hell.

She didn’t want him to be right. Her gaze fell away from the screen to the stacks of tapes and DVDs, then up to him. “Your timing totally sucks, Cruiser.”

With dark morning beard peppering his unshaven face, he looked more like the Diego she’d met, even with his shorter hair.

“There will never be a good time for you, Josie, because you’re always going to be this driven. That’s one of the things I admire about you. But are you going to continue using it to avoid the tough conversations? The past week should have taught you there might not be a tomorrow.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Her temper slipped past her defenses, thanks to exhaustion—and yeah, pain. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been hiding out in the desert for three years. You work enough hours to pay your bills, but I’ve yet to see you enjoy your job. I understand you lost your dream. There are a lot of dreams a person can lose. You just have to find a new purpose.”

“Maybe I already have.”

His intense opaque eyes sucked her in as surely as the flight had. It was one thing to lose herself in a solo flight away from the world. But, oh, God, losing herself in a man while he lost himself right back in her…

“No,” she whispered.

“It’s scary as hell, isn’t it—this thing that happens when we’re together? But I’m thinking it’ll be scarier to walk.”

She ripped her gaze from him. “I can’t deal with any of this right now.”

He canted away, giving her a few inches of physical space, if not emotional. “I understand what it’s like to have the world rock under your feet until there’s no sense of up or down—a mental vertigo as well as physical. You’re right. I was pretty much a waste of airspace when you met me.”

Like the video continuing in her periphery, memories scrolled through her mind of seeing him that first time. Right from the start he’d stimulated more emotion in a day than she’d allowed herself to feel in years. “Diego, I can’t think—”

“Remember when I told you to quit thinking so much and feel the plane? Sometimes the same applies to life. We may crash and burn, but at least we’re not just taking up airspace.”

She understood him in theory. In practice however, she couldn’t envision things being quite that clear-cut. The old Josie/Josephine war cranked into high gear within her, so she stayed silent.

“Yeah, you’re probably thinking now that I’m a damned fine one to preach. I’m still not where I should be in life, but finally I’m feeling like I have a compass again.” He gripped her chin and turned her face toward him. “You did that for me. The vertigo that smacked my life as hard as my ears? It’s leveling back out for me since knowing you. I’d like to do the same for you.”

He tempted her and scared the spit out of her all at once. God, this man cut her no slack.

But then hadn’t she done the same with him?

She wanted to lean forward and kiss him, but he’d put everything right out there in front of them until simple kisses weren’t possible between them anymore.

Slicing the tension, whistling sounded outside the door, Diana announcing her arrival before stepping inside with three steaming cups of coffee. “Sustenance for the troops.”

Exhaling hard, Diego stood. “I’m going to stretch my legs. Thanks for the java, little sister.”

Diana stayed blessedly silent for once, setting the cups down silently.

“Thanks.” Josie smiled without looking up. She feared her emotions would be visible for her sister’s agent-honed eyes to perceive. She needed time to let Diego’s words settle and, damn it all, she didn’t have time.

Everything inside her was raw and out there, frustrated and scared that maybe, just maybe, he was right. She didn’t want to be that exposed and vulnerable. The video screen was much safer terrain at the moment. She continued to stare at the screen scrolling the Predator images from the night flight.

And then she saw it.

Something she’d missed before. Just a flicker of light that niggled at her. She hit review and backed up, watching slower, closer. The light grew larger, brighter, shining through a window…of the mission-planning building. Had somebody been working late or just left a light on? Such a small detail, but God, she didn’t have anything else.

Josie clicked on the sensor operator’s second-camera view, bringing a close-up angle inside the window. Inside the room, someone sat at the AFMSS—Air Force Mission Support System. The computers for planning missions, cutting the very flight control disks that rested in her thigh pocket.

Still could be nothing, she cautioned herself. People worked late.

She zoomed again. What if she found Bridges there? What would that mean for Kayla and Jazz? Josie blinked to clear her vision and her objectivity, finding…

General Quincy?

A spider tingle started up her instincts. He had the proper clearance to be there, but no readily obvious motive for going alone so late.

Questioning a general’s motives was scary territory. They would need serious backup before rolling out accusations. Thank God for Diana’s intelligence connections so they could dig deeper into General Quincy’s past. Luckily they would just need to shuffle across a few streets over to the intelligence building.

“Diehard? Your security clearance is pretty high, right?”

“You could say that.” Her wry answer bounced back.

“Good.” Adrenaline pumped double time because, heaven help them, they were about to question a general. But before doing so, they would need some hard facts. “Because we’re going dark once the Palmdale facility quiets down tonight.”

Chapter 19

Dark blanketed the roads linking the Palmdale testing facility buildings.

Urgency humming through her, Josie steered around a corner, closing in on the intelligence building. An afternoon spent crashing at her place had offered little more than restless tossing and a quick shower while they waited for Diana’s clearance to be okayed.

They’d placed a call to Diana’s unit security manager to verify her clearance status for their unit security manager here. Since Diego had top clearance for his testing work, there would be no problem gaining access to the vault.

Fast was good. Now was even better with Lefty and Righty sorts on their tail and God only knows who else.

Diego sprawled in the passenger seat beside her, one foot resting on his knee. “Got any ideas why a general would be gunning for you, Buttercup?”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” the ever-logical Josephine insisted. “Sure the man isn’t big on women in the service, but this method of dealing with things goes to the extreme. Although if he wants me out of the way, the whole unreasonable house arrest makes more sense. But why would he kill Craig?”

“Maybe he meant to kill you,” Diana chimed from the back seat. “Remember the two-agendas theory? Bridges grounded you out of spite, not knowing someone planned to down the plane. Craig died in your place.”

A burning started in Josie’s stomach that had nothing to do with too many cups of coffee and thirty-six hours of little sleep. The need for revenge seared.

Diana leaned between the two seats. “If this was deliberate, how could someone shut down the entire system? I searched those codes. There’s nothing there.”

Diego tapped his boot heel. “What about a virus?”

Diana snorted. “That almost seems too simple. Spin the idea out more.”

“We could have been looking too hard by assuming the bad guy here is smarter than he really is.” Streetlights glinted off his coal-black hair. “If it’s Quincy, maybe his technical knowledge is outdated from too much time at a desk. Although sometimes the simple answer can be brilliant for its sheer ease in implementation. What do you think, Buttercup? Workable?”

“A horrific thought, but yes, it would then be possible.”

Diana draped her arm over the seat. “How would someone place a virus in both the remote control program and on the Predator’s override control program? Logistically, that’s tougher to pull off.”

Josie shook her head, turning into a parking spot outside the windowless brick building. “It’s the same disk.”

“Wait.” Diana tapped Josie’s shoulder. “I thought there were two different mission data disks that went in at the start of each flight.”

“No, there’s only one disk. In the old days, the software versions and hard drives were more complicated. But now things are more streamlined.” Josie tugged the key out of the ignition, twisting to face her sister while she explained. “The mission data disk is loaded first into the remote control station. Then the same disk is loaded in the test Predator so that override controls can act just as the remote would, if needed. That way we’re always certain the data is compatible. During a test, we do use a new disk for each mission though, because we’re always making modifications.”

Diana sagged back. “So if the copies were made prior to the virus being introduced, they won’t help us. Where’s the original disk used on the last mission?”

“It went down in Craig’s pocket. It’s the responsibility of the pilot going up in the craft to load the data.” She patted her calf. “I even still have the disk from my last saddle mission right after I returned from Red Flag tucked in my day runner.”

Diego scrubbed a hand over his shorn head. “We have a possible who and how. Now we just need a why with some proof.”

Josie swung wide her door, pulling up the seat for Diana to climb out. “If it’s Quincy, hopefully we’ll find those answers here.”

Diana stretched, her hand pressed to her stomach. “I’m sorry, Josie, but I have to confess that, unlike you, I’m a mere mortal. Leftover Chinese food from your fridge just isn’t cutting it anymore. Can I have your keys? You and Diego can read up on the Quincy dude to your heart’s content while I run and grab us all a bite.”

Diego leaned his forearms on the roof. “Think again, little sister. You’re not going out there alone.”

Diana cranked a brow. “Excuse me?”

Josie tipped her head toward Diana and whispered, “Thor.”

“What?”

“He’s gone into Thor mode. He figures we’re safer locked up here in a vault than out there alone for Lefty and Righty to pick off.”

Little sister struck a pose in the halo of a lot light, black leather pants and silky shirt full of attitude. “If I want to ride a bicycle through land mines to buy hamburgers, I’ll do it.”

Diego strutted around the front bumper to the two women. “I’m sure you will. But being practical, as well as Thor-like, I’ll point out that you are more adept at computer wizardry than either of us. It makes sense for you to work with Josie while I brave the land mines for our food. Or if you’re insistent, we can all go out to eat since I’m not overly pleased with leaving you two alone at all.”

Diana’s pose and attitude melted. “Damn, Josie. Don’t you hate it when they’re right? Fine. I’ll take a double-double from In and Out Burger.”

“Got it. Josie?”

Josie stared at the two of them, so damn grateful for their help and humor even in the middle of this hell. They really were a lot more fun, help—comfort—than a room packed with Beanie Babies.

“Josie? Supper?”

“Oh. Uh. The same as Diehard, please.” She held up her car keys. He reached to take them and she curved her hand around his. “And be careful.”

“I’m a hunter-gatherer. No problem.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth before prying the keys away. “I’ll meet you both inside in less than an hour.”

She curved her fingers into her empty palm, which still carried the heat of his skin. For a guy who claimed they could steady each other’s worlds, Diego sure shook her foundation on a regular basis.

“Earth to Josie?”

She startled. “Yeah? I’m here.”

“Uh-huh.”

Foreboding gripped her as she watched her Mustang disappear around the corner. Damn it, he was just going for hamburgers. She would see him again in an hour or so. Wasn’t she the one who’d insisted she could think better without him around?

She’d just proved herself wrong.

They couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. Josie tucked beside Diana in the elevator descending to the basement vault. If the lead on Quincy turned into a dead end, they were screwed, with no other options and nothing to look forward to but possibly a never-ending search while watching over her shoulder for Lefty and Righty sorts.

Diana and Diego would have to go back to work soon. So would she, for that matter. God, when had she become so defeatist? They would find something here.

Ding. The elevator jolted. Expectancy tingled along exhausted nerves.

The doors swished open to the hall and Muzak. The low-playing music was ever-present in high security areas as an additional safeguard to mask conversations from listening devices.

She stepped into a hall empty but for the unit security manager. She strode toward the mammoth safe door leading into the SCIF—special compartmentalized information facility.

“Good evening, Sergeant.” Signing in, Josie added to the manager, “Lieutenant Lockworth’s unit security manager’s okay should be on your screen now. Of course I’ll vouch for her, too.”

The unit security manager checked the laminated IDs clipped to Josie and Diana. “Working late hours, aren’t you?”

“So we don’t have to fight for the computer.”

The unit security manager laughed. “Where’s the third party you mentioned?”

“He went out for supper. He’ll check in with security when he gets back.”

“In and Out Burger?”

“You know it.”

“Hope he brings an extra double-double.”

“You can be sure to search him.” Josie keyed in the cipher lock code and opened the vault room.

Cinder block walls absorbed noise, a sound sweeper also at the bottom of every door. Computers and screens filled the room, some data stored on hard drives, some on the disks filling cabinets in the pristine room.

With a low moan of appreciation, Diana settled behind the mainframe. She stroked the keyboard like a lover. “Oh, baby, with a setup like this, finding what we need will be a piece of cake since we know where to start looking. My guess, we’ll be ready for a celebratory feast before Diego gets back with those burgers.”

After the endless night before spent poring over tapes and readouts for a lone clue, they could use speedy results for a change.

Diana clicked in codes and passwords, bringing up the secured green screen. “What do you want to try first?”

Josie leaned closer. “Let’s go for what seems obvious. Start with John Quincy’s bio.”

Diana typed. The screen filled with lists.

“Ugh. He’s been a busy man. Refine the search to…” Josie closed her eyes and thought, scrolling through everything she’d learned about Quincy over the past months. Her mind hitched on the night at the bar, when she’d seen Quincy in the parking lot with Bridges. What had the general said?

He used to work tests at Palmdale back in the Dark Ages.

“Close in on his testing experience a couple of decades ago.”

“Done.”

The computer searched and…

“Hmm…I’ve got an interesting hit.” Diana scanned the screen. “Quincy used results from something called Cipher in his testing.”

Josie angled over her sister’s shoulder. “But wait, the guy who killed Rainy is also called the Cipher.”

“Yeah, too damned coincidental for my peace of mind.” Diana’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “And it also refers to the lab numbered thirty-three that I had so much trouble tracking down before. This mentions experiments with audio frequencies and how when Quincy transferred here, he applied the results to conventional tests.”

Josie sagged back against the workstation. Well hell. Another snippet to pass along to Kayla that might help them discover why Rainy had been murdered. And another sign that Quincy wasn’t squeaky clean after all.

“Ohmigod,” Diana gasped, pointing to the screen. “Look at the dates. He worked tests here the same time as our mom.”

Working with acoustics and audio frequencies. Their mother’s specialty.

A dark premonition crept up her spine. “When he mentioned being stationed at Edwards and also running tests out of the Palmdale facility, I never considered he would have been stationed with Mom, and he didn’t mention knowing her, much less working projects together. You’d think he would mention that.”

“That is strange. Could be something. Could be nothing.”

A swish and rustle alerted Josie a second before a voice—

“Or it could be exactly what it looks like, ladies.”

Josie shot from her chair, Diana launching to her feet, as well. General Quincy stood in the open doorway, the unit security manager nowhere in sight.

Ah, crap. The premonition exploded into all-out certainty.

The general’s eyes darted around with frenetic speed, his gray-blond hair spiky as if from harried fingers. An automatic pistol with a silencer shook in his hand. “You Lockworth sisters are almost as good at sniffing out things as this old birddog. But then I guess that’s how I got my call sign.”

Birddog. General. Killer. It didn’t matter which she called him. He had a gun trained on her and a crazed look to him, as certifiable as anything she’d seen in the hospital ward where the military had once tried to lock away her mother.

Any thoughts about not hitting a senior officer went out the window—well, if there had been one in this dark room in the bowels of intelligence. Her only concern was how to stop the maniac without him shooting her or Diana.

Quincy advanced a step deeper into the vault room. “I’m sorry to have to do this to Zoe Lockworth’s beautiful daughters, but I’m afraid you must be silenced. Both of you.”

Feigning submission, Josie dropped back into her chair, letting her arm fall to her side. If only she could get to the knife in her boot. Diana gripped the edge of the table. To steady herself? Or search for the alarm?

Quincy tut-tutted. “You can forget about activating the alarm. I disabled it and sent security off. I’m a general, after all. I can redirect as many people as I want to any area.”

He patted the land mobile radio sticking out of his pocket. His flight suit looked unusually wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it. “And this will alert me should anyone report suspicions to the SPs. Granted, I didn’t have much time to plan, thanks to your eluding my gunmen friends. But then, a gifted leader adapts and takes decisive action quickly. Important in battle, don’t you agree?”

Josie gulped back her fury at this man’s gall, his total lack of concern for the people who followed him. She would gladly show him battle soon enough when she kicked his ass.

Her sister stepped forward, obstructing Josie’s path, forcing her to wait. “Why would you do this?”

Frustration itched. Was Diana working an angle? Pulling some intelligence officer mind game? Distracting him to get closer or stall for help?

“Sir,” Quincy snapped.

“What?”

“You will call me sir, Lieutenant Lockworth. Is that understood?”

Diana nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why did I do this? For recognition of course. This should have been my project, my success all those years ago.”

Josie blinked, waiting for the other shoe to fall, but…nothing. That was it? Why would anyone risk everything to log credit for what in the big scheme of things was one small project? There had to be something else, or this guy was seriously more bent than she could imagine.

Josie inched her hand lower, her calf back farther, survival knife only millimeters away from her fingers. “Okay then,” she said in her best rational-Josephine voice. “Let’s be reasonable. There has to be some kind of deal we can make.”

“Deal?” Quincy whipped to face her, anger mottling his distinguished face into purple mania. “You had your chance to deal, Zoe.”

Zoe?

Diana gasped. Josie faltered.

Her flesh crawled at the horrible realization. “My mother. You wanted my mother.”

“Of course I want your mother,” he explained as if to a moron. “Your father was never worthy of Zoe, just look at how he never made general. Hoyt Lockworth lost his drive to move up the chain after your mother’s tragic breakdown and swapped career paths. That proves he was weak. Your mother deserves a leader like me.”

What a different image of her father this man relayed, showing Hoyt Lockworth as overwhelmed and grief stricken rather than too distant to be bothered with a troublesome wife and kids. Had her perceptions of her dad been skewed by childhood misperceptions?

As much as she wanted to process all Quincy was throwing her way, she needed to focus on reaching for her knife and straining her ears to listen for reinforcements. Later she would work through the implications of the general—Birddog—confusing her with her mother. It only provided further proof the man was deranged—and therefore all the more dangerous.

One fingertip grazed the top of her survival knife. When the opportunity arose, she could sweep her hand in to snag and throw in a flash. Meanwhile, she would let the general ramble and wait.

“You should have worked with me, been with me, Zoe. Instead you stayed with that loser, a man who never even made general because he was too busy trying to play nursemaid to those brats of yours. Now I’m taking charge.”

He steadied his gun level with Josie’s chest.

She stopped moving. Immobilized muscles bunched. He couldn’t actually plan to shoot? She trained her eyes on his trigger finger, ready to strike at the least twitch.

His arm moved away from her. She sighed—then realized he wasn’t lowering his weapon.

He was shifting aim. Targeting Diana, his eyes narrowed. His finger twitched.

“No!” Josie launched toward her baby sister.

A second too late.

Quincy shot. The silencer hissed.

Blood blooming on her black shirt in a fatal mockery of so many stains before, Diana crumpled to the ground.

Chapter 20

“No!” Josie screamed.

Rage spun her around to Quincy. Her hand moved by instinct, securing the knife in her grip as she leaped.

She took Quincy down onto the carpeted floor with the force of her charge and fury. He crashed onto his back, eyes stunned wide. He thrashed with bulk and frenzy, a punch knocking her sideways. She gripped, her fingers twisting in his flight suit. His leather name tag dug into her hand, Velcro loosening, the tag ripping free.

She flung it aside, regained balance. Her nails clawed at his face as she anchored his head, her knee jammed against his chest. Josie pressed the knife edge to his throat.

All movement ceased.

Emotions howled inside her, dark and ugly, the need for revenge. This man had killed Craig, her sister and done God only knows what to their mother. Even in her rage, Josie couldn’t miss how cleanly the problems in her test program mirrored her mother’s.

Josie had feared repeated mistakes. Quaked at coincidence. Now she seethed at the traitorous deceit.

Quincy stared up at her with fanatical intensity in his hollow blue eyes. “Your sister isn’t dead, but if you kill me, she will die.”

She couldn’t believe anything he said. He’d gone off the deep end. But what if…

Josie eased back on the blade while holding it in place. “Talk. And make it fast, because I can justify a self-defense kill so easily.”

Too easily.

“I only shot to wound. But the bullet I used is hollow,” he explained with a strange calm, “filled with an amnesia drug. I only planned for her to forget what happened. However, the longer she goes without the antidote, the more of her memory she’ll lose.”

He was smart. His whole story could be a lie. But she couldn’t afford to gamble with Diana’s life, and as reason trickled in, she couldn’t justify murdering him in cold blood.

Diana moaned behind her. Relief stunned Josie with images of her sister, all of seven years old again, racing across the countryside on her horse with her pigtails sailing.

And in that scant moment where she’d let emotions creep in, Quincy flipped her.

His gun pressed to the center of her forehead. “Drop the knife.”

The first beads of real panic trickled over her like Chinese water torture. Her fingers relaxed, releasing the knife with a thud.

Quincy scooped it up and tucked it in his boot, keeping his gun trained on her. “Good. Now listen. You are going to die, but if you do this right, your sister can live. I was being straight about the amnesia drug, if not the need for an antidote. When she comes to, she won’t remember a thing about the past forty-eight hours. Everyone will assume you shot her before you killed yourself—another Lockworth lady going crazy. But at least your sister will be alive to console your parents.”

Like hell. She wouldn’t let him win that way. Not when he’d hurt so many people. Diego would be back. She needed to do her best to make sure he didn’t walk into an ambush—and to leave him a clue. Hysterical laughter threatened. Too bad she couldn’t leave him another note.

She couldn’t even allow herself to consider him being hurt—or worse. That would bring debilitating fears, emotions she couldn’t risk.

Josie scanned the room, searching.

The general’s name tag lay just a few inches away, where she’d tossed it during their scuffle. If she could just plant it somewhere on Diana so it would be clear the man hadn’t simply dropped it some other time. It wasn’t much, but Diego already knew they were looking into Quincy.

Meanwhile, knowledge was power, because she would live, damn it, and anything she learned would help bring this bastard down in court. She inched up to sit, ever aware of that gun and its amnesia bullets trained her way. Losing her mind, living out the horror of what her mother had experienced, threatened her more than death.

“How do you intend to kill me?” She inched her hand closer to the name tag while locking eyes with Quincy so he wouldn’t look away.

“We’ll get to that soon enough. Now stand up.” He waved the gun. “Move it, Captain!”

“Please, just let me check on my sister.” She leaned forward, faking a need to balance with her hand so it landed on top of his name tag. “I’m not going without reassurance she’s alive.”

Quincy rolled his eyes. “Women and their damned emotionalism. Fine. Say your goodbyes.”

Her fist closed around the incriminating square of fabric and Velcro. Yes. At least one victory in this hellish situation.

Josie leaned over her sister, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hang in there, Diehard.”

With her body shielding her from Quincy’s line of sight, Josie folded her sister’s limp fingers around the name tag. Please, be enough. If the worst happened, at least Diana would know her own sister hadn’t done this to her.

Josie rose slowly. “Where are we going?”

He swept his uniform once, twice, again even though he’d long since swiped away any dust from his fall to the floor. “There’s still one test Predator left. You were so grief stricken over the failure of your project, you went off the deep end. The mission data disk I’ve prepared will disable your override controls and fly you into a mountain—if fighter planes don’t shoot you down first.”

“Fighters?” She searched the room for a weapon, a room that was deliberately left bare for security reasons. Nothing but computers and files surrounded her.

“Captain, I’ll have to share my concern that you’ve gone crazy like your mother and may plan to crash the craft into downtown L.A.” He gripped her arm, gun kissing her temple. “Now walk.”

As much as she hated leaving her injured sister, she wanted this nutcase and his gun away from Diana. Hopefully Diego would be back with their food and would question why security out front was lax. Even if he couldn’t stop Quincy, Diego would discover Diana and the name tag. Soon, please.

She needed to keep Quincy talking, voices being the only advance warning she could offer Diego if he was already on his way. She would walk a fine line between keeping Quincy chatty and irritating him. Her gut told her, though, that he was married to his specific plan for killing her. He wouldn’t want to deviate.

The elevator opened. Empty. Disappointment squeezed.

Quincy shoved her inside. “I told you no one’s around to help.”

He took his place beside her, only a few inches taller and leanly muscular, but with a crazed strength she wasn’t sure she could combat.

Talk. Get in his whacked-out head and gain as much arming knowledge as possible. “Damn it, you killed Craig Wagner by introducing that virus in the mission data disk.”

“No. I only placed it in the remote booth’s disk. I was careful when Bridges flipped the schedule. If your program had worked as it should, Wagner would have flown out of the problem with his override controls. You would have looked like a fool when your remote control flying failed. But Wagner would have safely landed. His death is a tragic loss to the air force that I never meant to happen.”

The overconfident idiot. He hadn’t realized she used the same disk for both the remote booth and the craft. His “brilliant” virus had killed an innocent man. The senselessness of it all threatened to weaken her. She refused to bend.

A hunch prodded her to push. “Do you really expect me to believe that when you started killing long ago?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain.” The elevator door opened again and he jerked her into the hall.

“The hell I don’t. What about the pilot who died during my mother’s test program?”

“Your mother’s test failed. Those things happen. That a pilot died in the accident was yet another tragic loss to the air force.” He swung open the back exit and escorted her through to a dark and empty parking lot. He truly had sent all help away. His car waited, parked inches away.

If she got inside, her odds of living decreased significantly.

She stood her ground with nothing but stars and wind for backup. “Bullshit, sir. It was no accident. I think you made the crash back then happen in just the same way you killed Craig.”

“You know as well as I do the technology is different now than it was back during your mother’s testing days. It couldn’t have happened in the same way.”

“So you didn’t mean to murder the pilot working my mother’s test, either?” Anger clawed higher, begging for release. It was really getting tougher not to risk entering that pissing-him-off territory. “You really are an incompetent fool.”

Quincy yanked her closer, his sweaty upper lip close enough for her to see and smell fear seeping from him.

He jammed the pistol into her gut. “Oh, I most certainly did mean to kill him. I reprogrammed the hard drives, just a subtle change in the controls. In the end, the pilot thought he was turning twenty degrees. In reality, the plane turned twenty-five. The evidence exploded with that self-righteous bastard.”

A couple of degrees on the right mission could fly a craft into a mountain or straight into the ground. Her mind’s eye replayed in horror the test prototype exploding on the runway. That poor pilot. Accidental death was bad enough. “Why?”

“He was going to tell her how I felt.”

“What?”

She’d wanted answers for her mother, but this went beyond anything she could have expected. Her brain struggled to review what she knew about the crash that had ended her mother’s career. Not the test data that Josie had memorized in flight school, but the personalities. Damn it all, she’d been so focused on the dry data, she’d missed the explosive dynamics of the people involved.

“If he told Zoe I loved her, that would ruin everything. I needed to win her over slowly. She was married so I couldn’t make an overt move. That would be dishonorable and against regulations. I became her co-worker on the project, her friend, as well, so I would be in place to pick up the pieces when her marriage dissolved. I’m certain it will one day. Then she’ll come to me and I’ll divorce my wife for her.” His eyes glowed with a maniacal passion. “You look just like her, you know. I still have a picture of her from our days here together in California.”

Bile burned her throat. His hand gentled on her arm and stroked absently, gun still bruisingly deep in her tender flesh. One inhale could kill her. “When I go to console Zoe over the loss of her child, finally she’ll see that I’m right for her. I’ll make sure her daughter’s project—hers, as well—succeeds. Because of my modifications, of course. We’ll hold a special ceremony in your honor.”

He released her arm and fished out his key ring. He activated the trunk release. “Get in.”

Into the trunk? Survival instincts recoiled.

Josie considered forgetting about odds and the gun in her gut and just fighting it out here even though he was strong, trained and well armed. But if she lost, her sister would be helpless to whatever Quincy went back to do. She couldn’t risk the confrontation.

Staying cool and giving Diego time to return offered the most hope for Diana.

Folded inside the general’s trunk, Josie choked back claustrophobic fear. This wasn’t any tighter than a cockpit, no darker than a night flight.

Of course, in a plane she had a stick and throttle to control her future. Here she had dark and stuffy air with exhaust fumes gagging her. Worse yet, he’d tied her hands.

Industrial carpet abraded her cheek, her head crammed into a nook behind the fender. She’d tried shouting for help. He’d turned a sharp corner in retaliation and slammed her head against the side, nearly knocking her out. If she passed out, he could kill her before she woke.

Josie struggled to loosen the bonds on her wrist. Inching and twisting, she searched in the dark for something to chafe the rope against. Still nothing. Any hopes faded of pretending to still be bound and then overpowering him.

The car jerked to a stop, jolting her. She cracked her head against the metal interior again. Pain exploded through her brain. Sparks lit behind her eyes.

Footsteps sounded. The trunk popped. Overhead lights blinded her long enough for him to reach in and yank her up by the arm. Her numb legs collapsed under her. She hated the helplessness most of all.

Blinking, she cleared her brain and eyesight. They were outside her testing hangar, still at Palmdale, thank God. He really did plan to strap her to her remaining test Predator.

It was dark, late and abandoned. Even if someone saw him, no one would be in the least suspicious until she took off—and then it was very likely she would be shot down by her own air force.

Punching the access code into the door, he escorted her inside the hangar. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous metal structure. A dim halo of light silhouetted her gray-and-white sleeping craft.

She pressed a hand to the cool side, eyes gliding along the expanse of wings. She’d been so proud of the crafts and the chance to clear her mother’s name. It couldn’t end like this.

Quincy opened the access panel and slid his data disk into the slot behind the pilot’s seat. “This will fly the craft with my plan, while locking out your override controls.”

She would be helpless to stop the crash, with no parachute as backup. Real fear kicked in with the childhood memory too close to the surface, of watching the crash in her mother’s project. The smell of burning flesh roiled through her again. The sirens from just last week at Craig’s accident—no, his murder—shrieked in her mind.

Josie balked.

Quincy leveled his gun at her. “Climb on, or I’ll shoot you now and your sister will die. The sooner you take off, the sooner I can drive back to the intelligence building, discover her and call for help. Once I do, then I can report how you went crazy, confessed that you’d hurt your sister and then stole the plane at gunpoint before I could stop you.” His fingers caressed the claw marks she’d left on his cheek, his eyes glassy with a crazed fanaticism. “That will explain these.”

She was afraid Diana might die anyway without help soon. But what did Josie have to fight back with? She didn’t even have her keys to stab at him if she could get free. She only had her wallet, a tube of orange-tryst lip gloss and her day-planner calendar.

Her day planner. With a flight data disk inside. Hope flickered.

Could she actually free her hands and slide in the new disk while in flight?

Hiss. A bullet spit from Quincy’s gun. Cement spewed beside her foot. Shards stung her leg.

“No more waiting, Captain. Board your craft.”

Okay. Her odds were better on the Predator than against a crazy gunman.

She climbed onto the Predator, sinking into the modified saddle seat with familiar ease and an unfamiliar dread. Quincy secured her harness, strapped in her legs and fit a helmet over her head without the benefit of a connected headset. She would be out there in the open sky with no way to communicate. Her legs locked tighter around the fuselage.

He opened the hangar doors and let the preplanned flight data take over. The craft hummed underneath her, a thrill she’d worried about never experiencing again, not knowing worse fears awaited her.

She had a plan. It would have to be enough. Because more than her own death, she feared her sister’s—and leveling Diego’s world if he lost another wingman.

Burger bags in his fists, Diego elbowed the down button on the elevator. His instincts were getting a workout this week, and now he couldn’t shake the sense that Josie was in trouble. He’d feel a helluva lot safer when they rejoined forces. This solo crap was for the birds.

He understood he couldn’t hang with her 24/7, but…nothing. He didn’t have a logical reason for how he could stay closer or what he could do differently. Josie wasn’t the type he could wrap in a cotton cocoon and he wouldn’t change a damn thing about her.

Except maybe that prissy nature—which could actually be sexy sometimes when it challenged him to ruffle her.

The doors parted to reveal…

The vault door, cracked open. Where was security? Instincts jumped into an overtime workout. His heart kicked up to compensate.

He cleared the elevator, fears hammering as fast as his pulse. Had the gunmen found them here after all? How in the hell would they have gained entrance? And if they were in there, they would have already heard the elevator. Any element of surprise was gone now. “Josie? Diana?”

A moan sounded from inside. Feminine and injured. Bile burned his throat all the way up to his brain.

The sacks of food dropped unheeded to the floor. Diego shoved the heavy vault door the rest of the way open and found Diana sprawled and unconscious. Blood saturated her shoulder.

He shot across the room and dropped to his knees beside her. “Diana? Diehard?” He pressed his hand to her neck, felt a steady pulse. Thank God. He peeled aside the blood-soaked shoulder of her shirt to check her wound, a clean shot but bleeding like a son of a bitch. “Come on, little sister, wake up, damn it.”

Where the hell was Josie? Seconds pounded past in his head. He needed to call for backup, but phones weren’t allowed in the vault and his cell wouldn’t work from the reinforced cellar. “Hang on, little sister. Just hang on.”

He launched to his feet again, raced up the stairs and called the security police on his cell phone. Back in the vault, he shrugged out of his jacket and mashed it to her shoulder in counterpressure. He resurrected his best officer bark and commanded, “Lieutenant Lockworth, wake up.”

Her lashes fluttered open, eyes glassy. “Morel? Ouch. You’re hurting my shoulder.”

Relief dulled the edge of fear. “Yeah, little sister, it’s me. Where’s Josie?”

“I dunno. Where’s the Chinese food? Josie better have saved some of those pot stickers for me.” She pressed her clenched fist to the floor to brace up, flinching from her injury. She looked down at the blood, went ghost-white and sagged back. “What the hell?”

“Just hold still.”

Pot stickers?

Damn. The injury must have scrambled her head. “Keep thinking. What do you remember right before you fell asleep?”

Footsteps pounded in the hall. Thank God for quick response. Security police swarmed the room, followed by General Quincy.

Quincy? The very man Josie had brought them here to investigate.

The general’s proximity jangled more alarms and plenty of rage. Diego took a closer look at the man, who had a land mobile radio clenched in his shaking hand. Something definitely wasn’t right. The normally composed general had a serious case of bed head to match a rumpled mess of a flight suit. His eyes darted with frenetic intensity.

And two distinct fingernail scratch marks tracked down his cheek.

The man seemed oblivious to it all as he strode inside with the expectation of authority, unaware that even the SPs were eyeing him with suspicion.

Shit.

Was Josie already dead? The horrifying thought almost rocked him into reckless motion. If he flew at Quincy, the cops would haul him off. Josie needed help and his calm. “Where is she?”

“Captain Lockworth?”

“Yes, where is she?”

“Zoe’s out working on her test.”

Zoe? “Uh, sir, that’s Captain Lockworth’s mother.” More than strange, this guy was plain wacko.

The security cops exchanged frowns.

“Diego?” Frowning, Diana groped behind her.

“Yeah, little sister.” He reached for her elbow. “Steady now.”

She extended her arm, fist opening to reveal a name tag from a flight suit. He didn’t need to read any further than Birddog.

His eyes flew to Quincy’s flight suit—devoid of a tag.

The man’s crazed look, the name tag left behind, his coincidental appearance here and now…Diego didn’t doubt for a second. Josie had left the unmistakable message behind that Quincy was indeed guilty.

Diego scooped up the incriminating tag and, just as he’d felt the plane all those years ago, he could feel Josie’s strength in the message she’d somehow managed to leave behind during what must have been a hellish encounter. God, he loved that hardheaded woman. How could he not?

Rising, Diego passed the tag to the nearest SP and nodded toward the general. They needed to detain, if not arrest, this guy before he got away. Military police weren’t hamstrung by as many legalities as civilian cops. Military police were bound by the Uniform Code of Military Justice, not the Constitution. Thanks to Josie’s fighting spirit, they had more than enough cause to hold the man temporarily.

The SPs closed in, flanking Quincy. “General, we need you to come with us.”

“Of course.” He threw back his shoulders with overblown dignity. “I’m happy to help with the investigation into Captain Lockworth however I can.”

Tension burned through Diego until he was so damn taut he could snap. The need to find Josie pounded through him. He would not lose her. Failure was not an option.

Diego approached, leash on his rage short, fear alternately feeding and restraining the urge to pummel information free. “Where is she?”

“She stole an aircraft—the remaining test Predator.” Quincy’s hand gravitated to his face and stroked along the scratches in an eerie caress. “She wants to prove her theories, you know. I’m afraid I couldn’t stop her insanity.”

Diego rasped in air. There was a chance she was still alive. Relief slashed through him.

“Although I imagine fighter planes will have to shoot her down, if she doesn’t crash first.”

Fresh horror cut through him. What had Quincy done to Josie’s Predator?

But she was alive.

She had to be. He would focus on that because he couldn’t accept the alternative. He thought he’d been sent to hell three years ago, but that was nothing compared to what his world would be like if Josie died.

Diego sprinted past the security police. There would be time for statements later.

For now, he had to keep F-16s from blasting her out of the sky. And then pray she could outfly whatever Quincy had thrown her way.

Chapter 21

If she could just fly.

Wind and low-lying clouds tearing at her through the murky night, Josie sawed the binding ropes against the edge of the useless control panel in front of her. Agony knifed up her blood-slicked wrists. She pressed harder, unable to gauge her progress in the inky sky. Stars hung closer to her face at the higher altitude, the moon behind her.

She had the old data disk in her flight suit. She had a chance and damned if she would lose it. Emotions she couldn’t even waste time restraining pummeled her as hard as the wind.

How much longer before Quincy’s flight plan crashed the craft? Or until fighter planes overtook her?

She shuddered. She had to get free, maneuver herself into position and then wait three minutes for the new data to load. Doable. It offered at least hope for survival, and more of a chance than when Quincy’s gun had been pressed to her forehead.

The knot inched. She could swear it had. If only her wrists weren’t swelling. She jerked harder, blood lubricating the nylon rope.

Her hands pulled free.

Pain screamed through her fingers. She didn’t have time to so much as shake control back into her flaming hands. Praying Quincy had been lying, she grabbed the stick and pumped it.

Nothing happened.

The Predator continued to fly Quincy’s preprogrammed plan. The override controls were truly locked out. Her fists balled along with the urge to scream. She would have to install the disk stored in her flight suit pocket—easy enough to do on the ground. Not so simple at eight thousand feet in the air.

She smeared the slippery blood on her legs and unzipped her pocket. Carefully. God, she didn’t even want to think about dropping the disk into the void of air below her. She shivered from the image more than the cold of altitude. Fumbling, searching, finally her fingers closed around the disk.

The access door for the disk was aft of the saddle—a far back and dangerous lean that would threaten the Predator’s aerodynamics. She would have to hope Quincy’s autopilot disk was programmed to compensate for weight shifts and the wind battering her.

She angled back, unable to see, only gauging by numbed touch. The center of gravity adjusted aft, as well. The Predator’s nose pulled up. The slipstream noise lessened. Everything inside her shouted in protest.

The craft decelerated.

Her fingers tight around her only chance, she leaned forward to drop the nose and speed up again, farther still to build speed so she could afford to bleed off some when she moved back again to insert the disk.

Josie twisted, reached. Speed decreased. Hold. Hold. Hold. She willed the craft to obey her.

She pried the release open, then leaned forward fast, a second to spare in stopping a stall. The disk stayed in her numbed grip.

Okay. Almost there.

Gasping slow breaths to steady her heart—God, she couldn’t afford to pass out now—she built speed again then strained her arm, tighter, farther. Adrenaline and nerves stretched as taut as her extended arm while she tried to keep her body planted as much in the seat as possible. She was so close. Even considering failure threatened her with lethal shakes.

Hand steady, she felt for the slot. Noise decreased. No. Just another couple of seconds.

A thumping sounded along the wings, wind battering rather than flowing, destroying the craft’s natural aerodynamics.

God, one more second.

The disk jammed home.

Air exhaled as fast as her hand slapping the Read button. She only needed three minutes more for the data to load and re-enable the onboard controls. She brought her arm forward.

The Predator stalled.

Total silence enveloped her. Even the wind dwindled to more of a stroking breeze from an anonymous lover.

“No!” She threw her weight forward to counterbalance but didn’t get to centerline fast enough. A wing dipped in sync with her lean from popping in the disk.

The stall morphed into a spin.

“Damn it!” she shouted to no one as the aircraft wrapped into violent revolutions.

Given the three minutes needed to reload…she calculated rates of speed, spin, descent. Even if she gauged her altitude correctly, by the time she regained control, she would be…

Too low to recover.

She was going to crash.

For the first time, the very real fear of failure slapped as her body cycled toward the ground. No. No. No! She had too many things left to do. Stop Quincy. Clear her mother’s name. Be with Diego. Watch his hair grow again and love him. God, how she loved that wild and reckless man who cut her no more slack than she gave him.

Robbed of even sight in the dark, her senses spun until vertigo slithered its insidious stranglehold around her. Vertigo. Leveling worlds. Diego’s words earlier came back to her.

Vertigo.

Leveling.

Feel the plane.

Her instincts shouted a solution, a scary as hell and totally illogical solution. She started the math required to prove it could work, but she didn’t have time to compute.

Sometimes an aviator had to feel the plane.

Shutting down doubts, she reached for her seat belt. She leaned forward, out over the fairing. Her butt lifted from the safety of the seat. Farther forward she angled, no parachute to save her if she slipped, flung from the gyrating craft.

And in an odd way that empowered her—just her out there with the elements, no safety net. She had to win.

She would win.

The air rotated into a hurricane vortex beneath her. One look threatened to shake her loose. She fixed her eyes ahead.

Her arms wrapped around the fuselage, inching her body forward, shifting the center of gravity with her in increments while the Predator spun like a child’s top. Much more and the wings could suffer stress cracks.

Breaks.

Her thighs screamed at the strain of locking her in the steely grip to keep her from flinging off. She held tighter, kept her eyes forward in spite of the gyrating forces working to peel her skin from her body.

The spin slowed.

Still the craft dropped but not as fast, the wings able to glide again. Would it be enough? Seconds ticked by. She tucked her head to the side, staring back at the panel, waiting for the green light signaling data load completed.

Go!

The light flashed. The engine restarted.

Her arms numb, her muscles screeching from exertion, she eased herself closer to the saddle, dropped back into the seat to straddle the fuselage. Her hands closed around the stick.

The aircraft responded. She had control. She exhaled, heart hammering in her ears. Damn Quincy and his insane plans.

Josie applied pressure to the opposite rudder to arrest the spin just as Diego had done in the simulator to stop her descent. The craft followed her every instruction as perfectly in tune as she remembered. Yes.

Although she wasn’t risking her second chance just to log some extra flight time. She was getting her butt back on ground. ASAP. There would be time to celebrate later.

She nudged the stick forward, a little more, careful of the dark and the threat of mountains, since she didn’t have a clear idea of where the hell she was. The night sky parted to reveal rolling dunes. No pretty runway landings for her. She would settle for that smooth stretch of dried-up lake bed less than a mile ahead.

Josie pulled back on the throttle, ground coming toward her at a nice sedate pace instead of a flat spin crash. The gear skimmed the desert, puffing a cloud of sand as she rolled to a stop. She sat and let the quiet reality roll over her along with the grit. She was alive.

She tipped back her head, belting out a war cry that must have reverberated to Reno and back.

Two F-16s circled overhead, lights blinking alongside the stars in the night sky. How long had they been there? Had they been with her in the air? She’d been too focused on survival to notice. And thank God they hadn’t shot her down.

Her position had been noted, however, and rescue would come soon. She would only have to sit tight and wait.

She had no idea how long she watched the fighters maneuver overhead. She simply lost herself in the magnificence of their flight. For years, she’d flown for her mother. From this point forward, she knew she would fly for herself.

Taming the sky was now her dream.

A rumble in the distance pulled her attention from the sky. Rays of sunlight fingered from the horizon with the first hints of morning, purples and oranges painting the stark desert. A military Suburban eased into view. Instincts told her Diego was in the passenger side. Nothing would have stopped him from being here for her or from taking care of Diana’s safety.

Those awesome instincts also told her she wouldn’t hesitate to walk into his arms. Emotions—full, out there and free—empowered her more than years of restraint through logic.

She hefted herself from the seat and swung over to the ground. Her boots pounded solid earth. Her knees rocked a little, but a flattened hand against the Predator steadied her, her eyes already locked on Diego stepping from the Suburban.

Then she was running, her knees working just fine. Diego met her halfway, his arms banding around her. Hard and oh, so hot. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.

She’d beaten the odds for her second chance. But would her sister be as lucky? “Diana? Quincy shot her—”

“I know,” Diego answered against her hair. “I found her when I came back.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll need a few stitches. And she doesn’t remember anything that happened for the past few hours, but she appears to be completely okay otherwise.”

Just as Quincy had said. Thank God. “What about General Quincy? He needs to be sto—”

“I got your name tag message and the security police have him under house arrest—actually more like a psych watch. I hope to God you’ve got some concrete evidence to nail that bastard.”

“Damn straight, I do.” Josie eased back to stare up at him, morning sun behind his shoulders casting his face in shadows. “I guess I have you to thank for keeping the F-16s from popping me.”

“You can thank me later.”

All shadows aside, she could see his smile.

His hands stroked over her hair. “I don’t know how the hell you got onto the ground, but I’m just so damn grateful you’re here.”

She smiled right back. “I just felt the plane.”

His rumbling laugh wrapped around her. “When you figure something out, you go all the way.”

“I’m all about giving a hundred percent.” And wasn’t that another lightbulb moment? Time to give one hundred percent in her relationship with this man, as well, because, by God, he was right. Something incredible happened when they were together. “I love you, Diego Morel.”

Oh, yeah, she could definitely see his smile—wicked, wonderful and lowering toward her face for a kiss guaranteed to send her soaring.

“Love you, too, Buttercup.”

Four days later, Josie and the remaining modified Predator descended toward Palmdale’s runway, her test project back on track now that Quincy’s tampering had been proved and cleaned away. Her test budget was tight due to the recent delays and crash, so the powers-that-be wanted things up and running again immediately. Down days meant precious and limited dollars burned.

And after the hellish experiences that had come her way with the crash and horrific night flight, it was more important than ever that she crawl back in the saddle right away. Rock solid, she’d logged another flight mission.

The nose gear kissed asphalt, gliding to earth and slowing. Her headset blasted with cheers from the control tower, the remote pilot and the sensor operator, Zeljak.

“Yippee ki yay, mo-fo,” she shouted in honor of Craig Wagner, the hokey cheer a new tradition she intended to ingrain in all her test programs. They were, after all, the last of the real cowboys.

Or cowgirls.

Josie went through the routine of parking procedure calls through her headset while the Predator skated down the runway onto the tarmac. On a small set of bleachers, a group of nearly forty gathered to watch and celebrate—higher-ups from Palmdale and nearby Edwards.

Her reporter friend, Tory Patton, had flown in at her request to cover the event, giving the air force and all of Athena Academy grads positive press to counteract anything Shannon might manage to wrangle out into the public eye. Although Shannon Conner’s name was pretty much mud in the broadcasting industry lately, after her piece about Josie and Bridges had been so firmly disproved. Not that Josie harbored any illusions that a bad reputation would keep Shannon down long.

Josie scanned the runway, which bustled with activity—and celebration. The fight had been a tough one these past weeks, but she wasn’t a quitter. None of the Athena women were, and they would apply that collective determination into finding justice for Rainy. Josie scanned the crowd in front of her. Meanwhile, she owed it to her friend’s memory to savor life.

The craft slid to a stop. Sweeping off her helmet, Josie deplaned amid applause and cheers, her sister’s uninhibited whistles and whoops ringing out the loudest in the gusting wind.

Diana was still in town, suffering no ill effects other than the short-term memory loss. She would never know all that Josie had gone through trying to save her. For the best. Josie didn’t want gratitude or big sister/little sister politics. She looked forward to them working on that equal friendship they’d only just begun to build.

Josie studied the crowd, searching for Diego by Diana and found…

Hoyt and Zoe Lockworth?

Her parents.

The surprise gesture touched her more than she would have thought. Crying right now would not be cool, but God, it was good to see them both waiting there for her.

Helmet tucked under her arm, she strode forward, waving to her smiling family. A memory of her graduation day and her mother’s Beanie Baby gift came rolling back, along with an understanding of what her mother had meant about the importance of being soft as well as strong.

Just as she’d learned in the air four days ago, it was all about balance.

Josie grinned back at the face a mirror image of her own, with a few years added. “It works, Mama.”

“I know, baby.” Her mother tucked a stray hair behind Josie’s ear with a familiar maternal gentleness she’d missed so often as a kid. “I couldn’t be prouder of you. Thank you.”

Hoyt Lockworth hooked an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I always knew this would fly. Congratulations to you both.”

Her father’s love for his wife shone in the morning sun and for the first time Josie saw it with adult, wiser eyes. Now that she’d had a taste of how intense love could be, compassion kicked into overdrive. Being up on that craft rigged to crash would have been a cakewalk compared to imagining Diego in danger.

“Thanks, Dad.” She stepped into his hug, her mother’s, too, then Diana’s.

Okay, maybe one or two tears would be cool in light of giving Josie and Josephine equal time these days.

And where was Diego? Still holding hard to the perfect moment, she scanned and finally found him a few feet away, with Tory now, feeding her information without ever once taking his eyes off Josie.

Yes, he was giving her the space she’d asked for only a few days ago—without ever leaving. Of course she couldn’t help but think telling him she loved him and then jumping his bones repeatedly the second they were alone may have given him a hint that she didn’t have any plans to run away.

In fact, she wanted to run toward him.

She eased out of the family hug, the warmth remaining. “Mom, Dad, I’ll be back in a minute. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Not a bad plan since she would be meeting Diego’s parents over the New Year in a short vacation down to Mississippi.

She tucked through the crowd, smiling her thanks and shaking hands. She backed a step, bumping into a body blocking her way.

“Josie?”

She tensed. What was Mike Bridges doing here? She spun to face him.

He raised his hands in defensive surrender. “I’m not here to spoil your day and the last thing I want is another pounding from your scowling boyfriend over there. I’m leaving in the morning, but I wanted to see that everything went well with the flight.”

Bridges seemed sincere and there was really no need to cut him, literally or figuratively. His career was basically over. Even if he managed to stay in the service, he would never be promoted again due to his admission to hitting on Josie. He had nothing to gain by being here.

Unless he was bucking for her help with Kayla again. “Have you called Kayla?”

“Not yet, and I’m not asking you to play intermediary. Just still working up my nerve.” His gaze skimmed over to the big brass in attendance and back again. “I hear you’re top of the list for being the new detachment commander. Congratulations. You deserve it.”

She’d heard the same rumors, but still couldn’t wrap her brain around it. The job went to majors or lieutenant colonels. But apparently the position would shortly be hers—a challenge she embraced. “Thank you.”

Nodding, he turned to leave.

She still couldn’t bring herself to call him sir. That was a sign of respect he would have to earn back, if he ever could. But maybe his call sign might not be a bad middle ground. And a fun jab, too. They’d always called him Boss around the detachment because he hated his real call sign that tied into his last name, Bridges. “Hey, Brooklyn?”

He winced. “Yeah, P.C.?”

“Good luck with that phone conversation.”

A hint of his old charm returned with his smile. “Thanks.”

“I wish I could say I meant that for you, but I really mean it for Jazz.”

“And that’s why you’ll make a great commander. Fair and impartial to the end.”

Scowling, Diego peeled away from Tory’s side and started toward them. Thor alert. Bridges held up a hand.

“No worries, Cruiser. I’m not sticking around for the party.” Spinning away, Bridges retreated, climbing into a military truck and out of her life.

Diego strutted toward her, pure sauntering sin in jeans, boots and a T-shirt. His shoulders stretched leather tight, a brown jacket today. Finally he’d tugged out his old flight jacket to wear for what he called Josie’s special occasion. He’d vowed he wasn’t planning on returning to the military, and she believed him. He didn’t need to. He was comfortable in his skin and the new path for his life.

After his work with her on the project and the crash, Diego had been approached again with old offers renewed from contractors about signing on for real, rather than just consulting.

The salary offers were beyond complimentary.

Of course Diego had never been about the money. He was, however, all about the challenge. And the programs he could head for government contractors designing new military aircraft were most definitely cutting-edge challenging.

He was ready to move forward.

And so was she.

“Great job up there, Buttercup.”

“I just let the guy in the remote booth do his job. Zeljak even captured some great footage of the nudist colony.”

Diego winked. “Hey, if you want to see a hoo-hah—”

“Is that a personal invitation?”

“You bet. The minute the partying’s done here.”

Yeah, she loved this wild man who’d roared into her life and demanded she be Josie, Josephine, P.C., Buttercup, all worthy parts of herself.

Finally, Josie, who’d always given one hundred percent, understood how to accept one hundred percent of herself. “I’m looking forward to an hour-long sweat with you in the sauna so we can—” she gave him a slow, sultry once-over “—talk. You never did tell me how you performed that lomcevak maneuver in a Christian Eagle biplane.”

“How about once we get naked together in the sauna I’ll show you instead?”

Her stomach already flipped in anticipation of the soaring thrills she and this man could experience together.

Even with both feet still on the ground.

JUSTICE

DEBRA WEBB

Published by Silhouette Books
America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

This book is dedicated to all the Athena Ladies and a terrific editor, Natashya Wilson—a true bombshell!

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to
Debra Webb for her contribution to the
ATHENA FORCE series.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Kayla Ryan eased her Jeep Cherokee into the alley between two long rows of U-Store-It buildings. She lowered the driver’s side window and cut the engine.

For a full thirty seconds she sat very still, utilized all her senses to estimate the threat level.

The cool December air felt thick with tension in spite of the utter silence enveloping the deserted storage facility. Nothing moved.

They waited. Listening. Anticipating her move…her risk level. At least two men. Maybe three.

Now or never.

Ten seconds more and she’d be made.

No way backup would arrive in time.

Her partner would be pissed.

It wouldn’t be the first time. She doubted it would be the last.

Her heart rate ramming into overdrive, Kayla opened her door and got out. She strode straight over to the nearest storage unit, number forty-two, and reached for the lock. Though she had no key, only a couple quick flicks with the lock pick she carried were required before the mechanism disengaged, falling open in her palm.

She removed the lock and raised the four-foot-wide overhead door. The grind of metal on metal screeched, shattering the silence and sending a clear message to the men about ten units down and on the next row who would be listening.

Nothing to worry about. Just someone adding to or taking from her storage unit.

Her gaze roving left and right, Kayla slipped into the shadows of the ten-by-twelve cinder-block unit. Whatever the boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling contained was of no significance. This wasn’t about unit forty-two or its contents.

Keeping her attention fixed on the vacant alleyway, she relayed a text message to Jim Harkey, her partner, from her cellular phone. The message was simple. SOS…UStoreIt.

She’d sent it once already. He hadn’t responded. Today was his day off. Hers too. But some things couldn’t wait.

With the phone clipped back on her utility belt, she wrapped her fingers around the butt of her weapon. The hiss of cool steel sliding from her leather holster prompted a sense of calm that instantly neutralized the negative effects of the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She might be off duty but she never went anywhere, not even to bed, without her weapon. To a cop, being unarmed was the equivalent of being naked on stage in front of a jam-packed stadium. Not a good thing—unless you’re a part of a living art exhibit.

The muted sound of voices reached her position. She’d been right. Three. All male. All comfortable with continuing business since her presence had obviously been assessed as insignificant.

That kind of carelessness told her something else about her targets. They had grown complacent. Risky business for criminals.

Adopting a battle-ready stance, she eased out into the light of day. Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the concrete that formed the drive through the alley between the rows of storage units.

Four more units…three…she moved toward the end of the long row…two more. When she reached the final one she halted, held absolutely still and listened.

The voices were clear now.

“Twenty of the best,” one man bragged. “I can get you as many as you require.”

Kayla didn’t have to see the product to know what the man was hawking. High-end bikes. Valued at upwards of hundreds, even thousands, of dollars each. The goods were stolen from tourists who preferred to bicycle their way around Arizona’s trails and from university students who considered the designer bikes to be “all that” and more. The more expensive the product, the better the students from wealthy families liked it. Titanium frames, leather seats…top-end bikes came just about any way a customer wanted them.

Though the consumer might have to work hours, days or even weeks to earn the cost, it only took the average thief about eight seconds to cut a lock and scarcely a few moments more to ride off. Especially on campus, where the thieves easily blended into the student population, likely wearing backpacks filled with the tools of their trade.

The risk proved minimal in most cases, the reward more than sufficient. At one time a thief could only hope to turn a twenty-five or thirty-dollar profit on a three-hundred-dollar bike, but now was a different story. The better ones went for hundreds or even thousands a pop. Considering the risk and the slap on the wrist thieves got if caught, it was a far more desirable business than running drugs.

No middleman required. No recipes to concoct. No dangerous chemicals to dispose of. Just simple bolt cutters or lock picks and a backpack. Well, and the physical endurance to ride the stolen bike to wherever your pickup contact waited.

This particular group of thieves had been eluding law enforcement for months now. No one could determine where and how they disposed of the stolen bikes. Serial numbers were apparently changed, since the few registered ones stolen never surfaced. These guys would get more than a mere slap on the wrist. Petty larceny was one thing, but this was considerably bigger. Estimates put these guys at a six-figure business annually.

Athens was the perfect location. Situated close to Phoenix, a big college town, Athens offered a quick, neutral place for storage and distribution. Far enough away from the scene of the crime for comfort and yet close enough to facilitate the job.

But this was her town.

Criminals were not going to be allowed to operate under her jurisdiction as long as she could help it.

With one final deep breath, she braced herself for moving around the end of the building. If she waited for backup, chances were the deal would be done. She wanted the buyers as well as the seller.

When she would have swung around the corner, the sound of a car braking to a stop thirty or forty yards behind her drew her up short.

She swore softly. All she needed was the owner of storage unit number forty-two showing up and throwing a fit. Distraction was not a good thing, nor was being made by the bad guys because of an unfortunate twist of fate.

Her gaze narrowed on the dark sedan that parked behind her Jeep. She frowned. The vehicle looked familiar.

When a tall guy wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and a baseball cap strode up to one of the units and proceeded to tinker with the lock she let go the breath she’d been holding. Nobody.

Now, if he would just stay put and not come nosing around the corner in the event the next few moments got out of hand….

As the new arrival pushed the door of his unit upward Kayla turned her attention back to the voices on the other side of the narrow block buildings.

The deal had been made.

She had to move in now.

Hesitation stalled her. Something still didn’t feel right. She didn’t like having company show up at the last minute like this. She glanced toward the man in the ball cap one last time. He’d disappeared into the unit he’d opened. Just like she had when she first arrived. Too coincidental for comfort.

The voices around the corner snagged her attention once more.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

As she prepared to advance around the end of the building, a vague sort of recognition clicked in the back of her mind and she hesitated once more. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important about the guy in the baseball cap that she’d missed here.

Then she knew.

She whipped around just in time to come face-to-face with the man in question.

“You still going after the bad guys all alone,” he commented quietly, for her ears only.

She glared up at Detective Peter Hadden. “What the hell are you doing here?” Her demand came out a whisper but there was no mistaking the ferocity. Ire roared through her, boosting the adrenaline already searing through her veins.

Hadden was with Homicide and Robbery in Tucson. This damn sure wasn’t his jurisdiction. Not to mention she was still irritated with him after their last chance meeting, which she realized now hadn’t been any more inadvertent than this one.

He was following her. She’d experienced that sensation far too often lately.

The shift in the tone of the exchange on the other side of the building drew her attention back in that direction and alerted Kayla to her new status.

She’d been made…at the very least deemed a possible threat.

The perps would scatter.

She had to act now.

Another curse hissed past her lips as she swung around the end of the building and lunged forward. She paused at the final corner that stood between her and the perps doing their dirty business.

A gunshot whizzed past as she stole a look around that corner.

She jerked back. Gritted her teeth and readied to swing around and return fire.

In a blur of unexpected motion Hadden charged past her.

What the hell was he doing now?

Gunfire erupted. Hadden’s as well as the enemies’.

She dived for the ground, rolled into the open and fired. One man was down, writhing and howling in pain. Hadden and another were entangled in a savage, rolling-on-the-ground hand-to-hand battle.

She fired once more. Her target stumbled when the shot tore through his thigh. But he didn’t stop. He headed straight for one of two vehicles waiting nearby.

She scrambled up and burst into a dead run. “Stop! Police! Drop your weapon!”

He glanced back, fired twice. Sent her ducking behind one of the vehicles.

So much for negotiations.

If he got away…

Her feet were moving even before the decision fully penetrated her brain. She dashed from her cover and made a dive for the passenger side door of the second vehicle at the same time her perp went for the driver’s side.

Weapons drawn, barrels leveled, they slid into the front seat simultaneously.

“You got a death wish, bitch?” he growled.

Pain glittered in his eyes. Kayla didn’t have to look to know that blood pulsed from the wound like a mini-geyser. It was possible he hadn’t noticed or that he just wasn’t ready to give up.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice dead calm. “But I’m not the one bleeding to death.”

He flinched. Didn’t look down. Damn, she mused. A real tough guy.

“I don’t want to have to shoot a cop,” he warned, his face already growing paler.

She wondered at that. Why would a bike thief, even a well-connected one making six figures, risk this level of jeopardy? It didn’t make sense.

No time to worry about that now. The black, somber barrel of his weapon remained aimed directly at her.

“Do you know how long it takes the average human to bleed out?” She cocked her head, peered around the lethal barrel and deliberately assessed him for a second or two. “Not very long when an artery is involved. After you lose that first liter it all goes downhill from there. It takes only minutes to reach a point where no amount of medical care will make a difference.”

He swallowed hard, the difficulty clear in the workings of his throat muscles.

“Do you really want to die over a bunch of overpriced bikes?” A line of sweat had already formed on his brow and upper lip. She took a risk, glanced at the leg. “Damn, it’s pumping out pretty fast. You feel dizzy yet? Cold?”

His hand shook—once, twice—before he lowered his weapon. “Call me an ambulance,” he choked out.

Kayla confiscated his weapon, called for the paramedics then made a makeshift tourniquet with his shirt when she couldn’t stop the flow of blood any other way.

Hadden had the guy he’d been tangoing with cuffed and was attending to the one he’d been forced to shoot. A shoulder wound involving mostly soft tissue, but the guy was crying like a baby. The buyer, Kayla surmised. He looked a little pudgy and had that fluorescent-lighting pallor of the skin—definitely not the type to be out pirating bikes.

“Ouch,” Hadden said as he looked over her handiwork on the guy with the femoral artery injury. “That’ll leave a mark.”

“He’ll live.” As long as the ambulance gets here in a hurry, she added silently. She’d have to keep a close watch on the jerk until then. Inflicting a lethal wound hadn’t been her intent, but she’d done what she had to in order to stop the perp from fleeing the scene and to protect herself…which might not have been necessary at all had she not been interrupted. She scrubbed her bloody palms over her jeans and eyed her uninvited backup. “What the hell are you doing here, Hadden?”

He lifted one broad shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Just driving by, thought you might need some help.”

“Bullshit,” she tossed right back. If he thought she was that naive he’d better get a grip.

Before she could pursue the point, two Pinal County cruisers arrived along with the ambulance.

“Hell, Ryan,” one of the deputies said as he surveyed the aftermath. “Why didn’t you just kill ’em all and save the taxpayers the cost of a trial?”

“Funny,” she muttered as she started walking toward the vehicles. She glanced over her shoulder at Hadden. “Don’t you go disappearing on me, we’re not finished yet.”

Two hours later, with two of the perps in the OR for surgery and the other in county lockup, Kayla had finished going over the scene with Steve Devon, the best county investigator in the Sheriff’s Department.

“I’ll need your report on my desk first thing in the morning,” Devon told her before letting her go. He flicked a sour look at Hadden. “Yours too, Detective.”

Devon didn’t have to spell out what that meant. A report was SOP, standard operating procedure. The urgency, however, was related to two wounded perps. Anytime shots were fired, the department flinched.

The investigator’s stern questions only added to Kayla’s building annoyance at Hadden. She glared at him as they walked toward their abandoned vehicles.

“This should have gone down without any shots fired.” If his arrival hadn’t set her targets on alert, a good portion of what transpired could have been prevented. She prided herself on doing her job with the least excessive force possible.

“You just keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, Ryan,” he snorted. “But those guys had no intention of being rounded up today, otherwise they wouldn’t have been armed. Or willing to shoot at a cop,” he added.

That part was true. She’d been surprised briefly by the unexpected exchange. But she still didn’t like him horning in on her bust.

She went around to the back of her Jeep and opened the hatch. After pawing through a dozen items that she didn’t know why she hauled around, she finally found the antibacterial wipes. For the good they would do. She had that scumbag’s blood all over her.

Hadden, playing it smart, kept his mouth shut as she cleaned herself up. By the time she’d gone through half the container of thin wipes her hands felt reasonably clean. There was nothing to be done about her clothes. The jeans and sweater were ruined.

She closed the hatch and settled her renewed fury on Hadden. “Now tell me what you were really doing here. This is my jurisdiction,” she added. “You have no business nosing around here without giving someone at the Sheriff’s Department a courtesy call.”

He grinned. A spear of warmth went through her. She looked away. She hated that he so easily turned the tide of her emotions. That was one reason she’d avoided him the past couple of months. Getting involved with another cop wouldn’t be smart. And she could see that coming a mile off. She knew Hadden’s type—nice guy, the kind who made lonely women fall in love all too easily.

“Now we’re even,” he said jokingly, but she knew that whatever his motivation, it was no joking matter.

“Don’t even go there,” she cautioned. Tucson was his jurisdiction, but her friend Rainy Carrington’s murder was her jurisdiction, no matter what the invisible boundary lines said. She would not give up on finding the whole truth. Not now…not ever. Hadden might as well get used to it. This had been a bad year for Kayla. First she’d lost her grandmother. Then, a few months later, one of her best friends had been murdered.

“I’ve been watching you the past couple of days,” he admitted, surprising her all over again.

She schooled her expression and planted her hands on her hips. “What for?” Every instinct told her she wasn’t going to like his answer. He’d been hiding things from her all along. But, so far, she’d had no reason to complain. God knew she was hiding plenty from him. That was another reason she’d steered clear of him the past couple of months.

“Why don’t we go someplace where we can talk?” The suggestion was accompanied by a long, searching look from those piercing blue eyes.

A shiver chased over her skin. Kayla gritted her teeth and would have liked nothing better than to chalk the reaction up to the weather, but, unfortunately, in southern Arizona that wasn’t likely. Even with only two weeks left before Christmas the temperature hung around fifty to fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Not cold enough to bring on the shivers.

It was him. There was no denying that reality. She’d been pretending for months now. Keeping him at a distance for more than one reason.

Though instinct warned her yet again that letting him too close would be a mistake, she just couldn’t help herself. For Rainy, she reasoned. If Detective Peter Hadden had discovered something related to Rainy’s murder, Kayla needed to know. The Cipher, the assassin who’d killed Kayla’s best friend, was dead. Samantha St. John, another friend and schoolmate, had taken care of him. But whoever had sent him was still out there, the motivation a puzzle of bits of information that didn’t yet connect.

If it was the last thing she did, Kayla intended to solve that mystery. She wouldn’t rest until those responsible for Rainy’s death were brought to justice…or were six feet under. And she had to keep searching for Rainy’s child—or children—until she found them or proved none existed. That was the part that hurt the most. Rainy had wanted children so badly and all along she might have had at least one. The bastards who had mined her eggs when she was young herself had robbed her of her ability to conceive and also deprived her of knowing whatever offspring had resulted. And when Rainy had discovered what they’d done and tried to find them, they’d had her killed. Kayla would find the truth.

The Promise.

She and her closest friends had made that promise to each other all those years ago while students at Athena Academy. Each year the class was divided into small groups of students who worked together all year long to become the best they could be in all aspects of their academic lives. Kayla’s group had been called the Cassandras. Headed by Rainy, their senior mentor, the seven of them, including Sam St. John, had become extremely close and had ultimately promised to come if any of them needed help—no questions asked.

Rainy had called them together. Now she was dead. Murdered. Kayla and the rest of the Cassandras had a new promise to keep—solving the enigma of Rainy’s death and ensuring that all involved paid dearly.

For that single reason she would do whatever it took. Like risk getting close to a man who reached her on a level beyond the professional.

She realized Hadden was waiting for her to answer his question. Should they talk? Kayla glanced at her watch. “I don’t know, Hadden.” She shrugged indifferently. “It’s my day off and I actually have plans.” It was a lie but he didn’t know that. Well, there was one little thing she had to do—smooth things over with her partner. As she’d suspected, Jim had called during the middle of the wrap-up with the county investigator. He wasn’t happy. “I should probably get a move on.”

Hadden angled his head skeptically, clearly struggling to keep another grin off those nice lips. God. She resisted the urge to shake her head. Why did she have to notice his every damned asset?

“You expect me to believe that you just happened to be driving by this morning?” He gestured to the rows of storage units. “And discovered a deal going down involving a group of felons you, among others, have been tracking for months?” He was the one shaking his head now. “Give me a break here, Lieutenant Ryan.”

“I got a tip, all right?” It was true. She’d received an anonymous call just after she’d dropped Jazz off at school and headed for the gym—her plans for the morning. For a single mom with a career in law enforcement, free time was at a premium. Most of what little she had was either spent as quality time with her eleven-year-old daughter or in physical training.

Just another thing she’d already lived to regret—never taking the time she should for friends and family. Rainy was dead. And Kayla barely remembered the last time they’d gotten together before that tragedy.

“So, are we having coffee or what?” Hadden pressed.

Kayla looked straight at him, assessed what she saw in those intense blue eyes. He needed to share something with her. Anticipation and an underlying urgency radiated from his every feature.

“Sure, why not.” She shrugged again, as if whatever he had to say didn’t matter. “As long as you’re buying.”

Kayla climbed into her Jeep without looking back. When she heard Hadden pull out onto the road she backed up her vehicle, pulled forward and followed him. Attempting to guess what was on his mind would be a supreme waste of time so she didn’t bother.

He drove to a coffee shop on Olympus Road, the main drag in Athens, and parked in the lot. Kayla’s little community wasn’t that large, a few shops, a bank, a post office, and a supermarket. The only reason the tiny spot in the road had actually developed into a town was because the Athena Academy, the all-girls school Kayla had attended from seventh through twelfth grades, was nearby. Luke Air Force base was also close by, but there wasn’t much else around. Most folks around Athens went to Phoenix for major shopping and medical care.

Still, the town had amassed a population of about five thousand, and the powers that be had managed to wrangle a satellite station for the town from the Sheriff’s Department. The small law enforcement office was manned by two sheriff’s deputies at all times. With its continued growth Athens would no doubt be incorporating and forming its own city government in the next couple of years. So far members of the community had been in no hurry to take the formal steps. But that would soon change.

Nothing stayed the same.

Hadn’t she learned that the hard way?

Hadden emerged from his car and strode toward Kayla’s Jeep. She took her time getting out, turning her attention once more to consideration of his motivation for keeping her under surveillance. Professionally speaking, the only thing they had in common was the murder of Lorraine Carrington. Kayla flinched at the memory of that Saturday night back in late August. More unpleasant thoughts tumbled in on the heels of that memory.

Somehow Athena Academy was involved in Rainy’s death. Kayla didn’t want to believe it. She’d reasoned that the involvement only went as deep as certain personnel, but she couldn’t be sure.

That suspicion was just one of the secrets she couldn’t share with Peter Hadden. Was the primary reason she’d backed off from her original plan to work fairly closely with him. This was Cassandra business, to be shared on a need-to-know basis only.

His gaze locked with hers at precisely that moment, as if he’d read her mind and somehow summoned her full attention.

Keep this on the surface, in neutral territory, Kayla. You don’t know all the facts and Athena Academy certainly doesn’t need the bad publicity.

Shannon Conner, a TV news reporter and the only person ever to be expelled from Athena, had already done enough damage in that department. In the early months after Rainy’s death, the vengeful woman had done all within her power to make the school look bad. She’d showed up at Rainy’s funeral and implied that Athena Academy used its students for scientific experiments. More recently she’d tried to compromise Kayla’s fellow Cassandra Josie Lockworth, a captain in the Air Force. She’d reported on Josie’s fast rise in the force; but had tried to win her career by implying Josie was involved with a fellow officer. It hadn’t worked.

Victoria Patton, better known as Tory, another of the Cassandras and a top TV news reporter, had worked overtime to put the right spin on Conner’s negative reporting. But there were others out there who would like nothing better than to bring down the unusual preparatory school. Just another factor to consider in all this. Perhaps someone wanted Kayla to believe that the school was responsible for what had happened to Rainy. But the evidence continued to mount…there was no denying that.

When she and Hadden had settled at a small table in the farthest corner of the shop, away from the few other customers, he didn’t waste any time.

“There’s a new development in the Carrington case.”

Anticipation raced through Kayla. She’d been right. “What kind of development?”

Before he could respond the waitress arrived and took their order. Two black coffees. Kayla considered having a pastry but this wasn’t a social meeting. Even though there were times when she would kill for a chocolate-filled croissant, this wasn’t the time. She needed to focus.

“What kind of development?” The question was out of her mouth the instant the waitress moved away.

“As you well know, we’ve exhausted all avenues in an attempt to determine exactly what happened to Lorraine Carrington.”

The one thing she did know well was that she and the other Cassandras were the real ones who made up the we he spoke of. As far as Hadden and his department were concerned, there was no overwhelming evidence to prove Rainy’s death was anything more than an accident. Another reason Kayla couldn’t help being suspicious of Hadden’s continued interest in the case. A seat belt malfunction and a driver dozing off and running off the road was hardly the stuff murder investigations hinged on.

But Kayla knew the real facts. Rainy hadn’t simply fallen asleep at the wheel. Her sudden collapse into slumber had been brought on by the Cipher and a gadget he’d used on Alex—Alexandra Forsythe, another of Kayla’s Cassandra sisters—as well as on Kayla herself. On separate occasions in totally different locations, both she and Alex had fainted for no apparent reason during the weeks after Rainy’s death. Like Rainy, Alex’s incident had occurred while she was driving. It was a miracle she hadn’t been badly injured…or worse.

The Cipher had paid for his part in Rainy’s death. CIA agent Sam had tracked him down and had been forced to kill him in a standoff. But they were still no closer to finding whoever had sent the assassin than they had been weeks ago.

“In pursuing this investigation,” Hadden went on, “we’ve uncovered a number of details that don’t add up where Marshall Carrington is concerned.”

Kayla’s hackles rose instantly. “Look, Hadden, I know it’s SOP to suspect the spouse first and foremost when someone dies, but I can vouch for Marshall Carrington. There is no way he would have killed his wife. He loved Rainy.” Kayla blinked back the emotion that stung her eyes. “I know Marshall. He would never have hurt her. Never.” She couldn’t tell Hadden about the Cipher or anything else she and her Cassandra sisters had discovered. Not yet anyway.

The waitress set two cups of steaming dark brew on the table. “Anything else?”

Hadden lifted his hand in a negative signal and the young woman scurried off to help another customer who’d just arrived.

“I don’t doubt Carrington’s character as a husband,” Hadden said, some indefinable emotion filtering into his tone. “This is about his business dealings.”

Confusion lined Kayla’s brow. Hadden’s tone as well as his statement bewildered her. “Marshall is an archaeology professor. Outside his occasional jaunt to search for some ancient relic, what on earth could you find questionable about his profession?”

Hadden’s expression closed then, like a bank vault door slamming shut to fend off trespassers. The abrupt change set Kayla on edge. Whatever he intended to share with her, there was a great deal more he planned to keep to himself. Somehow it related to Marshall. And she knew before he spoke that it was not good.

“We have reason to suspect your friend Marshall is eyeball deep in a smuggling ring.”

Chapter 2

Noon had come and gone by the time Kayla showered twice—once just wasn’t enough, with her feeling as if that perp’s blood had penetrated deep into her pores. She’d scrubbed until her skin felt raw.

She laid the hair dryer aside and stared at her reflection. But was the blood really what bothered her just now? Peter Hadden’s words kept echoing in her brain. We have reason to suspect your friend Marshall is eyeball deep in a smuggling ring.

Not possible.

Rainy’s husband would never be involved with any sort of criminal activity. Not knowingly anyway.

Rainy’s husband.

Kayla looked away from the telling emotion in her eyes. She’d gotten a little too attached to Marshall these past few months. It wasn’t intentional…she hadn’t meant to allow her feelings to stray into dangerous territory. But it had been like trying to stop an avalanche. Impossible.

She’d always genuinely adored Marshall. Who wouldn’t? He was handsome, well-built, immensely charming and he had treated Rainy as if she were the absolute center of his universe. Who wouldn’t want a man like that?

No. Kayla shook off that line of thinking and retreated to her bedroom to pull on some clean clothes. It wasn’t about Marshall either. It was about Rainy.

Kayla sighed as she looked at her unmade bed. There was just never enough time. She dug through a pile of freshly laundered clothes that she hadn’t put away yet and selected her favorite jeans.

Rainy had always teased Kayla about her ability to make a place look lived-in without any real effort. That was the way Kayla preferred things—no fuss.

She tugged on her jeans. She missed Rainy so much. The hurt and tension stemming from her murder had drawn Kayla and Marshall together, that’s all. She knew better than most that stress did that sort of thing. It happened when you felt lost or detached from the rest of the world. You reached out to the closest human who might understand.

Her thoughts drifted to her final year at Athena Academy. Rainy had graduated long before and gone off to Harvard. Alex had graduated as well, one year previously. Though Kayla had loved her other Cassandra sisters, she’d missed Rainy and Alex to the point of distraction. Her Navajo heritage had tugged at her more strongly that year than any other. She’d just felt out of sorts, torn between what she’d been taught as a child and all that she’d learned at Athena.

Not that anything she’d experienced at Athena could be called bad in any way, but it had been different than the usual academic curriculum. Martial arts, weaponry, survival courses, multiple foreign languages. Too many other available studies to recall at the moment. The overall goal was the advancement and empowerment of women. All good. But somehow, in her senior year, Kayla had gotten off track, had lost some vital part of herself. In the search to regain completeness, she’d met and fallen for a cocky young officer from the Air Force base.

The image of the man she’d allowed to break her heart all those years ago flashed briefly through Kayla’s mind. Her automatic instinct was to banish any thought of him. But Josie’s call a couple weeks ago had Kayla hesitating. Josie Lockworth was a dear friend and a Cassandra, as well as a rising star in the Air Force. The same branch of the military in which Jazz’s father still served.

Mike Bridges wanted to know his daughter. Jasmine Michelle Ryan. The daughter Kayla had raised all alone. Admittedly, he had sent child support since the day Jazz was born, twelve years ago next month. And Kayla had been blessed with the full support of her family, so to say she’d done this alone wasn’t exactly accurate.

But so many times she had felt alone.

She shouldered into a sweatshirt, pulled her hair loose and began to braid it. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been drawn to Marshall so strongly.

It had been so very long since she’d allowed herself to need a man on a personal level, much less an intimate one. Peter Hadden slipped into her troubled thoughts next. Her heart reacted instantly, picking up a few extra, foolish beats.

She couldn’t help smiling when she thought of the way he always looked a little rumpled. Sexy as hell. Totally the opposite of meticulously groomed Marshall. Peter Hadden was one of those men who made the just-dragged-out-of-bed look so appealing.

Damn him.

How many times had she longed to run her fingers through his tousled hair? To yank his rumpled suit clean off his body. To ensure that it was properly laundered and pressed, of course, she’d assured herself.

Yeah, right.

And those eyes. Amazing, she admitted, allowing the momentary lapse in sanity while no one was around to notice. But it was that damned smile that got to her the fastest. Sexy, flirty, and so warm. No, not warm. Hot.

And even more than that, she found his dogged persistence dangerously tempting. No matter how often she pushed him away, he kept coming back. You had to love a guy who didn’t give up.

Why couldn’t she simply enjoy him? Her fingers faltered in their work as she secured the end of her waist-long braid. Good question. She was twenty-nine. She’d scarcely even dated since Jazz became a part of her life. What prevented her from having a no-strings physical relationship with a man?

Warmth spread down her limbs at the concept.

Mike popped back into her head. Because her life was complicated enough.

She’d fallen for a sexy smile and amazing eyes once before. Though Mike’s were hazel, the same combination of green and blue that Jazz had inherited, the effect was the same. He’d turned Kayla inside out with just a look.

Maybe it was past time she’d allowed a man back into her life. Didn’t her own mother and sister broach that very subject now and again? Like clockwork.

Still, now was not the time. Until those behind Rainy’s murder and the fate of her offspring were solved, getting involved with anyone was out of the question. Especially considering this latest turn of events where Hadden was concerned. Kayla owed it to Marshall to protect him.

No. She owed it to Rainy.

Rainy had loved Marshall. Kayla would protect him for that very reason if for no other.

She walked over to her bedside table and picked up the framed photograph of her precious daughter. Jazz had the same long dark hair as Kayla, the same features. Only the color of her eyes had made it from her father’s side of the gene pool. No fancy Ivy League college or high-powered career could have made Kayla’s life more complete. Like all Athena graduates she had received a scholarship offer from a prestigious school, Princeton, in fact. But Jazz was far more important to Kayla than anything else.

The idea that Rainy might have at least one child out there—a child she hadn’t even known about—squeezed at Kayla’s heart. What had become of that child or children—if it even existed—was just another piece of the puzzle surrounding Rainy’s death.

During Rainy’s autopsy, Alex had discovered that Rainy still had her appendix. Yet, all those years ago in school, Rainy had supposedly had an appendectomy during seventh grade.

In the autopsy, Alex had also discovered scars—old scars—on Rainy’s ovaries. Now the remaining Cassandra’s were certain that someone had actually faked the appendectomy to mine her ovaries, stealing her precious eggs.

Marshall had explained that when he and Rainy hadn’t conceived, they’d sought help from a specialist to no avail. That must have been when Rainy had begun to suspect the truth. And she’d never had a chance to tell her friends those suspicions.

Kayla desperately needed to talk to that specialist. But Dr. Deborah Halburg had been out of the country for months now. No one knew when she was expected to return to her practice in Tucson.

Darcy Steele, a Cassandra as well as a private investigator, had managed to find one woman, a Las Vegas showgirl known as Cleo Patra, who had gotten paid to be a surrogate mother around the same time as Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. Cleo had given birth to a baby, but had no idea what had happened to the child.

Alex had connected with Justin Cohen, whose sister had died giving birth to a surrogate baby about nine months after that time. Justin was certain Athena Academy had something to do with his sister’s death, and the Cassandras had come to believe him.

Tory, using her reporter’s instincts and connections, had discovered that a fertility clinic had been burglarized all those years ago and that one of the missing sperm specimens belonged to Navy SEAL and hero Thomas King. And when Tory had been sent to interview King on a completely unrelated story, someone had tried to kill them both.

Sam had taken down the Cipher, the man who’d killed Rainy.

Josie, who had connections in Army Intelligence, had looked for more information on the Cipher and had learned of an obscure lab, numbered 33, connected to some kind of an experiment called “cipher.” So far, they had found no connection between Lab 33 and Athena Academy. In fact, they’d found no further information about the mysterious lab at all. But the investigation was far from over.

Using the skills Athena Academy as well as life had taught them, the Cassandras would work together to solve the rest of this mystery. Rainy might never have had the opportunity to know her child. But, if that child existed, it would know about its biological mother.

The telephone rang and Kayla jerked out of her agonizing thoughts.

She’d already heard that the two injured perps were out of surgery and stable. Maybe the investigator had more questions. She hoped not. Even the idea of a shooting being questioned by superiors gave most cops the willies. Kayla was no exception. Though she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, that fact didn’t keep her from experiencing a moment’s trepidation.

“Ryan.”

“Kayla, it’s Alex.”

A new kind of anticipation erupted inside Kayla. “You have news?” She could scarcely breathe as she waited for Alex to respond. Alexandra Forsythe had once been Kayla’s best friend. That relationship had been strained this past decade or so. But she and Alex were working on that. It was a damned shame it had taken Rainy’s death to make them both realize they couldn’t let their old disagreement fester forever.

Alex was still working with Justin Cohen, who was now an FBI agent, to find the truth about Justin’s sister and how her death might be connected to Rainy’s, so many years later.

“Not the news you’d like to hear,” Alex told her, her tone far too somber.

“What’s up?” Kayla sat down on the edge of the bed and tried not to jump to any conclusions or fear the worst. Even if all their leads ran into dead ends they had to keep searching. Couldn’t stop until they knew the whole truth.

“This may be nothing, but I’ve got a feeling we shouldn’t let it pass without finding out.” Alex hesitated a moment as if she wasn’t one hundred percent certain of how to proceed. “Allison called me this morning.”

Allison Gracelyn had attended Athena. She’d been in Rainy’s grade and was older than the Cassandras. Allison and Rainy had been good friends. Since Allison’s mother had founded Athena, Allison now served as a consultant on the school’s board. Like Kayla and the other Cassandras, Allison grieved Rainy’s loss.

Alex continued, “I got the distinct impression that she was fishing. She’d tried to call Tory but couldn’t get her. She’s off on some story. Anyway, Allison wanted to know if we anticipated any further damage from Shannon Conner. I told her we thought Tory had that situation under control. But during the course of the conversation, Allison mentioned that there was an Athena Academy meeting of the board at one-thirty this afternoon.”

“You think I should be there,” Kayla offered. Though she hadn’t been invited. That little detail wouldn’t stop her. Kayla glanced at the clock. 1:15 p.m. She might make it if she left right away.

“I do, Kayla.” Alex sighed. “It’s difficult for me to bring myself to speak this way about the school, but something somewhere isn’t right. One or more members of the staff are hiding something. We have to know what that is.”

Betsy Stone immediately came to mind. The Cassandras had learned that Ms. Stone, Athena’s school nurse, had also worked part-time for a Dr. Henry Reagan, at the time of Rainy’s “appendectomy.” They were convinced that Reagan had something to do with the surrogate mothers and Rainy’s eggs. Dr. Reagan had been Justin Cohen’s sister’s doctor during her pregnancy, as well as Cleo Patra’s.

Nurse Stone admitted having worked with Dr. Reagan two days a week in his office years before his death, but knew nothing of any unethical practices.

Then there was Christine Evans, Athena’s principal since the day the doors opened. Alex felt certain Christine was hiding something. Kayla got the same impression.

But hunches and gut instincts alone didn’t solve cases.

“I’m on my way,” Kayla assured Alex. It felt so good to talk to her again without all those years of tension in the way. Mike Bridges had done more than break Kayla’s heart. Getting involved with him had caused a twelve-year rift between Alex and Kayla. Alex had tried to talk Kayla out of getting too serious with Mike all those years ago. They’d argued bitterly. But that gap was slowly closing now. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

At 1:25 p.m. Kayla turned off Olympus Road and headed down Script Pass. She might make it on time. Showing up uninvited was tactless enough. Walking in once the meeting had officially begun went against the grain of even the most liberal etiquette.

She stopped at the new guard shack that graced the entryway to the school and shuddered as she was reminded of just why the guard was now necessary. Christine Evans had decided, after Rainy’s death and subsequent suspicious events at the school, to post a guard twenty-four hours a day, even on holidays, to monitor visitors.

She flashed her ID and continued on to the school buildings.

She parked in the circle drive in front of the main building and jumped out of the Jeep before it stopped rocking at the curb.

Kayla hurried up the walk that cut across the well-manicured lawn. Usually when she arrived at the academy she took a moment to admire the lawn and beautiful fountain surrounded by the current season’s gorgeous flowers. But that was the furthest thing from her mind today. The fact of the matter was, most things had taken a back seat to Rainy’s murder since that muggy August night.

Whatever her distractions, Kayla always experienced an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when she entered those massive front entry doors. Boundless halls. Quiet rooms filled with memories. Voices and images from the past spent within these walls filtered through her mind, reminding her of those wondrous formative years shared with the Cassandras.

If there was a long-buried secret hidden within these walls—walls that had always felt safe—Kayla had to find it. Not only for Rainy, but for all who would pass through these halls in the years to come. This school was a very special place. Whatever wrongs had been committed here would be righted.

Kayla bypassed Christine’s office and headed straight for the conference room. Thankfully, the board members were just settling down around the long table as she entered the room.

Christine Evans was the first to notice Kayla’s arrival. A former military woman, Christine still had that authoritative bearing, squared shoulders and head held high. Her short gray hair added to her distinguished air. “Kayla.” She met her halfway across the room. Gave her a quick hug. “What brings you here today?” Worry lines marred her brow as she surveyed Kayla’s face. Long ago, a military training accident had left Christine blind in her left eye, but she missed nothing. “Nothing’s happened, I hope.”

After what they’d all been through since Rainy’s death, the worst was the first thing that came to mind for anyone involved. Christine’s expression—and the question—were sincere.

“Kayla.” Allison Gracelyn came up next to Christine before Kayla could respond. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a large barrette. “I haven’t seen you since…” Her words drifted off. She didn’t have to say the rest…since the funeral. Allison’s brown eyes reflected the same ache that Kayla felt.

Kayla managed a smile, pressed her cheek to Allison’s in a brief gesture of affection. “It’s good to see you, Allison.”

One by one the members of the board who were present greeted Kayla, made her feel welcome despite the unexpectedness of her appearance. No matter how cordial each was, Kayla could feel the underlying tension simmering in the room.

“I heard about today’s meeting from a friend,” Kayla said, prompted by Vice Principal Rebecca Claussen’s question as to what brought her to the school today. “As a member of law enforcement in Athens,” she took a moment to meet each board member’s gaze, “and a graduate of Athena, I feel a close bond with this school and recent events have raised a number of concerns.”

Now she had everyone’s attention.

Christine paled. Her vice principal, Rebecca, looked every bit as stricken. Her bright hazel eyes stood out in stark contrast to her fair skin and dark, gray-streaked hair.

“Explain what you mean by concerns,” Adam Gracelyn demanded in the judicial tone he’d honed over a lifetime on the Arizona Supreme Court as vice chief justice. His brown eyes bored into Kayla’s, ensuring she understood that he possessed a great deal of power and influence. He would not be intimidated.

Which was not her intent, she argued mentally.

Or was it?

There were secrets here and she knew it. Some she had already learned. Like the fact that a Dr. Carl Bradford had been dismissed around the time Rainy’s eggs were probably mined. Christine had insisted that his dismissal was a result of inappropriate behavior toward Nurse Betsy Stone. Somehow that just didn’t sit right with Kayla.

Kayla doubted she would have any better luck interrogating this group than she’d had with Betsy Stone. Whatever secrets they shared, if any, they intended to keep quiet as long as possible.

But not all were involved in this conspiracy. She hoped.

Could she allow what one or more persons had done to influence her judgment of everyone affiliated with the school? That didn’t seem fair…but what choice did she have? There simply was no way to know who had participated in the evil scheme that had prevented Rainy from bearing her own children.

No one suggested they sit down, so Kayla pushed aside her troubling thoughts and forged onward. “There are still a number of unanswered questions regarding Rainy,” she said bluntly. “And the leads seem to dead-end at the school.”

Christine flared her hands. “We’ve cooperated with your every request. What more would you have us do?”

“This has something to do with that awful Conner woman’s exposé,” Allison countered, her brown eyes every bit as stern as her father, the judge’s. Allison wasn’t actually a board member, just a consultant who flew in from D.C. for certain meetings, but she had every intention of seeing that the school was run as her mother, Marion, the school’s founder, would have wanted. Her motives were good. But how far would she go to protect the school’s reputation?

“In part,” Kayla allowed. “Although I think Tory has the situation under control with her insider stories on the academy. Viewers believe Tory. When she exposed Shannon Conner’s lies for what they were, I’m confident she undid most of the damage.” Tory had also recently gotten the better of Shannon when Shannon had tried to hurt Air Force captain Josie Lockworth’s career with yet another tasteless exposé on Athena students.

“But how can we be sure,” the elder Gracelyn argued. “We have to take a long, hard look at how this kind of negative publicity could affect funding.”

Nods and sounds of agreement went around the room.

“Especially considering that we’re moving into an election year,” Christine added sagely.

“You’re aware,” the judge said to Kayla, “that our funding from the government is at the President’s leisure. Should a new commander-in-chief decide that our work here has outgrown its worth, that funding will vanish in a puff of bureaucratic smoke.”

Kayla knew how much the school depended upon funding. The truth was that the government’s paltry contribution was not nearly enough. Wealthy private donors were the school’s livelihood. Bad publicity could do far-reaching damage. That was one reason the school had always maintained such a low profile. No publicity equated to good publicity was the motto. Don’t draw attention. For weeks Shannon Conner and her twisted accusations had drawn the scorching scrutiny of most of the free world.

Uncertainty lanced Kayla. She hadn’t wanted to believe that Shannon’s stories carried any merit, but when she thought of what had been done to Rainy, doubt crept in.

Had this revered school experimented on its students?

Was there anyone else who’d fallen victim as Rainy had?

Kayla swallowed back the doubt. She wouldn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe it. This situation had to be isolated, involving one or two members of the staff at most. To believe anything else would shake the entire foundation of all she held dear.

“I know you’re all very concerned about the publicity over the past few months, but its novelty has almost worn off,” she said. “Once the fall session started and Tory worked her magic with some positive stories, Athena was scarcely mentioned in the media anymore. I think that’s behind us.” She braced herself for a maelstrom. Her next words would wreak a havoc of their own. “What I don’t think we’ve cleared up is this school’s involvement in what happened to Rainy.”

Rebecca Claussen threw up her hands. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again.” She shook her head. “What do we have to say to convince you that whatever happened didn’t happen here?”

“Kayla,” Christine put in, “you know we wouldn’t allow anything like that. How could you even think such a thing?”

The Gracelyns glared at her. No one wanted to discuss the issue. No one wanted to believe. The truth was, no one even wanted to know. They wanted this over and forgotten. Buried.

Hell, Kayla didn’t want to consider the idea either. But it was necessary. As a cop, she could put aside her personal feelings and see that need. But these people weren’t cops. And she was talking about their baby. Everyone in this room had given their all for Athena Academy. Allison’s own mother, the founder, had paid the ultimate sacrifice. She had died here.

That last thought stuck in Kayla’s brain and reverberated for a moment. Marion Gracelyn had been murdered on school grounds a few years back. She was thought to have been a victim of an interrupted burglary. But was that what really happened?

Before any more new conspiracy theories could formulate, Kayla clarified her position on the matter of Rainy’s medical mix-up. “I know it didn’t happen here. Both you and Nurse Stone,” she said to Christine, “have explained that Rainy was rushed to the hospital in Phoenix when she got sick. And the mistake in her medical chart must have happened there. I know. But we’re missing something. And I can’t let this matter rest until I find the whole truth.” She looked straight at Christine as she said the last.

Christine averted her gaze.

The judge broke his simmering silence. “You do what you have to do, Lieutenant Ryan.” That he used her title and last name told Kayla the position he’d taken. She was now considered an enemy to some degree. “This school is beyond reproach,” he continued. “As an Athena graduate you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting that this fine institution would be involved in any such evil deeds.” He leveled a gaze on Kayla that unsettled her to her very core. “Do what you must, but remember we have nothing to hide.”

Judge Gracelyn’s words were still echoing in Kayla’s ears as she reached her daughter’s school later that afternoon. She pushed the unsettling subject aside and focused on the here and now. Pinal County Elementary. Next year Jazz would attend middle school. That idea made Kayla feel old.

She pulled alongside the schoolyard curb behind the dozens of other vehicles waiting for the final bell to ring. It felt impossible that Jazz was almost twelve. How could that much time have passed so quickly?

Kayla thought of those first few months after graduating from Athena, when her pregnancy could no longer be kept secret. It hadn’t been so easy then. Though her parents had accepted her situation more readily than Kayla would have guessed, there had been some amount of strain. And yet, each and every member of her generous family had pitched in, gone above and beyond to help. When Jazz had turned one, Kayla had known she couldn’t wait any longer to get on with her life. She’d gone to the police academy and had acquired a college degree in night school. And when she’d finished, Collin Masters had just been elected county sheriff and had invited her to join his department. It hadn’t hurt that he was a longtime friend of Kayla’s father.

She loved her job and hadn’t looked back.

Until now.

She couldn’t help wondering how life might have been different if things hadn’t happened as they had. What if she’d never met Mike Bridges? Never fallen for the cocky jerk?

She wouldn’t have Jazz.

Just then, Jasmine Ryan came bursting through the school doors.

A grin split across Kayla’s face as she watched Jazz hurry toward her through the sea of students. It didn’t matter what might have been. All that mattered was that she and Jazz had each other. No way would Kayla’s life have been complete without this little girl. No way.

“I hate boys!”

This announcement was made scarcely before Jazz plopped into the passenger seat.

Kayla smothered a laugh. “Really? Now, why is that?”

Her brow furrowed with concentration, Jazz buckled her seat belt. “Because they’re stupid.” Her task complete, she leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. “Why would I like a stupid boy?”

Kayla resisted the urge to encourage her daughter to keep that attitude. She pulled away from the curb and pointed the Jeep in the direction of home.

At age eleven, boys could seem awfully silly. By twelve or thirteen a girl’s outlook on the subject always changed. She glanced at her daughter. Nature had a way of working its magic. Poor kid. She had no idea. There wasn’t much parents could say to prepare their children for adolescence.

During the drive home the conversation shifted to Christmas. Friday was the last day of school, Jazz reminded her. Like Kayla could forget. That meant she had to get the last of her shopping done this week.

She parked in the short drive in front of their small bungalow.

“I’ll get the mail!” Jazz unbuckled herself and bounded out the door. She slowed only long enough to tug her backpack onto her shoulders. Since she’d gotten that pen pal from Croatia she couldn’t wait to check the mail every day.

Kayla eased out of the vehicle a bit more slowly. The aches and pains from this morning’s bust had settled into her muscles and joints. She’d hit the ground hard after Hadden made that lunge into the open. He’d left her no choice. Mentally swearing, mostly at him, she pushed his image aside. She wasn’t going to let him creep back into her thoughts any more than she would the ongoing investigation into Athena Academy. Her time with her daughter was far too precious. There would be plenty of time to mull over the day’s events after Jazz was tucked in for the night.

Kayla had just unlocked the front door and pushed it inward when her daughter raced up beside her.

“Yours.” Jazz thrust a handful of mail at her. “Mine.” Her face beaming, she held up one envelope for her mother to see the overseas address. “I gotta go do my homework.” She sprinted through the door like a gazelle.

Inside, Kayla flipped through the envelopes, tossing a couple in the trash and a couple more onto the stack where next month’s bills waited. The last one brought her up short. She scrutinized the elegantly embossed return address, her heart pounding.

Athena Academy.

Her fingers cold and shaking, she tore open the envelope. By the time she unfolded the enclosed letter her knees had given way, forcing her to seek a place to sit down.

It is with great pleasure that we extend this very special invitation….

Jasmine Michelle Ryan…

…seventh-grade class commencing in September of the upcoming year…

Attendance at Athena Academy was by invitation only. No amount of money…no amount of power and influence got a girl through those doors. Only the best…only the ones considered special were invited.

Kayla knew her daughter was exceptionally bright. Extremely athletic. Those qualities combined with her age made her the perfect candidate.

But…God…Kayla wasn’t ready for this. Not now.

Athena wanted Jazz.

Chapter 3

For a long moment Kayla watched her daughter sleep. It was 6:15 a.m. Fifteen minutes past the time she usually woke Jazz for school. Somehow she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move forward into this morning.

It wasn’t even light outside, wouldn’t be for another hour or so. Mornings like this Kayla wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and snuggle with her sweet child. But there was life to contend with. Work for Kayla, school for Jazz. Even at the ripe old age of eleven there was still the occasional morning during summer vacation or winter break that the two of them enjoyed a few extra minutes together, giggling and cuddling.

How much longer would her little girl indulge her mother’s sentimental need to cherish those swiftly vanishing moments of childhood as the child became a woman?

Jazz was growing up so damned fast. Kayla’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Where had the time gone? It seemed just yesterday she was in diapers and squealing in delight the moment Kayla walked through the door to pick her up after work. Now they talked about boys and argued over what clothes were appropriate for a girl who had outgrown corduroy overalls and pigtails but who hadn’t quite made it to high heels and highlights just yet.

“I’m not a baby,” Jazz would argue. She wanted to dress like her favorite pop diva. A pretty scary idea to Kayla’s way of thinking.

But not nearly as scary as some things.

Kayla crossed the room and stared out the window, watched the dark split apart as the sun reached ever upward, sending forth fingers of light, banishing the final remnants of night. She’d spent that night, most of it anyway, tossing and turning, mulling over the past as well as the future.

She’d loved her time at Athena Academy. No question there. She’d formed bonds that would never be broken this side of the grave. Had learned and experienced far more than a student could hope to in public school. For years Kayla had secretly wondered if her daughter would receive an invitation as she had. She was one of the only two Cassandras who’d done the motherhood thing, and Darcy, the other mother, had a four-year-old son. Were the others wondering if Jazz would be invited to attend Athena? Had it even crossed anyone else’s mind?

Kayla would have to ponder the concept awhile herself before she went to her parents for input. They had once been faced with this same decision.

She needed to get used to the idea. To talk it over with Jazz, see how she felt. She’d shared stories about her time at the academy with her daughter. Especially the survival courses at Yuma. Jazz loved to hear about those. Kayla considered that as a student at Athena her daughter would have access to the kind of math and science classes most high school students didn’t even know fell into the categories, like astronomy and cryptology, forensics and genetics. The field trips and other courses, such as weaponry, martial arts and foreign languages, were just a few of the perks. The expectations and level of higher thinking were far broader and deeper than even the best private schools in the country.

And it wouldn’t cost Kayla a penny. Her child would receive all these wondrous benefits simply because she’d been invited.

But what if Kayla learned that Athena was deeply involved in what had happened to Rainy? Could she assume her child would be safe there? She had been safe. Outside her own imprudence, no harm had come to her at Athena. Only good.

Kayla moved back to the bed and smiled down at her child. And even her foolish behavior during her senior year had resulted in a very good end.

This wasn’t a decision she could make right now. There were far too many considerations. Would Jazz even want to leave her friends? Kayla had struggled with that aspect of Athena life, as most of the students surely had. Admittedly, new, strong bonds had been formed by all. But did that make it the right thing?

A heavy sigh pushed past her lips. Being a parent was a tough job. She leaned down and kissed Jazz’s cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she murmured. “Time to get up.” Her daughter roused slowly, reluctantly, giving Kayla a fleeting glimpse of the child who still lingered on the edge of Jazz’s grown-up attitude and maturing body.

While Jazz had her breakfast, Kayla strapped on her weapon and pulled on her jacket. Her uniform consisted of khaki pants and shirt with a black jacket. The black utility belt and rubber-soled shoes were her only accessories other than the khaki-colored baseball cap that sported the county sheriff’s emblem. There had been a time when all sheriff’s deputies had worn round-billed headgear that looked a little like a Smoky the Bear hat, but not anymore. Thank goodness.

Eventually Kayla intended to work her way up to county investigator, but she was in no hurry. She liked staying around Athens, being close in the event Jazz needed her. Moving up to the position of investigator would require that she work all over the county. For now she wasn’t interested in working cases that far away from home. Later, maybe. She’d reached the rank of lieutenant a year ago and that was about as high as she could hope to go if she wanted to stay local.

Her partner, Jim Harkey, had never bothered with anything beyond the sergeant’s exam. He liked being a sergeant and wanted no part of the political crap, as he called it, of obtaining a higher rank than his current one. He had no interest whatsoever in becoming a part of the brass. No offense to her, he would always tack on to the statement. Kayla took no offense. To each his own, she told him.

This morning after she dropped Jazz off at school she had follow-up work on yesterday’s larceny bust. On her lunch break she intended to drop by the Academy to talk to Betsy Stone once more. Kayla had no idea how much good it would do since she’d already talked to the nurse on two occasions and gotten zip, but she had to try again. Try being the operative word, since the nurse almost always managed to be gone when Kayla popped in. Every instinct told her Betsy knew a hell of a lot more than she was telling. And Christine was hiding something as well. Maybe nothing significant…but something.

Dr. Reagan was the key to this. She knew it with every fiber of her being. Reagan had overseen the surrogates.

Too bad he was dead.

Kayla’s gut told her that there was something mighty suspicious about his sudden death four years ago. No one seemed to know where he was buried. Hopefully, his files would hold some answers. All she had to do was find them. The storage facility that housed retired files from numerous physicians in the Tucson and Phoenix area and that had Reagan’s files listed in their inventory could not explain the missing files. They were simply gone. Another dead end.

“I’m taking your backpack to the car,” Kayla called to Jazz. That was her official ten-minute warning. Once the backpack was in the Jeep the clock was ticking down. 7:15. Kayla liked being on her way no later than 7:30. That gave her time to drop off her daughter and get to the office before eight.

“I’m brushing my teeth!” Jazz shouted from down the hall.

It was the same routine every morning. Jazz took her time with breakfast, which was okay with Kayla, then finally decided upon one of the three outfits they’d gone round and round about the night before. Narrowing it down to three without an all-out war was the best the two headstrong ladies could do before bedtime.

Just something else Jazz had inherited from Kayla’s side of the family, a stubborn streak a mile wide.

By ten-minute warning time her daughter was generally ready to roll with the exception of brushing her teeth and one final check to see that she had everything she would need for the day.

Outside, the sun had peeked over the hills and chased away the lingering dusk. A few shadows still hung around, mostly from the neighbor’s two-story house and the scattering of trees between the two homes. Kayla breathed in the crisp morning air. She loved it here. Felt safe in a way big-city living could never offer. Alex and Tory might like the faster pace of the city. Rainy’s career and marriage had taken her to Tucson. Josie lived wherever the Air Force assigned her. Darcy had moved to a small town to escape her abusive husband but Kayla suspected she would move to a bigger city and expand her P.I. business now that he’d been arrested. Kayla would take her small-town home over anything else.

She tossed the backpack into the front passenger seat but hesitated before closing the door. Chill bumps whispered over her skin. She frowned. Shook herself. What the hell?

Kayla couldn’t say what it was for sure, but she had the almost overwhelming sensation that someone was watching her. She resisted the urge to whip around and survey the neighbors’ yard.

She shook herself again. Had to be her imagination running away with her. But then, this wasn’t the first time she’d felt someone watching her. Each time she’d rationalized the episode away. Now she wondered if Hadden was lurking out here in her yard somewhere. If so, she might just have to kick his fine-looking backside.

Slowly she closed the door and turned back toward the house. Nothing moved. As she headed in that direction she covertly scanned the yard, hers as well as the neighbors’. Nothing.

Still, that insistent internal alarm wouldn’t let go.

The front door slammed.

Kayla jerked at the sound, her eyes instantly going to the small covered porch.

“I locked the door!” Jazz flew down the steps. “Don’t forget I have choir practice after school.”

Kayla let go the breath she’d been holding. “Got it.”

Forcing the disturbing feeling from her mind, she dropped her daughter off at school and drove to the office.

The satellite station that served Athens wasn’t very large. Just a couple of small rooms that shared an even smaller lobby and bathroom and a sort of conference room designated so merely by virtue of the long table and mismatched chairs sitting about. A coffeepot and soft drink machine occupied one corner of the lobby. Shirley, who served as a receptionist and a liaison to the community, kept a tidy desk in the center of the lobby. Five upholstered chairs and a couple of large plants took up the rest of the space.

Kayla shared one of the offices with her partner while a second office served as a workroom for files.

“Good morning, Shirley.” Kayla offered her usual smile and saluted the middle-age lady with her takeout coffee cup. It wasn’t that Shirley didn’t make good coffee, it was just that Jim usually beat Shirley into the office and his coffee made paint thinner smell good. Kayla’d never worked up the nerve to try it.

“Morning, L.T.” Shirley said this with nothing more than a cursory glance over her morning newspaper. “Heard about the excitement yesterday. Thought you had the day off.”

“L.T.” was Shirley’s way of showing off that she’d spent twenty-plus years as a military wife. She referred to Kayla as her husband had the lieutenants in the Army. Her remarks about yesterday’s little bust were nothing more than roundabout inquiries as to what Kayla had been doing working on her day off without her partner. Which also meant that Jim and Shirley had talked. The two considered her their errant cub that needed guidance as well as protection.

“You know how it goes,” Kayla offered nonchalantly, but there was nothing casual about the way she braced herself for facing her partner. He’d already said plenty on the phone. He’d no doubt saved his best disciplinary remarks for this morning when they would be face-to-face.

In reality Kayla outranked Jim, but he’d been in this business twenty years longer than her so to his way of thinking, he was senior.

Couldn’t argue that. Most of the time, anyway.

“Good morning, Jim,” she said, all smiles and as chipper as hell as she strode into their office. If he wanted a fight he’d have to start it.

He growled something that resembled “morning”, then folded his newspaper into a wadlike mass and tossed it aside.

“So tell me again how you got this anonymous tip.”

Kayla sat down at the desk that faced her partner’s. She propped her feet on the edge and crossed them at the ankles, then took a long swallow from her coffee. Might as well let him stew another few seconds. She swallowed and made a contented sound in her throat. Jim’s left eyebrow arched, indicating his patience had reached an end.

Eventually she shrugged. “I was at home minding my own business and the phone rang. End of story.” The statement sounded like a truly bad lie but it was the God’s truth. She understood that it was unusual. But a good cop took tips anywhere she could get them. They didn’t always pan out but this one had.

His elbows propped on the arms of his chair, Jim steepled his fingers. “It didn’t cross your mind that the whole scenario went down a little too smoothly?”

“Sure it did.” She sipped her designer coffee blend. “I figure the snitch was someone the perp had pissed off. Somebody who wanted revenge.”

“Or maybe someone who wanted to throw the cops off his own scent.”

That had entered her mind as well. “It’s possible.”

“Investigator Devon says one of the guys is trying to cop a plea. He wants immunity for what he knows.”

Kayla sat up, her county-issue shoes slapping against the tile floor. “Does he have anything that important?”

Jim kept his expression closed but Kayla didn’t miss the flicker of a smile around one corner of his mouth. “He says he can give us the number one player, who deals not only in bikes but cars.”

Now that would be a major coup. “We should go down and see what he has to say.” Anticipation bubbled like an uncorked bottle of champagne.

Jim shook his head and held up one hand. “Can’t do that. Devon doesn’t want us anywhere near this guy. Apparently the perp’s still a little ticked off that you shot him. Even threatened to sue for excessive force.”

Kayla swore. “It wasn’t like I was aiming for his artery. I was just trying to keep him from running. If I’d wanted him dead I would have aimed a few feet higher.”

“He could walk,” Jim said, his tone as well as his expression solemn. “If he rolls over on a player that big, he could walk.” His gaze leveled on hers. “There’s always the possibility that he’ll want to get even.”

Kayla absorbed the implications of that statement. In this line of work there was always that possibility. But it didn’t make the prospect any easier to deal with, especially not with a young daughter at home. “Is Devon going to keep us informed?” Investigator Steve Devon was generally very good about keeping the cops who made the collars up to speed, but this time could prove different.

“I’m sure he will.” Jim leaned forward, braced his arms on his desk. “Tell me how your friend Detective Hadden got involved.”

She’d known that one was coming. Even an old dog like Harkey could get jealous when someone invaded his territory. Kayla would need to tread carefully here. Yesterday she’d done what she had to do, and today she had to smooth her partner’s ruffled feathers. Jim would have done the same thing if the situation had been reversed. For that she felt no guilt.

The big difference between the two of them was that Jim would have found her yesterday. He wouldn’t have given up until he did. Maybe she hadn’t tried as hard as she should have to locate him. She’d wanted those guys. Wanted them bad. Had the fire burning in her belly to finally bring them down adversely affected her judgment?

Maybe she had stayed in this job too long. Gotten too cocky. Too self-assured. It happened to the best.

Just something else she’d have to consider. Her years at Athena Academy had planted the yearning for growth, for advancement, deep inside her. Maybe she was fooling herself by thinking she could be happy staying at this level any longer. When she considered the high-profile careers of her fellow Cassandras she had to admit that even Darcy’s self-made private investigations business and covert support of abused women took a big leap out of the box.

Was complacency Kayla’s real problem? Professionally as well as personally? She didn’t want to believe there was any truth to that theory, but could she risk being wrong? One glance at Jim’s expectant expression and she knew she’d better get him placated first.

The infirmary at Athena Academy looked deserted. Giving Nurse Betsy Stone grace, it was lunchtime. Still, Kayla had called and left a message. It seemed that Betsy Stone either never got her messages or chose to ignore them.

The latter fit more conveniently into Kayla’s profile of the woman. She was avoiding further questioning.

Kayla shuffled around the room and considered reviewing more of the files, but it felt like a monumental waste of time. For three months she had been using every opportunity to look into the files.

It wasn’t always easy. Not that Christine or the school hadn’t cooperated. To the contrary, Christine had pretty much given Kayla carte blanche. But it took time to go through decades of files. Thousands of young women had passed through these walls. There were only so many chances within a given week. Kayla did have a job and a daughter, both of which had to come first.

Still, she had spent several hours each week during the past three months reviewing and analyzing data. And what had she learned? Not much.

Rainy had been an outstanding student. Physically, she had been an excellent candidate, if one were looking for a good specimen on which to experiment. But why here? Who was responsible for allowing it to happen?

The first question was a no-brainer. Here, because attendees of Athena Academy were the cream of the cream of the crop. The second question needed answering.

The invitation Jazz had received in the mail flashed through her mind. Definitely she would not rest until she had solved this puzzle.

According to Cleo Patra, the one surrogate they had located alive in the investigation, she had been under Dr. Reagan’s care in Phoenix. According to what Kayla had learned so far, Reagan was indeed dead. His files were who knows where. Kayla desperately wanted to find those files. She had a feeling that answers lay within those medical notes.

And what of this Lab 33? Did Josie or her sister, Diana, who was in Army Intelligence, dare look more deeply into that aspect? That kind of digging could get them killed. There were elements, government-sponsored ones, that were never supposed to be exposed. Shadow and black-bag operations.

Kayla huffed out a breath and admitted defeat. She had no alternative except to go to the files room and take up where she’d left off. It was all she had at this point. Somewhere in those files there had to be something. All she needed was one little lead and maybe it would take her the distance. Rainy couldn’t have been the only one taken advantage of.

The hour she’d given herself to devote to the case had flown by when a sound jerked Kayla’s attention from the mound of manila folders. Someone had entered the infirmary.

She hoped Nurse Stone had returned from lunch or some errand. She could let Jim know she needed a few more minutes if she got the chance to grill Stone again. The idea that Betsy Stone could have left for vacation since Athena was closed for December pinged her thoughts.

“Kayla, here you are.”

Christine Evans. Principal and friend. A friend with secrets, however.

Kayla relaxed from her alert status. “Looking through a few more files.”

Christine nodded but didn’t meet Kayla’s gaze. “Have you spoken with Betsy?”

It was more the way she asked the question than the question itself. Like Betsy Stone, Christine was hiding something. Kayla narrowed her gaze and scrutinized the woman. She had known Christine for many years. No one could ask for a better school principal. As headmistress of Athena Academy since its inception more than twenty years ago, Christine had devoted herself completely to the school and its students.

What could she possibly be hiding?

“No,” Kayla said in answer to her question. “She always seems to be out of pocket when I come looking for her.”

Christine’s gaze did meet hers then. “Kayla, you must know how busy Nurse Stone is when the students are on campus. One nurse with two hundred adolescent girls. Surely you remember.”

Kayla nodded, acknowledging the point. “But what about now?” The girls were gone for winter break. “Why is it I can never nail her down now?”

Christine shrugged, her gaze scooting away once more. “There’s a lot of catching up to do at the end of a session. Just ask any of the teachers or other staff members.”

“She hasn’t left town as far as you know?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why don’t I make it a point to have her call you?” The smile that made an appearance didn’t reach the principal’s eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Kayla started to leave the issue at that but the need to learn the truth wouldn’t let her. “Christine, do you think what happened to Rainy had anything to do with Dr. Bradford?”

Christine paled as she usually did whenever the subject of Rainy came up.

“I don’t see how it could.”

Kayla drew in a deep breath and released it as she settled onto the edge of Nurse Stone’s cluttered desk. “You told me that the two of you had parted ways on a sour note.” Kayla’s brow furrowed as if she’d lapsed into deep concentration. “I believe you said that he was harassing Nurse Stone and that you recommended he not be called back as a guest lecturer.” Athena Academy searched far and wide for ways to broaden the student learning experience. Guest lecturers from around the world were a regular feature of the curriculum.

“That’s correct,” Christine allowed, her tone, her entire demeanor closed, guarded. “When Nurse Stone reported to me that Dr. Bradford had behaved inappropriately toward her, I immediately sought action to see that he never returned.”

“If he behaved inappropriately toward a staff member, how can you be certain he didn’t do the same with students?” The notion made Kayla shiver with revulsion.

“Of course he didn’t harass any of the students!”

There was the reaction. Christine was incensed. Offended even.

“But his behavior wasn’t above reproach,” Kayla cut in. “Why else would you have asked that he not be allowed to return?”

For several seconds they stared at each other. Silent. Kayla was certain there was more. Then Christine broke. Vulnerability flashed in her good eye.

“All right.”

Christine turned away, clearly unable to look at Kayla as she uttered whatever confession she was about to make. “I wasn’t completely honest with you before, Kayla.” She spread her hands in defeat. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

Kayla pushed off the desk and went to her. Whatever she had to say it wasn’t going to be easy. She needed to know that Kayla was only trying to help.

“Just tell me the truth, Christine,” she said gently as she placed one hand on her arm. “I know you. Whatever it is it couldn’t have been your fault.”

Christine’s head came up, her suspiciously bright gaze collided with Kayla’s. “Well…yes it was. What happened to Rainy may have been entirely due to my foolishness.”

The earth shifted slightly beneath Kayla but she held herself steady, kept her touch light. “Tell me what happened.” It was all she could do to keep the shock out of her voice.

“Carl Bradford and I had an affair.” She closed her eyes and visibly fought to control her emotions. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But I felt so alone. Changing careers, in charge of this whole, new school…I needed someone. He was a handsome man.” Her eyes opened, sought Kayla’s. “He knew all the right things to say and do to make me feel like a woman.”

Kayla nodded, genuinely understanding. Though she’d been much younger than Christine and her motives had clearly been different, she did understand. Hadn’t she sought solace in the arms of the man who’d fathered her child?

“Bradford never harassed Betsy. That was the story I told the board to save face. I caught them together one night.” She shook her head, her features going hard. “I’d been so stupid. We argued. I told him he could never come back.”

So Betsy Stone had been involved with Bradford. Yet she’d gone along with Christine’s story, saying he’d made a sexual move on her and she’d reported it to the principal to ensure he was sent away.

“I was jealous,” Christine admitted. “At that moment the only interest I had on my mind was my own.”

Kayla squeezed her arm reassuringly. “You made a mistake. We all do.” She, of all people, knew.

Christine was shaking her head again. “You don’t understand. Before I found them together, I had caught him going through the files. He said he was pulling together some information on the brightest students to use in a statistical paper about private schools.” She pressed her hands to her face, looking nothing like the tough former Army officer and strict taskmaster Kayla knew her to be. “I should have known better. I should have told someone.” She lifted her tear-filled gaze to Kayla’s. “What if I let this happen to Rainy? What if that’s what Bradford was looking for? An egg-mining candidate? Dear God!”

Kayla turned this new angle over in her mind. As much as Kayla didn’t want Christine to shoulder this burden alone, she suspected that Christine was right on at least one score. Bradford had been looking for something. Was he connected to Dr. Reagan? Like Reagan, Bradford had once run his own private practice in Phoenix, but it had closed years ago. And no one knew where Bradford had gone. But she damn sure intended to nail down Betsy Stone. She was the only link they had to Reagan and Bradford, whether she admitted knowing about any unethical dealings or not.

“Christine.” Kayla drew back, held the woman firmly by the shoulders. “I have to talk to Betsy. She may very well know what Bradford was doing and who he was working with.”

Christine nodded. “I understand.” She let go a shaky breath. “The way I see it, we’re going to have to trap her into a meeting.” Christine’s watery gaze leveled on Kayla’s. “I’ll help you. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

Christine told Kayla what she could about Betsy Stone’s schedule. Betsy might not know anything that would help, but one way or another Kayla intended to find out.

When she would have left, Christine stopped her. “Kayla, I know you must have gotten Jazz’s invitation by now.”

Kayla turned back to her, unprepared to discuss the matter just now. “I did.”

Christine’s hands knotted together in front of her. “Whatever my past sins,” she urged, “please don’t hold them against this school. Jazz deserves this opportunity the same way you did. You know what attendance at this school could mean for her future.”

Kayla managed a smile. “We’re going to talk about it.”

As Kayla left the Athena campus she wouldn’t allow herself to consider that Jazz’s invitation might be a prod for her to leave this investigation alone. No way. This school was too important to too many powerful people. They would never invite a student for any reason other than a legitimate one. Athena Academy wanted Jazz. There was no second-guessing that conclusion.

The only question that remained was if Kayla was ready for her daughter to take that kind of step.

Kayla called Shirley to let her know she’d decided to stop at home for a sandwich before heading back to the office. The morning had been long and emotionally draining. Kayla wanted to recharge before dealing with the afternoon.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

The red SUV sitting against the curb between her house and the next didn’t give her much of a pause on first glance. But when she parked in her driveway she saw that someone waited for her on her front steps.

It only took one look for her to recognize her unexpected visitor.

Mike Bridges.

Jazz’s father.

Chapter 4

Kayla couldn’t move. She sat in her Jeep, staring at the man who’d broken her young, foolish heart more than a decade before. She hadn’t seen him since.

Why was he here?

Her heart started to pound like a drum.

Jazz.

He was here to see his daughter.

Josie had warned her that he was asking about Jazz. She had worked under Mike’s supervision recently, and when they’d figured out their mutual connection—after some very rocky circumstances that still incensed Kayla—Mike had asked Josie about Jazz. Somehow Kayla had thought he’d just go away, the same as he had all those years ago.

Clearly she’d been wrong.

He was here.

In the flesh.

Her hand shaking, she opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle. Her legs felt suddenly rubbery.

Kayla swallowed hard and summoned her courage. Why was she letting him do this? He hadn’t even spoken yet, and already she felt afraid. Afraid of what he might say…what he might do.

No way.

Fury, mostly at herself, blasted like a furnace deep inside her. There was nothing for her to be afraid of. Jazz was her daughter. Mike had merely been the sperm donor. The few dollars he sent each month was a pittance, a pathetic attempt to assuage his conscience. He had no right to make her feel this way. No right at all. Especially after what he’d almost done to Josie.

“What do you want?” The words came out every bit as cold as she’d intended. He flinched. A rush of glee went through her. She couldn’t help it. She wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to feel just a smidgen of the uncertainty and fear she’d felt twelve years ago when she’d been young and pregnant and unmarried. And so afraid.

He pushed to his feet. Managed a smile, though it in no way resembled the high-wattage charmers she remembered. “I apologize for showing up unannounced, Kayla.” He shrugged those broad shoulders. “I thought if I called to let you know I was coming you wouldn’t be home. I didn’t know what shift you worked, so I decided to wait around until you showed.”

She planted her hands on her hips and told him the truth. “You figured right. Look at it from my side, Bridges. Why would I want to see you?”

He nodded once, the move was jerky but humble all the same. It just didn’t mesh with his personality, but then time changed people. Had Mike Bridges really changed? Josie had told her about the trouble she’d had with him. That he would make a pass at one of his female subordinates like that—almost getting her kicked out of the Air Force in the process—indicated to Kayla that he hadn’t changed at all.

“I guess Lockworth told you about our run-in,” he suggested, evidently recognizing the disgusted look in Kayla’s eyes.

“She did.” Kayla felt absolutely no sympathy for his having lost his command. According to Josie he’d been transferred from Palmdale, California, to Nellis Air Force Base over in Nevada. Chances of him being promoted beyond major after that fiasco were about nil. Could he have finally learned his lesson?

Kayla wasn’t about to wager Jazz’s feelings on the probability. Not with his record.

Mike looked away.

As much as she didn’t want to, Kayla couldn’t help studying his features. He hadn’t changed that much. Had a bit of a leaner edge about his profile. More manly, less boyish. His hair was still thick and dark, his eyes that mischievous hazel she saw in her child’s every single day. He looked comfortable in his civilian attire, jeans and a simple gray T-shirt with the Air Force logo emblazoned across his chest. The bomber jacket was well-worn leather and suited his Top Gun image. There was no denying that Mike Bridges was a handsome man. He just didn’t understand the meaning of responsibility and commitment.

The sole commitment he’d made was to the military. To being a pilot. Until his recent run-in with Josie, he’d apparently been on the upwardly mobile trek. A revered Air Force pilot. Too bad he’d screwed it up doing what he did best, attempting to take advantage of a woman. Not that those kinds of maneuvers were anything new, but this time he’d gotten caught.

Kayla couldn’t pretend complete innocence in what had happened between her and Mike, but she had been painfully young. He should have recognized that fact. Instead he’d taken her word that she was eighteen. The rest, as they say, was history. He’d left, she’d borne his child.

“Look.” His gaze settled on hers once more. Incredibly, the depth of regret she saw there surprised her. “I know I haven’t always done the right thing.” He lifted one shoulder in a weary attempt at another gesture of uncertainty. “I can’t promise I will in the future. But I can’t let my daughter grow up without getting to know her. Being a part of her life.” He shook his head, stared at the ground. “I just can’t do it.”

She knew the deal. His career had stalled and he was scrambling for some kind of emotional purchase. Kayla tamped down the hint of empathy that welled in her chest. Stupid, Ryan, she scolded. “She’ll be twelve next month, Mike. I don’t know that I want to throw this at her right now. Adolescence is a tough time.” You’re too late, she didn’t add. Couldn’t he see that? He should have had this epiphany years ago.

But would she have liked it any better then than she did now? Probably not.

“I only have a few days before I have to head back to Nevada,” he went on. “Think it over. I want to know her. I have the right to know her.”

He said the last with a kind of conviction that sent fear trickling down Kayla’s spine.

“Is that a threat?” She searched his eyes, his face, looking for signs of just how far he intended to take this.

He blew out a big breath and scrubbed one hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do it this way.” That hazel gaze turned dead serious and bored straight into hers. “But I will if I have to. I want to see her, Kayla. I want to get to know her. I’m her father. You can’t keep me shut out.”

A new charge of fury scorched through her. “Shut you out?” She stabbed an accusing finger at him. “You were the one who couldn’t get away from here fast enough. You were the one who didn’t look back.”

“But I kept up the child support payments,” he countered. “I did my duty.”

Oh, yeah, there was that. His duty. “Being a parent is about a hell of a lot more than doing your patriotic duty, Major Bridges,” she railed. “Who sat up with her at night when she was sick? Helped with homework? Took her for dance lessons?” She hitched a thumb at her own chest. “Me. I’ve been here for her every moment of her life. Where were you?”

“Helping to keep this country safe and free,” he snapped. “Someone has to do it.”

“Do all the other Air Force dads abandon their kids? Their responsibilities?” The very idea that he would use that excuse infuriated her all the more.

His gaze narrowed accusingly. “You didn’t want me involved, Kayla. Not really. And you know it. You had your family. You didn’t need me.”

The moment of silence stretched. Maybe he was right. He’d admitted he didn’t want to get married. She’d been devastated. Hadn’t wanted anything else to do with him after that. Kayla had turned to her family and…never looked back.

“I still don’t need you,” she couldn’t resist informing him.

Mike surveyed her uniform. “I can see that.” He moistened his lips, whether from necessity or design, she didn’t know. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t taking the bait. “You’ve done real well, Kayla. But I knew you would. Jazz is lucky to have you for a mother.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she retorted before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to hear his compliments. Didn’t trust him to mean what he said. She’d believed in him once and he’d let her down. Or maybe she’d let herself down. Either way, she wasn’t going to travel that road again.

They’d been bad for each other all those years ago, and there was no reason to believe things had changed since. And yet, this was not about her or Mike, this was about Jazz. She had a right to know her father. As much as Kayla would like to pretend the need could be ignored she knew it couldn’t. She’d read plenty of stories about children growing up and going out in search of a biological parent they’d never known. Why put her daughter through that? Surely she and Mike could work out something.

It wasn’t as if Kayla had kept him a secret. She and Jazz talked about him. Jazz had started asking questions when she was five. Kayla had told as much of the truth as she felt comfortable with, saying Jazz’s father was a dedicated soldier who had chosen duty over family. Her daughter seemed to accept that explanation.

“Kayla, don’t do this,” he urged, his voice soft and cajoling. He evidently took her silence for an outright refusal.

As much as she didn’t want to be swayed by his needs, and certainly not by his charm, how could she say no? Jazz deserved this opportunity.

“All right. But we do this my way.”

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Does she know about me?”

Kayla rolled her eyes. “Of course. How do you think I explained where she came from?”

He smiled, the expression visibly relieved. “I’m grateful for that.”

She shrugged, almost too prideful to admit the next. “I have that picture we had made together at the spring carnival. She knows who you are.”

He blinked, but not quickly enough to conceal the surprise that glittered briefly in his eyes. “That little thing?”

“I had it enlarged to a five-by-seven. It’s not that bad.” The picture had actually been an accurate depiction of their time together. Mike had been standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her and the huge teddy bear he’d just won. In the photo they were both smiling, unabashedly happy smiles. The image of him captured on the film had been precisely the way she’d seen him during that short affair. A single moment of happiness trapped in a mere photograph. Two young people too crazy in lust to think clearly.

She had been just as much at fault in the whole mess as Mike, hadn’t she? Kayla felt uncomfortable making that admission. And even so, could she trust him with her daughter’s heart? God help her, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“When can I see her?”

Fear attacked Kayla all over again. “Let’s not be hasty,” she countered. She rubbed her damp palms on her hips and tried not to look as nervous as she suddenly felt. “We have to go slowly with this. Let me talk to her first.”

Irritation sparked in his eyes once more. “I don’t want you putting me off. I want—”

She held up her hands to ward off whatever he would have said next. “I’m not putting you off. But this is pretty sudden, you have to admit.”

He didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree.

“Let me talk to her. I’ll call you tonight and set something up. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

When he was slow in responding, she added, “After all, her feelings are primary here, right?”

Kayla held her breath until she saw the signs of capitulation in his posture. Thank God.

“Let me give you my cell number.”

She withdrew the notepad she kept in her jacket pocket for jotting down info at crime scenes and from perp interviews and took his cell phone number as well as the name of the hotel in Phoenix where he would be staying for a few days.

“I’ll call you tonight.”

He took an abrupt step in her direction. Kayla’s breath caught in her throat.

“Don’t forget, Kayla,” he reminded her. “If I don’t hear from you tonight, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She didn’t have to ask this time. She knew the statement was a threat.

Before she could pull together a proper comeback a sedan pulled up behind Mike’s SUV. Recognition flared instantly.

Hadden.

Perfect.

Peter Hadden emerged from his vehicle looking as he always did, rumpled and sexy as hell. Colombo meets James Bond. He strolled right up to where Kayla and Mike stood on the sidewalk in front of her house as if he lived there.

Despite her worries where Mike was concerned, Kayla suddenly wondered if Hadden brought news regarding their joint investigation. Something besides his insistence that Marshall Carrington was some sort of smuggler.

“Kayla,” Hadden said with a dip of his head.

She blinked, startled. She couldn’t recall once his having called her by her first name. “Hadden,” she returned. “What’s up?”

Just when she felt certain things couldn’t get any stranger, his gaze shifted from her to the man standing nearby. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He thrust out his hand. “I’m Peter Hadden, homicide, Tucson.”

“Major Mike Bridges.” Mike gave Hadden’s hand a brisk shake, his demeanor stiff, noticeably tense. “Jasmine’s father,” he pitched in with a distinct edge in his voice.

If the last surprised Hadden he showed no sign of it, but then he was a good detective, well versed in the proper methods of negotiations. Never let the enemy see you sweat.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Hadden said with a smile. He looked from Kayla to Mike and back.

“Actually, Mike was just leaving.” Her gaze was direct when she addressed the man who wanted to invade her daughter’s life. “I’ll call you tonight.”

The familiar glitter that ignited in Mike’s eyes shocked her just a little. She knew that look. Had seen it before. Anytime she and Mike had gone out all those years ago he had been fiercely possessive. A single glance from another man would set him off.

Jealousy?

How could he be jealous?

Then the answer dawned on her. If he believed she and Hadden were a couple, Mike would see Hadden as competition where his daughter was concerned. His jealousy had nothing to do with Kayla. The very idea was ludicrous.

Mike acknowledged her promise with a nod. “If I miss you tonight,” he warned, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

She watched him drive away, the 1Pilot vanity license plate reinforcing what she knew deep in her heart. He might be feeling humble just now due to recent events in his personal as well as professional life, but Mike Bridges would never, ever change.

When his sporty red SUV had disappeared down the street, Kayla turned her attention back to Hadden.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I called your office. Shirley said you were here.” His gaze still lingered in the direction the SUV had taken. “I didn’t know he was still around.”

The comment on top of his sidestep around her question ticked off Kayla. “Why would you?” It wasn’t like they had gotten to know each other on that level. They’d locked horns more often than not on Rainy’s case. Other than her ridiculous physical attraction to the man, she wasn’t even sure she liked him.

He shrugged. Was it her imagination or was that gesture suddenly rampant among the men in her life?

“I thought you were raising Jasmine alone.” His gaze settled on hers now and there was no way to miss the sincerity there. He really wanted to know the situation.

Kayla wasn’t sure she could take any more surprises today. “This is the first time I’ve seen Jazz’s father in more than twelve years,” she admitted.

Hadden’s brow furrowed as if the thoughts whirling around in his head disturbed him. “He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?”

She sighed. Just more proof of her suspicions that Hadden was a threat to her solitary state. He was always looking out for others. “The jury’s still out on that one,” she admitted. Again, she didn’t know why she confessed anything to Hadden. Maybe it was simply the idea of us against him…an ally in this battle with Mike. Would she need an ally? Could it really get dirty?

The possibility was there. She was all too aware of that glaring fact. If I miss you tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow. His warning rang in her ears like Sunday morning church bells, but with a distinctly more menacing message.

The idea that he might take legal steps if she didn’t cooperate was a risk she couldn’t afford to take. If she worked something out with him, on her terms, maybe it wouldn’t come to that. She could hope. Even the remote notion of her daughter being forced to go spend time with her father, a man she didn’t even know, in a place she’d never been before, ripped Kayla’s heart right out of her chest. But it could happen. As a cop she was well aware of that fact. She’d seen it happen.

She had to talk to her family, to Jazz. And somehow she had to work up the courage to call Mike back this very night. She couldn’t let anything get in the way of resolving this issue. Allowing him to take the ball and run with it would be a mistake of mammoth proportions.

“Well, here’s something that might cheer you up,” Hadden offered.

Kayla stared up at him, doubtful that anything he could say just now would lift the dark cloud of utter depression from her head.

“Dr. Deborah Halburg is back in town.”

Kayla’s heart kicked into a faster rhythm. “When? Where has she been all this time?”

Deborah Halburg had served as Rainy’s gynecologist for more than two years. When Rainy had died, Dr. Halburg had been out of town, unreachable. Kayla desperately needed any and all information on Rainy that the doctor might have.

“Apparently her father was some kind of missionary serving somewhere in the far East. He fell ill and she’s been there with him for the past four months. He died two weeks ago. She’s back now and playing catch-up.”

Dr. Halburg’s receptionist and nurse had not been able to provide any helpful insights into Rainy’s case. Rainy’s files were missing—had probably been stolen—and only Dr. Halburg herself could provide the necessary details Kayla sought. Kayla had been waiting for the doctor’s return.

Anticipation burned through Kayla now. Any new evidence could be helpful.

“When can we see her?” She used the term “we” since she felt confident Hadden wasn’t about to miss out on whatever Halburg had to say. No point pretending he wasn’t involved. Trying to rationalize his motivation for continuing to investigate the case was futile as well. Early on he’d made his conclusions clear—he thought Rainy’s death was an accident. Kayla knew better, but she could not discuss with him the things she and the Cassandras had learned.

Not yet anyway.

“We can see her today.” He glanced at his watch. “She told me to come by before her clinic closed for the day. I thought you’d want to come along. I cleared it with your boss.”

Kayla swore silently.

He’d driven all the way from Tucson to dangle this carrot in front of her, knowing she couldn’t refuse. Hadden was up to something. Part of her wanted his showing up in person to be about their attraction—but she suspected it related more closely to his personal agenda for the case against Marshall. Still, she did want to see Dr. Halburg ASAP. And talking to Halburg over the phone might cause her to miss something crucial that the doctor’s expression would reveal. She’d have to get her sister to pick up Jazz. Dammit. She hated doing that too often. Not that Mary minded. She didn’t. Her boys, eight and ten, looked up to Jazz like a big sister. They all loved Jazz and Jazz loved staying over. But Kayla preferred all the quality time she could rake and scrape with her daughter. Not to mention she had to talk to Jazz about her father. There was no getting out of that one.

Then there was the invitation to Athena.

“I have to check with my sister to see if she can pick up my daughter.” If Jazz got her homework done by the time Kayla returned they might still have time to talk. It would be late after a trip to Tucson and back, but as long as she called Mike tonight that’s all that mattered. He hadn’t specified a time. God, she hated that she had to jump at his command. Renewed ire twisted in her belly.

Hadden gestured to his sedan. “I’ll drive.”

Kayla didn’t like the way he studied her. Could he see how vulnerable she felt right now? She hoped not. But she had a feeling he suspected a great deal more than he would dream of saying. Great. All she needed was him prying into her life. It was bad enough he’d insisted on participating in this investigation.

She made the call to her sister, locked up her house and settled into the front passenger seat of his utilitarian sedan. Maybe bad wasn’t the right word, she mused as she analyzed Hadden’s profile. Bad applied to the bike thieves she’d collared yesterday. Bad was what happened to Rainy. This thing between Kayla and Hadden wasn’t really bad, it was simply unfortunate.

Unfortunate because she felt certain she would never be able to open herself up to the possibly of hurt once more. How could she ever hope to have a satisfying relationship with a man if fear kept her from opening up?

Hadden braked at a light and glanced in her direction. Too late to look away. He’d caught her staring at him. Her cheeks scalded. He simply smiled, showing off those appealing dimples.

“I’m not that complicated,” he said bluntly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She hadn’t intended to sound so pissed off, but then she was…at herself mostly.

He reached over and smoothed her brow with the tips of his fingers. The crackle of electricity his touch generated heated her skin, sent her tummy into an acrobatic act.

“You look as if you’re having a difficult time figuring me out.” He smiled patiently at her and turned his attention back to the task of driving. “All you have to do is ask when you want to know something.”

Her humiliation dissipated instantly in light of the surprise that claimed her. Confident, wasn’t he? She’d just see how deep that confidence went. “Why do you keep coming back?” she asked with all the bluntness he’d used before. “I know you think Rainy’s death was an accident, why trouble yourself with my personal investigation?” Why drive two and a half hours to pick me up? she didn’t add.

He considered her question for a bit and yet his relaxed posture didn’t change. He remained calm, collected. Irritatingly so. Her own rising tension had her pulse skipping, had her muscles flexing with tension.

“I’ve checked up on you, Lieutenant Ryan,” he began.

She restrained the need to demand an explanation of his simple, however complex, announcement. She’d checked him out, too. He lived in Tucson, in a comfortable neighborhood. He dressed well, had an excellent reputation. Not a single mark against him professionally, or personally. Perfect credit record. No mistakes in his past, unlike hers. He was straight as an arrow, dependable…all the things she’d failed to consider when she fell for Mike all those years ago. Somehow, Hadden’s stellar record made her uneasy. He’s too good to be true.

Because not for a second did Hadden seem boring. Not at all. There was a mystique about him that his records couldn’t reveal, something simmering beneath all that composure. A composure she kept wanting to ruffle.

Hadden glanced at her, perhaps surprised that she hadn’t responded. He continued, “You’re a good cop. Your superiors have recommended you for the position of investigator twice already and yet you’ve chosen to remain in your current position.”

“I have my reasons.”

He cast a knowing glance in her direction. “Your daughter.”

It wasn’t as if the conclusion required a degree in rocket science. “That’s right.”

“You pride yourself in your work, go the extra mile without hesitation or question.” He flicked another analyzing but brief stare her way. “Like following up on that tip about those bike thieves.”

She’d thought about Jim’s hypothesis that the tip had been a distraction of some sort and was now certain it had been. Either someone on the team got scared or pissed off or someone wanted this particular ring of pirates off their beat. Whatever, the case belonged to the county investigator now. But she hadn’t forgotten, nor would she pretend it didn’t matter to her anymore. Athens was her community, and anything that affected those under her jurisdiction kept her attention.

“So you think I’m onto something in Rainy’s case?” she ventured, veering back to the original question.

“If you weren’t you wouldn’t be wasting your time.” His smile broadened into a grin. “She was your friend, you miss her. But you’re too smart and savvy to let your personal feelings invade your professional reason.”

“Then you believe she was murdered as well.”

Another of those sidelong assessments sent heat rolling through her limbs. “I believe you believe she was murdered. And that’s good enough for me.”

But was that his real motivation for staying on top of her, so to speak?

“It’s about Marshall, isn’t it?” However careful he thought he’d been, Kayla understood, at least to some degree, where his motivation originated. If Rainy had been murdered, and Marshall was guilty of smuggling, chances were there was a connection. If you didn’t know what Kayla knew. Fury mounted inside her. She didn’t like being used.

“In part,” he allowed.

Kayla nodded. She’d thought as much. “Let me clarify this for you,” she went on. “Marshall Carrington is a good man. There is no way he’s capable of what you’re proposing. His wife, my friend,” she reiterated, “was murdered. I’m one hundred percent on that. And I’m not going to let this go until I know who is responsible for her death.” She snapped her mouth shut on the and that almost popped out. The part about Rainy’s possible child or children was off-limits. There were too many unanswered questions.

Hadden nodded perceptively. “That would mean you’ve already established motive.”

Kayla’s tension ratcheted up a notch or two. “I have a theory or two.”

The detective chuckled. “Don’t tease me, Ryan. You have the why, it’s only the who that’s driving you nuts.”

There were things she couldn’t share with him no matter how perceptive the good detective proved. Her suspicions about Athena Academy were still that, suspicions. She needed cold hard facts before she marred the school’s reputation more than Shannon Conner already had.

“I tell you what,” Hadden cut into her musings, “you tell me why you think your friend was murdered and I’ll tell you why I believe her husband is a smuggler.”

Far too intrigued to ignore the offer, Kayla chose her words carefully. “Rainy’s autopsy showed her appendix was intact and her ovaries were badly scarred.”

“Is that why she was seeing Halburg?”

“Probably. About the scarred ovaries, I mean.”

“What’s the big deal about her appendix being intact?”

Kayla wet her lips and forged ahead. “When she was a girl, she got appendicitis. At least, that’s what she was told when she got sick and had to have an operation. Her medical records showed as much. But it was a mistake—or a lie.”

Hadden considered that information a little too long for Kayla’s comfort. “And?”

“I believe her illness and surgery were staged so that someone could mine her eggs. I found evidence that she was researching egg mining. We—” she glanced at him “—Rainy’s other friends and I, believe that she’d learned the truth and was going to tell us about it the night she died. Someone wanted to keep her quiet.”

That was about as revealing as she could be.

“This mysterious operation happened while she was a student at Athena Academy didn’t it?”

Apparently she hadn’t been quite vague enough.

Kayla knew without asking that he was drawing conclusions based on Shannon Conner’s exposé that had cited hideous experiments having been conducted on Athena students.

“This is about Rainy, not about Athena,” she insisted. She prayed the conviction she didn’t quite feel came across a little more strongly in her voice.

He nodded. “I see.”

Time for a change of subject.

“Your turn,” she countered. “What makes you think that Marshall would do anything even remotely illegal?”

“Maybe it’s the false reports he files each time he returns from some trip related to his teaching.”

“False in what way?” The demand wasn’t subtle but she didn’t like hearing her friends accused of wrongdoing. Marshall Carrington was a good man.

“He lies about where he goes and to whom he speaks. All of it.”

Kayla couldn’t bring herself to believe Marshall would lie, much less steal anything. “I’ll need to see the proof for myself.” No way was she taking anyone’s word on a matter this important.

“That’s all I can give you right now,” Hadden said flatly. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me a while longer.”

She choked out a laugh. The sound echoed in the cramped space of the vehicle as his gaze collided with hers.

“Who said I trusted you, Detective Hadden?”

Lucky for her—or him—his cell rang just then and the conversation was shelved.

But Kayla knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d talked to Marshall. Whatever he’d done he would have a reasonable explanation for it. Of that she was certain.

Rainy would never have married a liar or a thief.

Never.

Chapter 5

Dr. Deborah Halburg’s office was located in downtown Tucson, in an upscale, fashionable building with its own underground parking garage. Even this close to the traditional closing hour the lot was still about half-full as Hadden parked his sedan a row or so back from the bank of elevators.

They emerged simultaneously, the closing doors echoing ominously in the expansive, dimly lit cavern of parking slots. Neither spoke as they crossed to the elevators then waited for a car to arrive. The doors slid open to reveal an elegant marbled and mirrored cubicle that glided upward as smoothly as any luxury automobile. Upon reaching the lobby, they stepped into yet another expansive space, only this one was brightly lit by towering glass walls and shiny marble floors. The art alone would likely have paid Kayla’s salary for a couple years. Maybe Hadden’s as well.

Another bank of elevators waited across the seemingly boundless space of the ground-level lobby. Inside a waiting car Hadden selected the floor and another stretch of silence broken only by the chime announcing each floor accompanied their upward journey. Kayla studied the veined marble, mainly to keep her mind off just how great her companion smelled. The fragrance he wore was subtle, intensely masculine and wholly unsettling. Spending more than two hours closed up in the car with him had worn down some of her defenses.

Kayla emerged from the elevator grateful to be in the open once more. Somehow she had to get her perspective back where Hadden was concerned.

The seventh-floor reception area proved just as lavish as the one on the ground floor. A huge floral bouquet filled the air with pungently sweet scents, overwhelming the sensual aroma that still haunted her. Forcing herself back on task, she noted the suite numbers on the doors as she took the lead along the corridor. Her anticipation kicked into high gear. She hoped something Dr. Halburg remembered would somehow help her to put all the pieces together. For Marshall’s sake…for the sakes of all those who had loved Rainy.

For Rainy.

“How much do you know about Dr. Halburg?” Hadden asked as she hesitated outside the door of the suite belonging to the doctor she’d waited so long to interview.

Kayla considered the question a second, not really wanting to delay here. “She’s the best in her field.”

“The priciest as well, I’d wager,” Hadden suggested.

The fabulous surroundings left no doubts there. “Probably. You get what you pay for, I guess.”

Hadden hesitated before opening the door that would take them into Halburg’s private clinic. “There’s one more thing,” he said ominously.

Kayla arched an eyebrow in question.

“The doctor’s father was said to have been in excellent health. Whatever got him came on suddenly, then took its time eating away at his existence.”

“Cancer?” Kayla suggested.

He flared his hands in a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine gesture. “That’s just it. They don’t know. She had his body flown back here for an autopsy but found nothing. Things just slowed down and eventually ceased to function.”

Kayla didn’t respond. But her gut was tied in a thousand knots. All along she had felt as if someone were one step ahead of her in this investigation. How far were the powers that be in this ugly business willing to go to stop her—to stop all the Cassandras—from learning the truth? It seemed impossible that the cover-up could be so damned big.

And yet, on some level, she knew it was.

Deborah Halburg looked to be about forty. Tall, slim, hair more gray than blond, she had a pleasant face. One that spoke of deep concern for others…maybe too much. The lines etching the corners of her mouth and eyes proclaimed a weariness that likely had more to do with her father’s death than with her profession.

“I was so sorry to hear of Rainy’s death,” she said as they settled around the massive cherry desk in her office. The office was large, each wall lined with either book-filled shelves or sprawling windows. “Such a waste. She was quite healthy and determined to have children.” She shook her head. “I’m sure she is missed in numerous circles.”

Hadden took the lead in the conversation, seeming to sense Kayla’s struggle to balance her emotions at the moment. “You’ve been seeing Ms. Carrington for some time?” He took out a pen and small notepad similar to the one Kayla carried for interviews.

“Almost two years.” Deborah Halburg frowned. “I can’t believe someone broke in here and took her records.” Her gaze shifted from Hadden to Kayla and back. “Nothing like this has ever happened before.” Her gaze narrowed. “Is there something about Rainy’s accident that you’re leaving out?”

“We don’t know all the answers yet,” Kayla said, picking up on the doctor’s developing uneasiness. “That’s why we’re here. We need to know all we can about those last few weeks of Rainy’s life.”

Halburg nodded. “I see. Well, I can tell you that Rainy Carrington was as fit as any woman her age can hope to be. A few months before her death I discovered some scarring on her ovaries that appeared to be the cause of her inability to conceive.”

Kayla held her breath, hoping against hope that something would click here. She desperately needed answers.

“Was this scarring recent?” Hadden asked.

Kayla didn’t look at him but she knew he was attempting to tie the problem to Rainy’s time at Athena. Apparently he wasn’t willing to let go on the doubts Shannon Conner had cast over the school. She couldn’t let him make that connection just yet. Not until she had proof of what really happened.

The doctor shook her head. “It looked like it developed over time, from when Rainy hit puberty. Ovaries are smooth until the onset of puberty. After that, they become atretic, or scarred and distorted from repeated ovulations. Sometimes the scarring is serious enough to cause fertility problems. It’s not too common, but does happen in a certain percentage of women. At first I thought that Rainy was one of them. We did some ultrasounds, though, and I noticed that her scars looked as if they could have been caused by fertility treatments. But Rainy said she’d never had any.”

Halburg looked at them consideringly. “Given the circumstances of her accident, I will tell you that the ultrasound also revealed something that was very upsetting to Rainy. She seemed shocked to learn that her appendix was still in place. I questioned her about it, but she didn’t want to discuss the issue further.”

“Did you feel she was depressed or angry?”

Kayla had to grit her teeth to hold back the words she wanted to hurl at Hadden. He hadn’t known Rainy. How could he even hint that her mental state might be a factor in the accident?

Her anger deflated when she considered that his not knowing Rainy was the very reason he asked. She was the one who needed to pull her objectivity back together here. Losing her focus wouldn’t help Rainy.

Dr. Halburg clasped her hands in her lap as she continued, “I believe she was stunned and angry. Who wouldn’t be? She wanted children. With the severity of the scarring, that most likely wasn’t going to happen. At least, not naturally.”

“What can you tell us about the scarring? Your theories?” Hadden pressed.

“Clearly she’d had a surgical procedure as a teenager. She had a scar on the abdomen that looked like a typical appendix scar. With the appendix intact I can only assume that it was an exploratory surgery of some sort. My first thought when I discovered the scarring was chronic infection. That happens with some women, but considering Rainy’s insistence that she’d never had any such infection, I would have to say that some sort of surgical procedure caused the damage.”

“Like egg mining,” Kayla suggested, seeing no point in avoiding the subject.

Halburg didn’t look startled by the suggestion. “The usual term is harvesting. That’s possible. However, the harvesting procedure is generally reserved for in vitro fertilization and the like. There just wouldn’t be much reason to perform it on a teen. And in my opinion, no skilled surgeon would do the kind of damage I noted on Rainy’s ovaries.” She heaved a sigh. “But to be quite frank, I can’t think of any other procedure that would have caused this particular damage.”

“You and Rainy discussed this possibility.” Kayla felt reasonably certain that the doctor’s conclusions had led Rainy to research the egg mining. Harvesting.

“Of course. Two, possibly three months before her death. In fact I referred Rainy to a specialist who I hoped might be able to salvage any remaining eggs.”

“Do you know if she contacted that specialist?” This from Hadden.

Halburg shook her head. “She didn’t. I touched base with him after I returned and found out about her accident. It was a courtesy call since I’d contacted him previously regarding her case and my referral. He said he’d never heard from her.”

Kayla stood. She’d heard enough. She extended her hand. “Thank you, Dr. Halburg. I hope you’ll let us know if you think of anything else that might be useful.”

Deborah Halburg reached for Kayla’s hand and shook it, her movements slowed by uncertainty or distraction.

Hadden pushed to his feet and offered his hand next since Kayla had left him no choice. “I’ll be in contact if we have additional questions.”

Halburg’s words haunted Kayla all the way back to Athens. Hadden had made up some lame excuse for their investigation but Kayla had a feeling Halburg wasn’t buying it.

Everything the doctor had said reinforced what Kayla, Alex, and the others already believed. Rainy had figured out what had been done to her all those years ago and she’d delved into her own past to determine how and why. Her search for the truth had exposed her knowledge to the wrong person, setting off a chain reaction that resulted in her murder.

Kayla’s heart wrenched painfully.

To her way of thinking that could mean only one thing—this was way, way bigger than mere egg mining. Someone had something enormous to hide. As much as she prayed it had nothing to do with Athena Academy, it looked more and more as if at least one member of the school’s personnel was involved.

Christine’s admission about catching Dr. Carl Bradford looking through the files came immediately to mind. Bradford seemed likely to have been involved in some kind of wrongdoing. Betsy Stone might know for certain. After all, she’d probably given him access. With Christine’s confession, Kayla had the right kind of ammunition to go after the nurse the way she wanted to. Betsy Stone had better get her story straight damned fast because Kayla wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily anymore. Stone was about to find out just how dogged Kayla could be.

“Your friend knew what had been done to her,” Hadden said, his voice sounding loud after nearly two hours of silence.

He was digging.

“Apparently.” Kayla wasn’t going to give him anything more than what she already had. Not yet.

“I suppose that’s why she called her friends together for that promise you told me about.”

She shifted in the seat, wishing they would get to her house so she could say good-night and be rid of him.

Kayla told herself over and over that she simply didn’t want to answer his questions. But it was a lie. She wanted away from him, period. He made her tense. Made her uncomfortable. At this point he didn’t even have to flash her that awesome smile. His mere presence prompted a reaction from her. That sexy male scent.

Bad, bad, bad.

“That would be my guess,” she relinquished, knowing that to ignore him would only raise his suspicions.

She resisted the urge to power the window down or to hold her breath. When had her senses latched onto his scent and become so sensitive? That natural male essence combined with something subtle and vaguely citrusy nagged at her.

Her gaze kept wandering back to the steering wheel and his hands. She’d never really been a hands kind of girl. Sure, she noticed them. Big ones, small ones, dirty and well manicured. It was part of her job to notice things about suspects. But this was different. She wanted to study Hadden’s. In the dim light from the dashboard she could see that his hands were big and square, but not too much so. Long fingers, not the delicate, artistic sort. Nope, those fingers were strong and capable-looking, blunt-tipped. She could imagine how they would feel skimming her body. A shiver of heat slid through her.

She looked away in hopes of distracting herself but it didn’t work. He’d touched her once or twice and she’d noted that his skin felt nice. Though his hands were hard and male, the texture wasn’t rough. Pleasant and smooth, warm.

Her eyes rolled so far back in her head at her ridiculous thoughts that she would surely have seen her brain had it not been missing in action.

Okay, he was a good-looking guy. Get over it. He was also the detective who thought Marshall was a criminal! She had to remember that. Thinking badly of her friends definitely lowered his standing. Or it should, for Christ’s sake.

Kayla shook off the bizarre lapses in her mental processes and focused on the dark night outside the passenger side window. It was past seven already. She hated missing out on that time with Jazz. But it couldn’t be helped.

She’d have to do something special with her this weekend to make up for her recent extra-long hours. The curse of motherhood. One always felt intensely guilty even about the little things.

But time was precious. She’d learned that the hard way with Rainy’s death as well as her grandmother’s. No one was promised tomorrow. Better to make the best of today.

Hadden parked in her drive behind her Jeep. He sat there for a moment in the darkness not saying anything. The tension vibrating between them was palpable. She should speak up and get the parting comments over with before he had a chance to spill what was on his mind. He probably had more questions about Rainy.

He might as well forget it. She wasn’t telling him any more than she already had.

“We have to talk about this.”

Too late. Dammit. What was it about him that made her hesitate that single instant too long?

Kayla turned to him. His profile was just visible in the straining glow of her porch light. “What’s to talk about? I’ve told you all I can.” It wasn’t an outright lie, but close.

He laughed softly. “I know this is seriously out of line, but I wasn’t referring to the case.”

Confusion snapped her mouth shut, the smart-ass remark she’d intended to toss at him evaporating.

Hadden turned to her, his new position combined with the sparse illumination displaying his best features in an even sexier way. God, he looked good in the dark. Her heart thumped anxiously. How long had it been since she’d sat this close, looked this deeply at a man in the near darkness? Stakeouts with her partner didn’t count.

“Maybe I’m alone in this.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “But I have to get it out in the open.”

Her pulse leapt. Between the heat and the shiver his touch elicited, she was losing ground fast here. But she couldn’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. There were too many obstacles to overcome. Jazz had to be her first priority. And there was Jazz’s father. Not to mention Kayla’s career and determination not to get involved with the wrong man ever again.

“I like you, Kayla,” he said when she remained mute. “I can’t keep pretending it’s only mutual respect. I’ve been fighting the desire to get to know you better since the day we first met.” He chuckled. “I drove all the way from Tucson to have time alone with you in the car.”

She almost laughed at that. She remembered quite well the day they met. Marshall Carrington and David Gracelyn, Allison’s brother, were at each other’s throats. Rainy had just died. Things had been so confusing and emotional. But she had to admit that she’d noticed a number of Hadden’s assets that very day herself. At least she hadn’t been alone in her momentary insanity.

But, she had to get real here. Mike expected a call from her tonight and she hadn’t even talked to Jazz yet. Wasn’t even sure what she would say. And then there was the invitation to Athena for her daughter. Too much to deal with already. And there was that little detail that she couldn’t be completely honest with Hadden. That was no way to start off a relationship.

No matter how badly she wanted to have at least a physical relationship with him. Incredibly, for the first time in a very long time she felt ready to dive in. Her body quivered then tensed at just the thought of making love with Hadden. He would be good. Thorough, focused. She could very well imagine that his careful attention to detail on the job would carry through to his personal ventures. Need welled inside her. But it would be a mistake.

“O…kay,” he said slowly, drawing out the syllables. “Clearly I’ve overstepped my bounds here.”

Kayla managed a smile. She didn’t know how. “It’s okay. I…” What did she say? Hey, I’d love to have sex with you but I have real issues. Big-time baggage. Maybe you’d better rethink your position.

He faced forward, drawing back emotionally. “I’m glad we finally caught up with Dr. Halburg.”

So…that was that.

“Yeah, me too.” She reached for the door. “Thanks for the ride, Hadden. I’ll see you around.”

“Definitely.”

Kayla got out of the car and watched him drive away. She tried to analyze the feelings that lingered. A mixture of regret and trampled hope. Why did relationships have to be so complicated?

Who knew?

Yet another mystery she doubted she would ever solve.

She trudged up to her door, unlocked it and went inside. She’d call Mary and give her a heads-up that she was on her way. Maybe then she’d call Alex with an update.

Her sister Mary insisted that Kayla either come over and have dinner with them or give Jazz another forty-five minutes to do so. Kayla agreed to the latter since she could use the time to touch base with Alex. The real point was to avoid almost an hour in her sister’s presence. Mary would pick up on her worries immediately. Kayla just wasn’t ready to talk about any of it.

Alex answered on the second ring. Kayla had worried that she might be away on assignment or out with Justin. Those two were definitely getting closer. Good for Alex. At least one of them was headed for a decent relationship with a great guy.

It felt good to hear Alex’s voice. How had they gone the past twelve years without this connection? It was still a little shaky but it was there.

“Is everything okay?”

Like Mary, Alex had noted the slightest change in the nuances of Kayla’s voice. Damn. Could she not hide anything?

“I’ve just had an emotional day. That’s all,” she admitted in hopes of defusing the unwanted attention. “I finally caught up with Dr. Halburg.”

“Did you learn anything new? Does she keep a backup for her files?”

“No backup files.” Kayla answered the simplest question first. She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she put on a pot of coffee to brew. This was going to be a long night. “She did say that Rainy had suspected her eggs had been harvested and that she was doing some research on the subject.”

“Were her conclusions the same as mine and the medical examiner’s?”

“Close enough.” Kayla pressed the start button on the coffeemaker and took the phone back in hand. “She recommended Rainy see a specialist for further testing to see if any eggs could be salvaged from the damaged ovaries, but Rainy never contacted the guy.”

Alex made a speculative sound.

“That tells me,” Kayla offered, “that she was too focused on finding out how and why this happened to her. We both know how badly she wanted children. That she would put her investigation ahead of that desire says a lot.”

“I agree.”

The silence dragged on a couple dozen seconds as the scent of strong coffee filled Kayla’s kitchen. Apparently her attempts at alleviating her friend’s concern hadn’t worked.

“Has something else happened, Kayla?” Alex sighed. “I wish you’d tell me. I know we let the past get in the way for a while, but I want to put that behind us now. Talk to me.”

Kayla sagged against the counter as her eyes closed with brimming emotion. She and Alex had been slowly inching toward this point since Rainy’s death. But it wasn’t until this moment that she felt like it was real.

“Mike Bridges showed up at my door this afternoon,” she admitted, hoping like hell that the mention of his name wouldn’t set back their forward momentum.

“He finally wants to be involved,” Alex guessed, her tone leaving no question as to how she still felt about Mike Bridges. Most likely she’d heard about Josie’s experience with him as well.

“Yeah.” Kayla rubbed at her aching temple. This was definitely the kind of day to prompt a headache. “I don’t trust him, Alex.”

“I’d say you’d be smart not to. However…” She hesitated as if she either didn’t know what to say next or resented the words to come to some degree. “He is her father. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

There was no holding back the tears that flowed down Kayla’s cheeks then. To hear Alex say that meant the world to her.

“Christine called me,” Alex went on before Kayla could find her voice. “She wanted me to hear from her what she’d told you.”

Kayla scrubbed a hand over her damp face. “Betsy Stone must know a lot more than she’s telling.” Thank God her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

“Be careful, Kayla. I don’t trust Betsy. Justin’s certain she was involved with his sister’s death. And we have no way of knowing how close she is to those who want to stop us.”

Kayla couldn’t have agreed more. If only she could determine if Rainy had made contact with Betsy Stone with her suspicions.

Fury roared through Kayla. If she learned that Betsy Stone had somehow been involved in Rainy’s murder, there would be no place on the planet the woman could hide. Kayla would hunt her down and tear her apart with her bare hands.

“Christine also mentioned that Jazz has been invited to attend Athena.”

“I got the letter yesterday.” Kayla fought hard to pull herself together. Looking at her various quandaries from a rational standpoint was essential. She couldn’t let Mary or Jazz see that she’d been crying. The next few hours had to be about reason and good, solid judgment.

“I don’t have to tell you what an amazing opportunity this is,” Alex commented. “Jazz is your daughter and I know you love her immensely. I’m certain you wouldn’t want her to miss out on all Athena has to offer.”

“No,” Kayla agreed. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. I know. It’s just that…” She moistened her lips and dredged up the bitter words that burned in the deepest recesses of her soul. “What if we learn that Athena Academy was somehow involved in all this, beyond just a staff member or two going rogue?”

“If,” Alex said pointedly, “we learn such a thing then we’ll see that it’s taken care of. We won’t let it happen again. Athena Academy is too important to let anyone use it for evil.”

Alex was right. Even if Athena was involved more deeply than Kayla wanted to admit out loud, the wrong would be righted. The academy was still the finest school in the country. One that offered a chosen few young women an unequalled education. She would be a fool not to let Jazz take advantage of the invitation.

Kayla wasn’t a fool. She had to do what was best for her daughter.

One way or another she would get to the bottom of this case first.

There was one more call she needed to make before picking up Jazz. She dreaded this one almost as much as she did the next one she’d have to make.

His voice sounded weary when he answered and Kayla’s heart squeezed instantly. “Marshall, it’s Kayla.”

“Is everything all right?”

She hadn’t called him in a while. It made sense that he would be surprised to hear from her. “I’m good,” she assured him. “I finally caught up with Dr. Halburg today.”

Marshall listened quietly as she relayed what she had learned, but Kayla could feel the hurt and anxiety building in his silence.

“This confirms what we thought,” he suggested gruffly.

“It does.”

Another long beat of silence. Kayla knew how hard this was for him. Marshall had worshipped Rainy. He was the most caring man Kayla had ever known outside her own father. The idea that someone had purposely hurt Rainy was killing Marshall.

“Find whoever did this, Kayla,” he said, his voice breaking. “Find them and kill them. They don’t deserve to live.”

The pain in his voice, in his words tugged at her heart. “I will find them, Marshall. They won’t get away with it. I promise you that.”

“I’m counting on you,” he urged, desperation keen in his voice. “I’m counting on you more than you know.”

Chapter 6

Kayla paced the floor of her cluttered living room as Jazz dried her hair and got ready for bed. She told herself again that she couldn’t put off this talk any longer.

But it was so damned hard. And the conversation with Marshall kept echoing in her head. He was counting on her.

She let go a weary breath and spun around to retrace her steps. The “dad” talk had to come first. Kayla just wasn’t prepared to discuss Jazz going to Athena Academy at this point. There were too many things that had to be cleared up prior to that decision. For her peace of mind.

It was quarter of ten already, past her daughter’s usual bedtime. But Mary had insisted that Kayla eat when she arrived to pick up Jazz. A covered dish waited for her on the kitchen counter. What could she say? She had to eat. And snubbing her sister’s hospitality would only earn her one of those you-need-to-slow-down talks, which would become a whole family discussion within the week.

Kayla’s family held dear many Navajo traditions, although those traditions were blended well with modern society. Despite the family’s contemporary outward appearance, the idea that wisdom comes from the stars and that one should find wonder and splendor on each path was deeply engrained.

Women were expected to use at least some of their time together to share cultural and family traditions. Like the fry bread her sister had painstakingly made that very day. To disregard such a gift from a family member would be the equivalent of a cardinal sin. Mary had likely included Jazz in the shaping, stretching and clapping of the dough that resulted in the round, golden delicious fry bread.

To this day Kayla wasn’t so hot in the kitchen. But she had other assets, her mother would boast. Even her unexpected pregnancy at seventeen had been treated as a blessing. Sometimes accidents are better than planning, her mother had said.

That’s how Kayla had survived her error in judgment where Mike Bridges was concerned. With her family’s full support. And that’s how she and Jazz would carry on. Whatever life threw in their path, family would always be there to back them up.

Mike would be waiting for her call. And if she didn’t follow through he would be back tomorrow just as he’d promised. She remembered that he hated being ignored. His ego just wouldn’t permit that sort of slight.

God, the idea had only just crossed her mind that as Jazz’s father he might want to have some input as to whether she attended Athena Academy or not.

Kayla chewed her lower lip. Just what she needed. Him interfering with her plans for Jazz. Perfect.

She plopped down on the sofa. Her fingers automatically fiddled with the colorful throw her mother had woven. Kayla should take more time for that sort of thing. She gazed around at the paintings, all desert scenes, on the walls and thought of all the other cozy touches her family had helped her add to this home when she’d first bought it. Even the sturdy oak table and chairs of the dining room had been refinished by her father.

Kayla didn’t seem to have inherited any basic artistic talent. She never felt as if she’d done enough at home.

At work decision-making felt so easy, came naturally. Tracking and taking down bad guys…protecting the community and its citizens. Piece of cake. Why did everything feel so hard at home? She worried over every little step with Jazz. But then, didn’t every mother? Parenthood was tough.

A smile slid across her lips. But the rewards were incredible. She wouldn’t trade the relationship she shared with her daughter for anything in the world. Maybe it was so wonderful because it was hard. Hadn’t her grandmother always sworn that anything worth having was worth working for? In other words, all good things came with a unique burden.

Just like the friendships she had forged with the Cassandras. If Jazz attended Athena, would she meet girls her age whose influence would follow her for the rest of her days?

Laughter bubbled into Kayla’s throat when she thought of how they’d first met, she and her sisters in crime. Things hadn’t gone so smoothly in the beginning. Talk about adolescent egos. Child genius Samantha, smart-mouthed Tory, eagle-eyed Josie, eager-to-please Darcy and cool-as-a-cucumber Alex. Kayla had been the overly serious one, the girl who took everything and anything too close to heart. Come to think of it, being Jazz’s age hadn’t been easy, either. How had she forgotten how difficult being a kid could be?

But Rainy had pulled the ragtag group together.

At first, Sam had walked around with a chip on her shoulder the size of Mt. Everest. Part of the problem had been the fact that she was about two years younger than everyone else and nobody really tried to relate to her. Kayla and the others had felt far too old for fraternizing with a “kid.” Tory had never, ever shut up. The girl had to be the center of attention. Oh, yeah, and Josie was nothing but a tattletale. Kayla grinned. How had she forgotten those quirky little details?

Admittedly, she’d lacked any sense of humor whatsoever. So she hadn’t been so easy to get along with. Ah, but then there was Alex’s snobby ways. And Darcy’s constant ass kissing. Darcy, apparently, thought being a yes-girl would hoist her a little farther up the food chain. Alex had evidently assumed that the world should and would bow to her every wish.

Rainy saw through all the superficial crap every last one of them oozed. She knew that each of her assigned mentees were good where it counted, deep down inside. All she had to do was polish that goodness and bring it to the surface. Not such a simple task.

Kayla would never forget having to stay at the Academy when their first break rolled around. Rainy had insisted. Principal Christine Evans had agreed. The Cassandras were grounded, no going home for break. Kayla would never forget the indignation.

“Why do we have to go on a field trip?” Tory griped. “We’re supposed to be going on break. I wanna go home.”

“Because I said so,” Rainy tossed back. “Any questions?” She surveyed the gloomy group. “I thought not.”

Kayla hadn’t been too keen on the idea of going on an overnight survival trip into the wilds of the White Tank Mountains, which really amounted to a trip into the farthest reaches of the Academy property. Not such a big deal looking back, but, at the time, it had felt like going to the ends of the earth…in the dark with a bunch of quarreling buttheads, when she should have been at home with her loving family watching her mother weave or her grandmother bake.

The Cassandras had no sooner foraged into the creepy, dark landscape than disaster struck.

“I can’t find her anywhere!”

Kayla saw the fear on the other girls’ faces. Rainy was lost. They had looked everywhere. It was so dark. She shivered. They were all terrified. What would they do now? Rainy was their leader…what would they do without her?

“Are you sure?” Kayla asked Josie. Josie never missed anything. God, if she couldn’t find Rainy…

“All right,” Alex piped up in that authoritative heiress voice of hers. “Here’s what we’ll do.” She divided up the area to be searched and sent two girls into each quadrant, just like they’d learned in class. “Stick with your partner,” she’d instructed, “and we’ll find her.”

Every one of the Cassandras had loved Rainy. Respected and looked up to her. They just hadn’t been able to get past their irritation with each other long enough to show it. But that night, all those years ago in the middle of nowhere in the dark, they had worked together. When they’d found their beloved leader she was injured, a sprained ankle that prevented her from walking without assistance.

Everyone pitched in immediately. Tory told jokes to keep Rainy’s sprits up. Josie, Darcy and Kayla had built a shelter while Sam and Alex started a fire to stay warm. Alex had busily splinted Rainy’s ankle. Using the stars as her guide, Sam had figured out in which direction the school lay. The next morning they would be prepared for getting Rainy back to the safety of the Academy.

The whole transition had occurred like magic. They were all suddenly working together as a team. When all was done the girls, exhausted from their labors, had settled around the campfire with Rainy to wait for daybreak. And then something else unexpected had happened.

“I have a secret to share with you,” Rainy said in a mysterious tone.

Kayla, like all the others, leaned forward a bit, anxious to hear whatever their fearless leader had to say. They were all so awed by her. She’d been injured and lost and yet she’d never worried. She had felt certain her Cassandra sisters would rescue her. The realization that they had done just that warmed Kayla. Even on a cool night in the foothills of the mountains she felt that heady glow more deeply than the heat from the fire.

Rainy looked from one expectant face to the other. “I was never lost…or injured.” She shucked the splint Alex had carefully applied and wiggled her foot. “I was only pretending.”

Gasps echoed in the firelight. Eyes went wide, mouths gaped.

“But why?” Darcy wanted to know.

Rainy smiled at each of them. “Because I needed you to look past your differences and to see each other for who you really are.”

The girls glanced at each other, awed and sort of bewildered at the same time. It was that very night, at that precise moment, that something special passed between Kayla and Alex. Something very special happened between them all.

“We’re a team. Like sisters,” Rainy continued. “Nothing can pull us apart or divide us as long as we stick together.”

Cheers went up around the campfire. And the Cassandras were baptized in their unity.

Sisters…there for each other…forever.

“What did you want to talk about, Mom?”

Jazz’s question jerked Kayla back to the here and now. She blinked away the sentimental tears that burned in her eyes. “Oh…you’re ready.” She smiled for her daughter, couldn’t help wondering what kind of character-building adventures she would have if she attended the Academy.

Kayla got to her feet and draped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Another few inches and she’d be as tall as her mother. How time flew.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in and we’ll talk.”

As her daughter climbed into bed Kayla glanced around her room and contemplated how much longer the little-girl décor would last. Before long a redo would be in order. Maybe that would make a good birthday gift, since Christmas was already taken care of. Jazz had asked for a laptop computer for Christmas. It was a bit extravagant but she could use it for school. Especially if she went to the Academy.

“Can we put up the tree this weekend?” Jazz asked as Kayla settled on the edge of the bed next to her.

“You bet.”

“Aunt Mary already has hers up.”

“I noticed.” Kayla’s sister always had the best tree.

“Am I in trouble?” Jazz asked, then chewed her lip as if prepared for the worst. “I haven’t been on the Internet anymore without asking first. I didn’t even play computer games at Aunt Mary’s. I did my homework just like you said.”

Jazz’s big hazel eyes peered up at Kayla. Kayla’s heart squeezed at how very much like Mike’s those gorgeous eyes were. He certainly couldn’t deny his child. Any more than Kayla could, since every other feature besides those eyes were an exact replica of Kayla’s.

“No, sweetie, you’re not in trouble at all.” She sighed, couldn’t help herself. “But I had a visitor today.”

“A visitor? Who?”

Jazz looked so innocent, her expression naively inquisitive. She had no idea her life was about to change in so many ways.

Kayla picked up the framed photograph from her daughter’s bedside table. “We haven’t talked about your father in a while.”

Jazz took the photograph from her mom. “I wonder about him sometimes. Does he still live far away?”

Not able to break her daughter’s heart by telling her the whole truth, she’d just told her that Mike was in the Air Force and stationed far away. God, what a cop-out that had been.

“Actually, he’s moved closer now,” she said cautiously. “In fact, he came by today and told me he’d like to visit with you if you wouldn’t mind.”

Jazz studied the picture a little longer, then set it aside. “Mom.” She looked directly into Kayla’s eyes. “I know you don’t like to talk about him.”

“Jazz, I—”

“I know, okay?” she butted in. “Every time I ever mentioned him I could see the way you looked.” She shrugged those slim shoulders clad in pink flannel. “So I didn’t bring him up much. But I know what happened.” Her face clouded. “He didn’t want us so he went away.”

“No.” Kayla shook her head. This was exactly what she hadn’t intended to let happen. She should have been smarter. Should have realized her bright daughter would figure out her reasons for silence. “It wasn’t like that. We were just young. But he’s older now. He realizes that not being around was a mistake.” She prayed he did. God, if he broke her baby’s heart…. “He’s your father. He does want to be with you. But being in the military makes it difficult for him. Maybe he thought it was better this way…until now.”

Jazz shrugged again. “Maybe. What did you tell him?”

How strong her daughter was. Kayla was so proud, but she would not cry. She had to be strong too. “I told him we’d give him a call and set up a time to have lunch or watch a movie. Something like that. That okay?”

“Only if you’re with us.”

Kayla pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Count on it.”

Jazz nodded. “Tell him we’ll give it a try.”

Kayla had to laugh. When had her baby grown up so?

“I’ll call him now.”

When she would have gotten up, Jazz tugged at her arm. Kayla turned back to her. “You have more instructions for me?” she teased.

Jazz’s face turned serious as she shook her head.

Kayla’s gut clenched. Had the reality of the conversation only now caught up to her child?

“I love you, Mom.”

Relief flooded Kayla. “I love you too, sweetie.”

After hugs and good-nights, Kayla made the call.

Mike answered on the first ring. He’d been waiting.

“It’s me,” Kayla’s entire body, her throat especially, felt tight with emotion.

“I’m glad you called.” She heard relief in his voice.

Oddly, that only made this harder for her. “We’d like you to come for dinner on Friday evening.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

Kayla held on to her emotions. Anger wouldn’t help right now. Tears wouldn’t either. “She has choir practice after school. They practice twice a week. She’ll be late getting home.”

A beat of silence passed. “All right. Friday then. Seven?”

“Seven’s good.” Kayla tried to think what she should say next, but she just wanted to hang up. She needed to sever the connection before her composure crumpled completely.

“Thank you, Kayla. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

She managed a polite goodbye and hung up.

Mike Bridges would visit his daughter for dinner on Friday evening. Day after tomorrow.

Kayla climbed into her own bed then and pulled the covers up close around her. She tried to be strong, but she just couldn’t do it. She cried. Cried for the mistakes she and Mike had made. Cried because she was awed by her young daughter’s perceptiveness and strength. Cried for Marshall and all he’d lost.

Lastly she cried because she was lonely.

Nights like this she desperately wished she could put her arms around a big, strong man.

One exactly like Peter Hadden.

Before she could chastise herself for the weakness she drifted off to sleep.

Early Thursday Investigator Devon called Kayla to let her know her bike-pirating perp had rolled over on one of the biggest car thieves in the state. The guy hadn’t been bluffing when he’d made the offer. Cars, bikes, anything with wheels were pretty much on his connection’s agenda.

This was a major coup. Investigator Devon had concluded that Kayla’s anonymous tip had come from a competitor who had known one of the three she caught would drop a dime on their main connection. The strategy was as transparent as glass—take the competition off the street.

Devon also wanted to warn Kayla that for his testimony Mr. Terrence Swafford would get a mere slap on the wrist. In fact, he would be taken into protective custody today and kept in an undisclosed location until the trial, after which he would receive a reduced sentence. Devon added that he felt compelled to give her the heads-up since this guy could pose a threat to her later on.

Kayla would also be expected to testify as to what happened the day of the bust. She had assured the investigator that the district attorney could count on her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

And she sure as hell wasn’t afraid of some loose-lipped bike thief who might be looking for a little payback. The only worry she had in that area was in keeping her daughter safe from scum like Swafford.

Just another reason Jazz would likely be better off at Athena. Security was tight when it came to protecting the students. She thought of Rainy. Well, most of the time, anyway.

“I’ve got to run a couple errands,” she told Jim around 11:00. Jazz had choir practice again today so that gave Kayla a few hours to check out a couple things on Rainy’s case. “Call me if you need me.”

Jim, neck deep in reports, only grunted. When it was slow, like today, it wasn’t uncommon for the deputies on duty to take a little free time to take care of personal business. If Jim needed her he would call her back in. He didn’t ask where she was headed. He likely assumed she had last-minute Christmas shopping to attend to.

She was glad he didn’t ask. Lying to her partner wasn’t something that came easy to her. But sharing information with him about Rainy was definitely not a good idea. This had to be kept between the Cassandras. Well, and some aspects had to be shared with Peter Hadden. She had little choice there.

As she climbed into her Jeep she gave herself another mental kick for allowing Hadden to slip into her thoughts too often. After last night’s too-close-for-comfort moment in his car she’d managed to dream about him in spite of her nerve-racking heart-to-heart with her daughter.

Who would have thought that Peter Hadden could kick worries about Mike right out of her head? She’d expected to have dreams about Mike trying to horn in on her close relationship with their daughter, not close encounters of the sexual kind with Hadden.

She had to get her head back on straight on the subject of Peter Hadden. Last night had ventured over the line. But she wasn’t the only one having trouble. In fact, he’d been the one to bring up the awareness between them. She had to be the one to end it. Until she cleared up the mystery around Rainy’s death she had no choice but to be involved with Hadden. After that they wouldn’t see each other again.

Why get involved with a man she wouldn’t even be seeing in the future?

By the time she reached Marshall Carrington’s home in Tucson, Kayla had convinced herself she’d made the right decision. She had her immediate future under control, at least in her mind.

She’d called Marshall that morning and he had assured her he would be home all afternoon. He’d lectured his final class yesterday until after Christmas vacation. He had no plans for any research trips until the new year. He would love to see her.

Kayla wondered how he would spend the holidays without Rainy. If he was smart he’d plan some time away with friends and family. Anything to get out of the house. The notion that maybe she should invite him to join her family for the holidays crossed her mind but she imagined he already had invitations from his own relatives as well as Rainy’s parents.

Would being with Rainy’s family be too difficult for him? She should ask if he’d talked to the Millers recently. Then again, questions along those lines might disturb his tenuous grip on normalcy.

She parked in his driveway behind his luxury sedan. The best thing to do in a situation like this, she reminded herself, was to go with the flow. She’d feel out the situation and go from there.

“Kayla!”

Marshall stood in the open doorway waving as if he were profoundly happy to see her. She couldn’t help noticing that the front of the house was undecorated. Rainy had always been eager to drape the Christmas lights and hang the seasonal wreath on her door. Would Marshall even bother with a tree without his wife to share the festivities?

“It’s great to see you, Marshall.” She gave him a quick hug. Memories of how things had almost gotten out of hand shortly after Rainy’s death kept her from lingering too long in his strong arms.

“Please come in.”

She followed Marshall inside and waited until he had closed the door before she began. “How are the Millers?” she asked before she could stop herself. It felt so strange to be in Rainy’s house and not talk about her. The question just felt necessary.

Marshall gestured toward the living room, then started to move in that direction as he spoke. “They’re coming down a few days before Christmas. We’re going to Rainy’s grave together.”

Kayla sat down on the sofa and Marshall settled into one of the leather chairs facing her. “That’s good. Rainy always did love Christmas.” Memories of Christmas drinks and presents shared over the years with Rainy instantly flickered through Kayla’s mind. God, how she did miss her.

Marshall nodded. “I’m having a special wreath made for her headstone.”

“Jazz and I will stop by. I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

He pasted on a smile. It was obvious to Kayla that the smile was only there for her benefit. “I mentioned that my classes are finished until the new year, didn’t I?”

“Yes. That’s great. Are you planning to take some time away between now and then?”

He lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I thought I might. I’ll be heading off to Bogotá in February. One of my contacts there has turned up some ancient artifacts he thought I might be interested in.”

That he didn’t mention the kind of artifacts suddenly struck Kayla as odd. But she refused to allow the doubt Hadden had planted to grow beyond a certain level. There had been a time when Marshall Carrington wouldn’t shut up about his research, but a lot had changed in his life the past few months. It made sense that his priorities would as well. She felt confident that the wow of ancient artifacts dimmed considerably after one had lost the love of his life.

And yet she knew better than most that permitting herself to fall too deeply into a sympathetic role would jeopardize her objectivity every bit as much as Hadden’s theories. She had to get to the point and be done with this unappealing business.

“Marshall, I’ve heard a rumor that I feel you should know about.”

His expectant gaze fastened onto hers. “About Rainy?”

The hurt in his voice when he said his late wife’s name tugged at Kayla’s heart. She shook her head sadly. “No. Not about Rainy.”

“You’re still investigating her…death?”

“Of course. I won’t give up until I know exactly what happened.”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “Thank you, Kayla. That means a great deal to me.”

The picture he made now broke her heart. Those broad shoulders were slumped in defeat, his usually animated features dormant from loss. Even those affecting gray eyes seemed listless and almost colorless, as if losing Rainy had taken away his body’s ability to sparkle in any respect. The smile was nothing more than a prop. Nothing glittered about Marshall Carrington anymore and it was such a shame. His charm and ability to light up a room had been one of the reasons Rainy had fallen in love with him.

“Marshall, in your research…” God, how did she say this to a friend? “Have you ever had contact with anyone who might be considered a…criminal?”

His head came up, his brow furrowed. The question in his solemn eyes almost undid her. “What do you mean?”

She swallowed. Rainy would feel betrayed by the mere idea of what Kayla was about to ask. But she had to, if for no other reason than to warn him that someone had an eye on him. Someone who wanted to hurt him.

Not Hadden. He had no reason to want to injure Marshall. Kayla had checked out Hadden thoroughly. He was on the up-and-up. But someone from Tucson’s legal hierarchy.

“I believe that someone is attempting to sully your reputation by tossing around rumors that you’re involved with some sort of smuggling.”

The rush of red rage up Marshall’s neck and face startled her. He was on his feet and glaring down at her before the realization of his reaction had fully assimilated in her brain.

Kayla had expected him to be offended, upset even. But not in her wildest dreams had she expected this level of unadulterated fury.

“What the hell are you suggesting?”

“Wait a minute.” She stood, her instincts going to full-scale alert. “I’m not suggesting anything, I’m only telling you about the rumor I heard. I thought you might want to know that someone out there is—”

He moved a step closer, shaking a reproving finger at her. “My wife is dead. You said yourself you didn’t believe it was an accident. Alex said the same. And yet, you would dare to come into my house and accuse me of wrongdoing?” The veins bulged in his neck. “Why the hell aren’t you out there hounding Gracelyn? He’s the one who wanted to take her away from me!”

This had gotten completely out of hand. She held up both hands in a whoa gesture. “Wait a minute. I’m not accusing you of anything. Nobody wants to get to the truth about Rainy’s death more than I do.”

“Then go toss accusations at Gracelyn! He’s the one!” A muscle in Marshall’s hard jaw ticked violently. “For all we know he may have decided that if he couldn’t have her, no one would.”

“Marshall.” She took him by the arms. He tried to pull away but she held on. “Calm down. I’m on your side.”

What the hell was wrong with him? There was no reason for him to explode at her like this.

He heaved out a ragged breath. “I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “I’ve lost my wife and now someone is trying to make me look like a criminal.” He turned a laserlike gaze on her now. “It’s Gracelyn. I know it. He’s trying to make me look guilty. Ask him, Kayla. Make him tell you the truth.” He tugged free of her hold to grab her by the shoulders. “He tried to lure my wife away from me. He’s capable of anything.” He searched her eyes, her face. His own filled with a fierce urgency. “Don’t let him get away with this. You told me you would find whoever did this. I’m telling you it’s him.”

“Marshall, I—”

“Please, Kayla. Do it for me.”

“I didn’t come here for—”

His lips silenced her. He kissed her hard. His arms went around her and locked as if he feared he might lose her too. She tried to push him away but she couldn’t…or wouldn’t. He felt warm and strong around her…tasted good and so comfortingly familiar. She just couldn’t help herself. Needed this moment…his touch.

But it was wrong.

This wasn’t about her.

It was about Rainy.

She drew back. Fought to catch her breath. “Marshall, this is—”

“But I’m so alone.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You can’t imagine how it feels.”

But she could. God, she could.

As much as she cared about Marshall, as much as she longed to comfort him the way he wanted, she would not go there. He was still Rainy’s husband. Always would be, really. And this case was far from solved. Until that time she had to keep her objectivity about all involved.

Most especially where Marshall was concerned.

Though nothing Peter Hadden could say would convince her Marshall was guilty of wrongdoing, her training was too thorough to discount the concept completely without due consideration.

She had to keep her senses about her.

And that was impossible in Marshall’s arms.

As if picking up on her thoughts he released her. “I’m sorry, Kayla.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I seem to forget myself when we’re together.”

She managed a meager smile, fumbled for the right thing to say. They were both hurting, but getting involved wasn’t the answer. “We’ll get through this.”

He nodded vaguely.

“I’ll call you again soon. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need me…anytime.” She’d done what she came for. She’d warned him. Getting out of here now would be the best for both of them.

He exhaled wearily. “Thank you.” He shook his head sadly. “For everything.”

She dared to pat his arm, then she left.

Staying a moment longer would have been sheer insanity. She had to put some distance between them…pull herself back together. Her hands were shaking and her gut was twisted in knots. She shouldn’t have let this happen.

Once in her Jeep she waited a bit before backing out of the drive. Took a few deep breaths. Okay, girl, think. Focus. Her cop instincts wouldn’t let her totally ignore Marshall’s ranting. He’d accused David Gracelyn once before of being after Rainy. Maybe there was more to that theory than Kayla knew.

Kayla couldn’t be sure what made her decide to do it. She really didn’t have time…but she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t leave Tucson without going by Rainy’s grave. She hadn’t been by the cemetery since the funeral. She needed to go there now…at least for a few minutes.

A short time later she parked along a narrow roadside that cut through the prestigious cemetery. Most of the tree branches were bare at this time of year, making the landscape look even more barren. Nothing but headstones and artificial flowers for as far as the eye could see.

Kayla got out of her Jeep and started toward the place where they’d lowered Rainy into the ground four short months ago. It still didn’t feel real. Rainy should be at her office, going over legal briefs, laughing about some client who’d pulled a dumb stunt. She shouldn’t be lying deep within the cold ground. It just wasn’t fair. She’d been too vital, too full of life to die so young.

But she had. Evil had snatched her off this earth in a single heartbeat.

Kayla crouched down next to Rainy’s final resting place and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What do I do now?” she murmured. God, she wished she had at least some of the answers.

How could all this be happening? How could someone from Athena have had anything to do with Rainy’s murder? How could the man Rainy had loved and married be mixed up with anything illegal? Certainly nothing would ever make Kayla believe that Rainy had cheated on Marshall. That was simply unthinkable. Never. Not Rainy. Absolutely no way.

Kayla blinked back the tears and considered the fading flowers Marshall or maybe Rainy’s parents had left on their last visit. How could this be all that was left of Rainy?

The possibility that Rainy could have one or more children out there somewhere nudged at Kayla. She gritted her teeth against the outrage that boiled up inside her. She would find the truth—the whole truth. No matter how long it took. Regardless of how deep she had to dig.

A leaf crunched behind her.

Kayla froze.

That nagging feeling that someone was watching her prodded her even more strongly.

She wasn’t alone in this place of the dead.

Keeping her movements unhurried, she pushed to her feet. Took one last look down at Rainy’s final resting place and then wheeled around to face the threat.

No one was there.

Kayla surveyed from left to right. Jerked her gaze back to the left.

Ten, maybe fifteen yards in the distance she saw a figure dart behind a tree.

Kayla lunged in that direction in an all-out run. The occasional glimpse of movement was all she got to give her any sense of direction, but she made the best of it. Ran as hard as she could. Darted around trees…past headstones. She needed to know who the hell was tailing her.

There. To the left. Twenty yards away.

Kayla ran faster still. Her lungs burned with the need for more oxygen but she ignored it. Ran harder. Tuned out everything but the chase.

A door slammed and the squeal of tires punctuated the realization that whoever had been following her would get away.

Kayla skidded to a stop. Frustration pounded in her veins. She stared after the fleeing vehicle. Small. Black. Two doors. Couldn’t make out the license plate.

Dammit.

She stomped her foot and wheeled around to head back to where she’d parked her Jeep.

That definitely hadn’t been Hadden. She knew his vehicle. Knew him. And though she hadn’t been able to discern whether the person was male or female, her every instinct had told her it definitely wasn’t Hadden.

One of his cronies maybe? He worked here in Tucson. Lived maybe thirty minutes from the cemetery.

But why would he have someone tailing her here of all places?

Maybe it was someone who knew the Cassandras had taken out the Cipher. Or hell, for all she knew it could be someone commissioned by Athena Academy. But she wasn’t prepared to believe that yet, any more than she was ready to go along with the idea that Marshall Carrington was a bad guy. Confused, hurting, desperate even, but no way a bad guy.

Time to give Marshall some credit. He was convinced that Rainy and David Gracelyn were involved. Kayla was certain that wasn’t true, but there could have been something between them. Maybe Rainy had shared some aspect of her troubles with him. He could have useful information.

Only one way to find out.

She drove out of the cemetery and headed for Phoenix. She would have just enough time to drop by David Gracelyn’s office before making the long drive back to Athens to pick up her daughter after choir. All she had to do was call Gracelyn’s secretary and make sure he was in. She wouldn’t make an appointment or give him any forewarning.

She needed him off balance. A mere cop would need the element of surprise when going up against an assistant attorney general and his Harvard law degree.

The idea was to get off-the-cuff, unprepared responses. Any advance warning of her arrival would have him mulling over what she might want. Considering his family played a major role in the support and funding of Athena Academy, he likely already knew about Kayla’s investigation. There was no doubt that he knew how Marshall felt about him.

That put him in the category of hostile witness. And yet she couldn’t imagine that David Gracelyn would ever in a million years hurt Rainy. The Gracelyns had all loved Rainy. Allison Gracelyn, David’s sister, had been one of Rainy’s closest friends. But Kayla needed to know once and for all where he and Rainy had stood prior to her death. The exact nature of their relationship.

Even the suggestion of an affair would cast a whole new light on the matter…as well as a completely new focus on the husband. Adultery was one of the primary motivating factors for when men and women killed their spouses.

She couldn’t see Marshall doing such a thing, much less having the contacts to call in an assassin like the Cipher.

But, a cop’s job was to turn over every single rock, no matter how small and unlikely that rock looked to the naked eye.

By the time she arrived at David Gracelyn’s office in Phoenix, Kayla’s tension level had reached the breaking point. Between Marshall’s unexpected reaction—she didn’t even want to think about the kiss—and the chase in the cemetery, she felt ready to snap. Rather than giving her time to calm down, the long ride had agitated her further.

She got out of her Jeep, determination urging her on. She wasn’t leaving Gracelyn’s office until she had the truth.

Chapter 7

Kayla didn’t have to wait to see David Gracelyn. Not only was he in, he was glad she’d come. The receptionist showed Kayla to his elegant office.

Assistant attorney generals had it made, she decided upon entering his distinguished digs.

“It’s good to see you, Kayla. Please, sit.” He gestured to a brocade wing-back chair that flanked his desk. “Would you like coffee? Water, perhaps?”

His smile was pleasant and reached his eyes. Tall, with brown hair and eyes, David wasn’t so much handsome because of his good looks. It was the whole package—the air of confidence and elegance. The mark of a Gracelyn.

Despite his smile, there was a solemn quality about him that spoke of deep pain. She wondered about that, Marshall’s accusations filtering through her mind.

She declined his offer of refreshments. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Gracelyn.” Though she’d known him for a long time, his position prompted her to address him formally.

She thrust out her hand. He shook it briskly and scolded, “You know better than to call me mister. We’ve known each other far too long for that kind of formality.”

They had known each other for many years—that was true—but that didn’t make them close. The Gracelyns ran in more aristocratic circles. Kayla’s family personified the term working middle-class, their love of the simpler ways flavored with Navajo influence. Had it not been for Athena Academy her path likely would never have crossed his.

David was a kind man, a good ten years Kayla’s senior. Allison, his sister, had been a senior at Athena Academy when Kayla started in seventh grade. Allison had been Rainy’s best non-Cassandra friend. Her parents were among Arizona’s elite. David, her only sibling, had always gone out of his way to make those in his company feel relaxed and welcome. Allison, on the other hand, came off a bit haughtier, less touchable. Still, Rainy had cherished her, so she couldn’t be as snobbish as Kayla at times thought.

David’s pleasant expression abruptly cluttered with concern. “Is this visit about Rainy? When I heard you were here I thought it might be police business, but…” His words trailed off as if he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the statement.

Instinct told Kayla that Marshall was right, at least to some degree. This man had clearly been in love with Rainy.

“I have some questions for you, if that’s all right.” She settled into the chair he’d indicated. “About Rainy,” she clarified.

He resumed his seat and braced his forearms on the gleaming mahogany desk that stood between them. “Of course. I’m happy to help in any way I can.” He blinked, glanced away for a moment. “Allison told me that there was some uncertainty as to the circumstances surrounding Rainy’s death. I’m not sure I understand, but…” His gaze met hers once more. “Surely you can’t be thinking foul play.”

Kayla studied his reactions closely. “I’m afraid I do.”

His head moved side to side, the despair he felt mounting visibly. “I just can’t believe anyone would want to harm her. Not Rainy. I’ve no doubt that she had a few enemies. Most attorneys do…but Rainy didn’t have those kind of enemies.”

Kayla moistened her lips and took a deep breath. Rather than comment on his suggestion, she dove in headfirst with the real reason she’d come. “Marshall is convinced that you and Rainy were having an affair.”

The announcement took him aback. “That’s just not true.”

Maybe not, but Kayla felt her own conviction slipping. Mincing words wouldn’t help. “Pardon me for saying so but even I get the distinct impression that you had very deep feelings for her.”

He stiffened, ever so slightly. “She and my sister were the closest of friends. Our families—”

“David.” Kayla didn’t see the point in allowing him to dig that hole. “This isn’t about Allison, this is about you and Rainy. I know a man in love when I see one. You loved her.”

Silence seemed to suck all the air out of the room for several seconds. Kayla resisted the urge to shift in her chair. Her presence might not be welcome after this.

“It’s true.” He leaned back into the supple leather of his chair. “I’ve been in love with her for years.” A faraway look claimed his features as he went on, “We fell hard for each other shortly after my mother’s death.”

Kayla’s heart slammed hard against her sternum. Could she have been so wrong about this? She just couldn’t believe Rainy would have cheated on Marshall.

“But it didn’t work out,” he added, a keen sadness in his voice. “We were both too young and foolish to recognize what was best for us.”

As relieved as she was to learn their relationship had ended long ago, that didn’t give her all she wanted to know. “So you and Rainy hadn’t been involved since,” Kayla pressed. She needed more recent history. The pain she’d seen in his eyes when she first entered his office was far deeper than that suffered from a lost love so very long ago. David had been in love with Rainy. Still was.

“Last year,” he confessed, “we worked on a trial together.” He stared down at his hands as if the right words would somehow fall within his grasp. “We spent a lot of time together…talked.” He let go a weary breath. “I fell in love with her all over again. I think she felt strongly about me as well.”

Disappointment speared Kayla all over again. She didn’t want to hear this about her dear friend. Rainy was too strong to be weak where her marriage was concerned. She’d always been the strong one. Always. This just didn’t fit. And yet, Kayla had to hear it all.

“But,” he continued, “Rainy loved Marshall.” David’s watery gaze fastened on Kayla’s. “Though her marriage was less than idyllic, she would not cheat on her husband.”

Extreme relief bloomed in Kayla’s chest. She should have known better than to doubt Rainy. A frown nagged at her brow as she processed the rest of what David said. “What do you mean her marriage was less than idyllic?”

He took a few moments to gather his thoughts or to choose his words carefully before he answered. “She wanted children desperately.”

That much Kayla had learned.

“Marshall didn’t seem to care one way or the other.” David lifted his hands in a gesture of uncertainty or indifference. “He wanted a child if that’s what would make Rainy happy but he didn’t want to bother with the extreme measures. When she didn’t conceive, he wanted to move on. To forget about it. Rainy was intensely disappointed. I think the whole situation put a strain on their marriage.”

David leaned forward, clasped his hands together on his desk. “I don’t have any hard feelings toward Marshall. Maybe I should. But he didn’t steal Rainy from me, he merely took what I foolishly let go.” The true depth of his regret showed in his listless eyes.

It hurt just a little that Rainy would share these intimate details with David and not her friends. Did Allison know? Kayla had known Rainy wanted children, but not this. An ache churned through her at the idea of how her friend must have agonized over the situation. Kayla’d had no idea. Even Marshall hadn’t indicated that things between him and Rainy had digressed to this point. But then, why would he?

“Had she confronted Marshall about this?” It felt like a betrayal to Marshall to ask, but she had to. The cop in Kayla could not do otherwise.

David shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least, if she did, she didn’t mention it to me.”

Kayla’s instincts went on point. “Do you recall her seeming upset or acting any differently than usual?” Her heart thumped hard. How long had Rainy known? What steps had she taken before invoking the promise?

“Those last few months…especially over the summer…” He hesitated, clearly grappling to maintain his composure. “She always seemed preoccupied. Distant. I thought maybe she’d begun to feel guilty about our time together though it was completely innocent.”

Maybe on Rainy’s side, but on David’s it had gone way beyond friendship. He’d fallen hard for Rainy…again.

“The last couple of times I saw her, she was upset. She wouldn’t talk about it.”

A weight settled on Kayla’s chest. Rainy had been upset because she’d discovered the truth. Maybe weeks before asking for help. She’d known what someone had done to her all those years ago. Kayla had to look away from David then. He’d loved her, maybe as much or more than Marshall had. All this time Kayla had thought Marshall was the perfect husband. How could he have been indifferent to Rainy’s needs…to her distraction those last weeks of her life?

Or was it easier for Kayla to take that position considering what Hadden had told her and now, with this new evidence? Did it make her less guilty for enjoying Marshall’s kiss for a second? Something was wrong.

No. She couldn’t judge Marshall so harshly just yet.

But was that her objectivity speaking…or the woman in her? She would be lying to herself if she claimed not to have been affected by his kiss…his touch.

Christ, she was losing all objectivity here.

“Thank you for your time, David.” She stood, certain she couldn’t listen to any more of his heartrending stories about Rainy. Obviously there was nothing of benefit to her investigation that she could learn from his personal torment.

Had Rainy secretly loved him? Would she have gone to David if Marshall hadn’t been in the way? Had Marshall suspected as much? The rage Kayla had witnessed today was so unlike the man she’d known all these years.

Some aspects of Rainy’s final days she might not ever understand.

Her grandmother would say that there were some things a mere human didn’t need to know. Maybe this love triangle was one of those things. But if the information would help her bring down the ones responsible…help her find Rainy’s child…

Kayla drove back to Athens, her heart floundering in her chest. Maybe she wasn’t objective enough to conduct this investigation properly. She could talk to Jim, let him help. Or Hadden.

She dismissed both possibilities.

She owed it to Rainy to do this one personally. The promise. She couldn’t back out on that promise now. No matter how hard the going got.

Rainy was counting on her. Rainy’s child or children had to be found. The motivation behind this evil legacy had to be uncovered, those behind it brought to justice.

Kayla had to do her part. Alex and the others had already done theirs.

Her cell phone vibrated, reminding her that she’d set it on silent vibrate before going into David Gracelyn’s office.

“Ryan.”

“Mom, where are you?”

For an instant panic gripped Kayla’s heart. “What’s wrong?” She glanced at the clock. 6:15. Had she made a mistake about the time to pick up her daughter at choir practice? Had something happened?

“Nothing, Mom,” Jazz said, relieving her mother’s mushrooming anxiety with the simple statement. “My friend Lexi wants to know if I can spend the night with her so we can study for the science test tomorrow.”

“Jazz.” Her daughter knew how much she hated last-minute sleepovers like this. They always put someone involved at a disadvantage. The girl was probably standing right beside Jazz, listening, hoping.

“It was her mom’s idea,” Jazz put in quickly. “Honest. She said she’d make homemade pizza and everything. No TV, just studying.”

Kayla hoped her lack of cooking skills wasn’t the motivation behind her daughter’s mention of homemade pizza. Mary had taken to the cooking skills their mother and grandmother had taught. Kayla was just hopeless. But she could outweave her sister any day of the week. She just didn’t have time for any hobbies lately.

“Please, Mom.” Jazz evidently took her silence for hesitation.

Granted, Kayla could use the time to try and track down Betsy Stone. The woman apparently never went home, and certainly never responded to her messages.

Kayla caved, just like she always did. “All right, but this had better be the last time you give me short notice like this.”

Her daughter’s squeals of delight were sufficient justification. The echoing peals of joy were no doubt from Lexi, who had been listening. Oh, well. Anything to make the kid happy.

Kayla tucked her phone back into her pocket and took the turn that led to Athena Academy. Like Christine, Betsy resided in one of the staff bungalows on school property. Not that she was ever there. It was late but Kayla intended to check her house as well as the infirmary for any sign of the elusive woman.

Maybe Kayla would just wait outside the nurse’s house all night. After all, her daughter would be with a friend. She had no reason to go home.

That thought depressed her. The little house she and Jazz called home would be empty, too quiet and too lonesome. If Kayla turned on the television or her favorite CD she could make some noise, but she’d still be alone.

Not even a whole bottle of wine would chase that empty feeling away.

Peter Hadden’s image traipsed through her mind before she could stop it.

She rolled her eyes and made a scoffing sound. What was wrong with her lately? She was only twenty-nine. It wasn’t like she was an old maid, not by today’s standards. Maybe it was Rainy’s death, her missing offspring. Or Marshall’s desperate loneliness.

Suddenly and with complete certainty, Kayla knew that she didn’t want to end up that way.

Alone.

Annoyed at herself for launching the pity fest, she drove to the infirmary. The place looked utterly deserted. When classes were in session, the infirmary was open 24/7, but with most students gone for the holidays, hours were limited now.

Instead of climbing back into her Jeep she opted for walking to Nurse Stone’s bungalow. It was smaller and several houses away from Christine’s place. The principal’s lights were on. Kayla considered dropping by to talk with her but decided to give Christine some time to come to terms with her own confession before she intruded. She felt certain emotions would still be tender. Christine had been harboring that dark secret for a long time.

Kayla knocked on Nurse Stone’s door but didn’t get a response. The house was silent and dark.

Not to be deterred, Kayla took a seat on the top step leading to the bungalow’s porch. She would wait all night if necessary. Betsy Stone had put her off long enough. She’d claimed on the two other occasions when Kayla had interviewed her that she knew nothing, but she had to. There was no way around it.

Christine stated that Betsy had had an affair with Dr. Bradford. Cleo Patra, the surrogate who had carried a baby that could possibly be Rainy’s child, also claimed that a Nurse Stone had worked with Dr. Reagan during her pregnancy. The description matched Betsy Stone. No way could the elusive nurse lie her way out of this. Kayla had the proof she needed now to push her harder.

The idea that Betsy was involved made perfect sense. Betsy Stone had access to all the students’ files. She would have known what to look for in the event Rainy’s selection as an egg donor had required certain characteristics.

She needed to find Dr. Reagan’s files. She also needed to find Carl Bradford. He appeared to have dropped off the face of the earth a couple years ago.

That made him a primary suspect.

Could he be in hiding?

The hair on the back of Kayla’s neck suddenly stood on end.

She stilled, listened, her hand going instinctively to the weapon at her side.

The whisper of foliage against fabric reached her. She eased up from the step and moved silently in the direction of the corner of the house.

Kayla flattened against the aged siding. She forced her respiration to calm and listened harder.

Someone was here. Close.

Nurse Stone?

Why would she sneak around in the dark?

Where would she have left her car?

Kayla moved along the side of the house, pausing to listen every few seconds. The sound never came again. In fact, she didn’t hear any kind of sound. Not even the crisp night air stirred the barren limbs of the trees surrounding the staff housing area.

Nothing.

Keeping her movements stealthy, she eased all the way around the house, listening, watching. Still nothing.

She made another round of the house, this time looking in the windows. Everything seemed normal.

When she felt certain she was alone, she moved back to the front of the house and waited in the shadows of the porch.

Most of the staff members who lived on campus were away for the holidays. It wasn’t impossible that Betsy Stone had taken a trip to wherever her family resided. She didn’t always report in to Christine during the school’s downtime. Kayla would have to question Christine about any family Betsy had and look into that possibility if the woman hadn’t shown by daylight.

She shook herself, ridding her body of the lingering sensations of not being alone in the dark. Looking at the situation from a rational standpoint, it wasn’t impossible that she was feeling paranoid since Rainy’s murder. She’d worked plenty of investigations in the past, even a couple of murder cases, and hadn’t gotten spooked. But Rainy was more than just a case, she was a lifelong friend. A good friend. Maybe that was the reason Kayla felt under constant scrutiny.

But that wouldn’t explain the person she’d chased through the cemetery. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like the feeling of being watched. The sensation gave her a new outlook on how suspects felt when she and her partner were on a stakeout. Only, she wasn’t the guilty party here.

Or was she?

The idea that Mike might have hired someone to follow her in hopes of pinning some bad rap on her to help him gain custody of their daughter slammed into her brain with all the subtlety of a broad ax.

What if Mike didn’t just want to see Jazz? What if he wanted her all to himself? Those meager monthly payments could stop and maybe being a single father would make him look less self-serving to his superiors. Getting custody of Jazz might help to mend his damaged reputation. After all, being a father could go a long way in changing people’s opinions about a man.

He would take Jazz over Kayla’s dead body.

She shivered.

There were people who could arrange that very situation.

Shit. Now she was really dancing to the tune of paranoia.

Maybe she’d take a walk down to Christine’s anyway. Talk for a few minutes. Ask about any family Betsy Stone might have. Anything to get her mind off Mike and stalkers.

As she strode along the sidewalk she mentally kicked herself for being such an idiot. She was not afraid of Mike Bridges. She doubted his damaged reputation could be mended if he showed up in front of his commander with a whole gaggle of kids. For all Kayla knew, Jazz might not be his only child.

Something else she didn’t want to think about.

She tapped on Christine’s door and waited. The sound of the television filtered through the wall. One of those legal dramas everyone who had time for television loved.

She rapped again and this time while she waited she surveyed the darkened area around the bungalows. The inky drive that cut in front of the small homes. The thick copse of trees that provided shade during the long, hot summers. In the distance, the dormitory she’d once occupied stood, scarcely visible and tomb-silent in the meager moonlight. If Jazz attended Athena she would stay there. Instantly the memory of midnight snacks and giggles echoed through Kayla’s mind. No matter how closely they were monitored, the Cassandras always managed to have the occasional midnight rendezvous.

Kayla smiled. Their lives had been so different then. Who would have thought they’d have grown up and lost Rainy. That familiar ache pierced her. Each of them had achieved a level of professional success any woman would find satisfying. And it wasn’t as if their personal lives were any more screwed up than the average person’s in this day and time.

But they’d felt so special in their Athena days. Like the rest of the world couldn’t touch them. Somehow above it all.

They’d been wrong. Evil had touched them through Rainy. Whoever had set that evil in motion had to be found and stopped. What if more students had been touched by it? There was just no way to know yet.

Kayla looked away. She felt torn. Jazz would blossom here. No doubt about that. But would she be safe from men like Dr. Reagan and Dr. Bradford?

Would she really be safe anywhere?

Just another worry for a parent.

She expelled a sigh. Every parent went through these same scenarios, or very similar ones in any event. Protecting her child was priority one.

She frowned. Why hadn’t Christine answered the door? She tried to peer in a window, but the blinds were closed.

Kayla pivoted and banged a little harder this time.

Cocking her head, she strained to listen.

Over the sound of the television program she heard…a muffled groan or cry.

Adrenaline lit like a wildfire in her veins.

She tried the door.

Locked.

Not wanting to waste time picking the lock she reared back and kicked the door in.

It flew inward, banged against the wall.

Christine lay on the floor. She reached out toward Kayla then wilted into a heap.

Kayla rushed to her.

“Christine, are you—”

And then she saw the blood.

Far too much for comfort.

“I’m calling for help.”

Not leaving Christine’s side she stabbed the speed dial number for 911 on her cell.

Once she’d passed along the necessary details she focused her attention on doing what she could for Christine.

As she attempted to slow the blood spilling from her friend’s abdomen, she wondered aloud, “What the hell happened here?”

Christine gasped in pain, then stuttered, “I—I—”

Her eyes looked glassy. Her skin was too cool to the touch.

Kayla swore silently. Not good. She took the necessary steps for rudimentary treatment of shock, careful to keep her right hand over the wound. Despite her best efforts blood still seeped between her fingers.

Christine struggled to say something…but her words were nothing more than choked gasps.

“It’s okay,” Kayla assured. “Just relax. Help is on the way. We’ll figure this out later.”

Christine’s eyes closed. Her awkward, writhing movements ceased.

Fear rocketed through Kayla.

“Stay with me, Christine.”

As she checked the woman’s vitals with her free hand she did the only other thing she could…she prayed.

Chapter 8

At eight o’clock on Friday morning Christine Evans was still holding her own in Intensive Care. The surgeon had said that, if she made it through those first critical hours after the surgery, she would probably survive. But he couldn’t give any assurances.

The bullet had done some serious damage, and the blood loss was extensive. Basically it was a miracle she was alive at all. Kayla couldn’t help thinking she was hanging on so she could identify whoever had attempted to end her life. She just hoped her friend made it. Burying two friends in one year would simply be too much.

Kayla had called the Cassandras. A forensics team had swept the crime scene, under her partner’s watchful eye. She wanted to get back over there first thing this morning and go through the steps herself. A murderer just didn’t walk into a person’s home and take a couple of shots without leaving some sort of evidence. All one had to do was look closely.

Oftentimes a person familiar with the environment would notice things a trained professional wouldn’t. Kayla had been in Christine’s bungalow enough times to know the way things should be. That wasn’t the only place she intended to look. The killer might have been looking for access to students’ files or other sensitive records.

Since Christine couldn’t tell her what had happened, Kayla had to go on speculation. First she had to rule out robbery, then revenge or an act of passion. Her gut told her that none of those would be the perp’s motive.

Every instinct she possessed screamed at her that this was about Rainy. About the egg harvesting. But she had to view this like any other case. The fact that she had close personal ties to the school as well as the victim didn’t change things. Standard operating procedure dictated the steps.

To hell with SOP. As soon as Christine’s doctor made his rounds and gave Kayla an update, she was going directly to Athena Academy. Maybe following instincts wasn’t the course most cops would take, but, in Kayla’s experience, when she didn’t follow her instincts, things usually turned out disastrously.

Half an hour later the surgeon checked in on his patient and advised Kayla that it would likely be touch and go for a few more days. The coma she was in was a good thing, since it allowed Christine’s body to concentrate solely on healing itself. The doctor explained that many times after catastrophic trauma, a coma would be induced if a patient didn’t lapse into one on her own. Like last night, he couldn’t offer any real assurances other than her chances of recovery were well within the range to offer hope.

The trip from Phoenix to Athens was spent in deep supplication for her friend’s speedy recovery.

As she pulled up in front of Christine’s bungalow on the Athena campus, she punched in her partner’s cell number and waited for him to answer.

“Got any news for me?” It was likely too early to have any feedback on the forensics search, but if the guys found anything other than the blood trail Christine had left in her attempt to get to the phone, Jim Harkey would know it, since he’d been there.

“Nada.”

Definitely not what she had wanted to hear. “Dammit.”

“My sentiments exactly,” he echoed. “Her blood, nothing else. No sign of forced entry, other than what you did to the front door getting in. No indication whatsoever that she’d had company. Nothing. Prelim on the slugs indicates a silencer was used.”

They wouldn’t be getting any breaks on this one. There would be plenty of prints to run, some of which might belong to the Cassandras who’d visited Christine’s bungalow a few months back, on that fateful night when they’d learned of Rainy’s accident. And there would likely be many others. As principal of the academy, Christine often entertained distinguished guests and parents of potential students as well as staff members. The lack of sound would lessen the probability that anyone saw or heard anything.

The memory of the invitation Jazz had received shook loose from the far corner of her mind to which she’d banished it. The danger at Athena Academy had moved to a new level. Something else she had to consider as soon as her life calmed down for two minutes.

Not going to happen, a little voice reminded.

Probably not. Her life had always been anything but calm. Why would the routine be any different now?

Kayla gave Jim her agenda for the morning and promised to check back in with him in a couple of hours. She emerged from the car, dragging on her jacket in deference to the cool morning air. She had a feeling the temps wouldn’t reach the fifties as the weatherman had suggested. Christmas was scarcely more than a week away so she had no room to complain. The winter had been relatively mild thus far.

Christmas. Man, she had to get a tree up. Jazz was counting on decorating this weekend.

Then the significance of the day broadsided her.

Friday.

They had dinner with Mike tonight.

Another round of hot curses spilled past her lips. Just her luck. She needed an evening with him like she needed a root canal.

Kayla unlocked the padlock her partner had placed on Christine’s damaged door and then ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape.

The smell of coagulated blood hit her nostrils the moment she entered the living room. She would never get used to that odor. Her fingers located the switch and flipped on the overhead light.

It wasn’t easy coming back to the scene of a crime that involved a friend or loved one, but Kayla had to look things over for herself. Jim was a damn good cop, the forensics guys the best, but she had to do this. Had to be certain nothing was missed.

She moved through Christine’s bungalow twice, taking her time, surveying from ceiling to floor and all places in between. One of her instructors at the police academy had reiterated over and over again how it was the little things that solved most crimes.

In the kitchen she hesitated before moving on. Knowing full well the forensics techs had already done so she opened the dishwasher and peeked inside. Empty.

She closed the appliance and leaned against the counter, took a moment to survey the small, galley-style kitchen one last time. A dish towel lay on the counter directly across from her position. Hanging from the overhead cabinet was a rack that held a half dozen or so stemmed wineglasses. But the rack and the glasses weren’t what captured her attention. It was the tiny reddish speck on the white counter next to the dish towel.

Kayla crossed the narrow expanse of tile to peer down at the speck. She looked from the speck to the array of wineglasses hanging above it. She withdrew a plastic glove from her jacket pocket and slipped it onto her right hand. Careful not to touch the rim of the glasses, she tilted each one and sniffed. At least two had not gone through the dishwasher. The scent of wine still lingered in the bowls. The fleck of red lay directly beneath one.

Next she picked up the towel and sniffed. Aside from the scent all towels had after lying on the counter a day or so, the distinct aroma of wine was unmistakable.

If Christine’s guest had been invited in and they’d shared some wine—tests performed at the E.R. indicated she’d had at least one glass—then it was no wonder there were no signs of forced entry. Her shooter hadn’t been a foe. He, or she, had been a friend.

Playing devil’s advocate, Kayla stood back and surveyed the small area of counter. It was possible Christine had had wine alone or with someone else prior to the shooter’s visit.

But why would she store unwashed wineglasses? Why simply dab them out with a dry dish towel and stick them back in the rack?

Okay. If she’d had wine last night, where was the opened bottle? It wasn’t listed on the forensics inventory her partner had rattled off to her.

She opened the refrigerator. No wine. It wasn’t anywhere else in the house because she’d already walked through twice.

No way. This would be too easy. She pivoted and crouched down in front of the sink cabinet. Sure enough, behind those innocuous-looking oak doors stood a half-empty bottle of red wine.

Kayla shook her head slowly from side to side. She snagged her cell phone from her belt and entered Jim’s number. Whoever had shot Christine had some brass ones, that was for sure. While she’d lain there struggling on the living room floor, her shooter had painstakingly cleared away the signs of his presence—except for the wine. What had stopped him? Maybe Kayla’s knock on the door.

Or maybe Kayla was wrong. The wine could have been something Christine had opened days ago, but not likely. Anyone who drank wine knew that it wouldn’t last more than a few days at room temperature after being opened. Not even red, when it was best served at room temp.

She explained to her partner that she needed one of the techs to stop back by and pick up the wine and glasses. She didn’t want to risk contaminating the evidence by trying to haul it in herself. Though whoever had done this had likely wiped the bottle as well as the glasses in an effort to clear away any prints, there was always the chance at least a partial would be found. Not to mention DNA evidence left behind on the rims of the glasses.

Prints and DNA were pretty much useless without a suspect to compare them with, but Kayla would take any evidence she could get. One way or another she was going to bring down whoever was responsible for this.

If she were a betting woman, she would wager that the culprit behind Christine’s shooting was someone who wanted to stop the investigation into Rainy’s murder.

The idea that it could have been Betsy Stone entered her mind. That was one lady she needed to get her hands on. That she was conveniently away when this kind of thing went down was just that…too convenient.

Since Kayla couldn’t ask Christine about the AWOL nurse, she’d ask Rebecca, the vice principal. Kayla needed to bring her up to speed on the investigation anyway. They hadn’t talked much last night. Both had been too worried about Christine.

But there were things that had to be done today.

Locating Betsy Stone was the first in a long list.

When Kayla arrived at the administrative offices another brick wall jumped out in front of her.

“What are you saying?” she demanded, too stunned to fully assimilate the vice principal’s words.

“Everything is gone,” Rebecca repeated. She plowed the fingers of one hand through her long, gray-streaked hair. “I can’t believe it. This has never happened before.”

The academy’s computer banks had been wiped. Not a single bit of information remained. Nothing.

“How soon can you have the backup files?” Kayla hadn’t found anything of note yet in her review of the files, but the fact that they’d been wiped indicated there was something to find. She would be working this case full-time now, which would help in her search for clues as to how the egg-mining incident came about. But she needed those files.

“Monday if we’re lucky.”

Since Athena Academy was still covered under the government’s umbrella of unofficial projects, there would be backup files. But like everything else it took time to get anything from the government. Calls had to be made, paperwork completed. A royal pain for the vice principal, who no doubt felt overwhelmed as it was.

Rebecca took a deep breath and visibly grappled for calm. “I’ll let you know the minute they’re downloaded.” She searched Kayla’s eyes. “Do you have anything yet on who did this? Is it possible that the two incidents could be connected?”

Kayla shook her head. “It’s too early to tell. We don’t have anything yet.” She didn’t mention the wine or the lack of forced entry at Christine’s bungalow. At this point even Rebecca was a suspect. Being promoted to principal would be a big step up for her. Every imaginable motive had to be eliminated.

“Please keep me informed.” She looked around her office as if she didn’t know where to begin or what should be done next. “I’ve got a million things to do.”

“I’ll get out of your way then.” Kayla managed a weary smile. She didn’t really believe Rebecca Claussen was capable of attempted murder, but it was way too early to rule anyone out. Even mild-mannered science teachers-turned-vice principals.

“Just one other thing,” Kayla said, remembering the other crucial information she’d needed. “Can you give me the telephone numbers and addresses of any family members or friends Betsy Stone has listed in her personnel file? Also,” Kayla tacked on as an afterthought, “I need to know if you hear from Betsy Stone.”

Rebecca obliged without protest or inquiry. The latter surprised Kayla, but it shouldn’t have. Nobody wanted to be under suspicion. If Kayla was focused on Betsy, maybe she wouldn’t drag Rebecca into the scrutiny.

Kayla took the info and left the administration building. She wasn’t usually so cynical, but this was getting to her. Rainy was dead. Christine was hanging on by a thread. What the hell was going on here? She surveyed the buildings that made up the Athena Academy. It had once been a mental health clinic and dry-out spa for the rich and famous. Who’d have thought all these years later, after massive renovations and being blessed with such a worthy cause, that insanity would still be thriving somewhere deep within those walls.

She had to get to the bottom of this, find the one who had started it, and put a stop to the evil once and for all. Athena Academy would not be safe until she did. Not for her daughter, not for anyone.

Kayla climbed into her Jeep and sat there for a while. The sun had climbed to the midmorning mark. Her vehicle faced east. Maybe that was a sign that she needed to consider all she’d learned so far. After all, east was the traditional Navajo thinking direction.

And she definitely needed to do some serious thinking.

While Rainy was a student at Athena, she’d had what those in charge believed to be an appendicitis attack. But that was a calculated deception. In reality she had been transferred to a hospital in Phoenix where a Dr. Henry Reagan, the prime suspect, had harvested Rainy’s eggs, damaging her ovaries.

Ads had been placed in a tabloid soliciting surrogates. They now knew that at least one woman, Cleo Patra, a Vegas showgirl, had responded to that ad and been implanted with a fertilized egg. Justin Cohen’s sister was believed to have responded to the ad as well, and later died in childbirth. Betsy Stone had been her nurse.

Cleo Patra had successfully delivered her baby but someone had stolen the child. Cleo insisted that a Nurse Stone had assisted Dr. Reagan. She claimed to have seen her on several occasions. Kayla had no proof that Betsy was guilty of anything. Betsy insisted she had worked for Reagan to supplement her salary and had never seen anything strange going on in the office. But after Christine’s confession that she had caught Dr. Carl Bradford searching through the files, and that she’d later caught Bradford and Stone together, Kayla had even more reason to believe Nurse Stone was guilty to some degree in this sinister plan. Unless she, too, had been Bradford’s pawn.

And now the nurse had seemingly disappeared.

Somehow Rainy had connected all the scattered dots. She had learned at least part of what Kayla and the Cassandras now knew. That knowledge had gotten her killed. Had put them all in danger in one way or another during the past few months.

But it wasn’t going away. Now that they knew the truth, intuition warned Kayla that they wouldn’t be allowed to live with that knowledge any more than Rainy had been.

Rainy was dead. Someone had attempted to kill Christine. What if Nurse Stone was already out of the picture as well?

Kayla had to find her.

Kayla picked up her daughter from school. It was the last day until after the new year.

“Can we do the tree?” Jazz asked the moment her bottom landed in the passenger seat. “All my friends already have their trees decorated.”

Of course they did. Kayla was always the last one to get around to the decorating thing.

“Sure.” Kayla pulled out onto the street. “You know your dad is coming for dinner this evening.”

“Yep.” Jazz made a face that said she hated to ask but intended to just the same, “Is it okay if you don’t wear your gun for dinner?”

Kayla frowned. If her weapon had ever bothered her daughter before she’d never mentioned it. More proof that things were changing.

“I guess that’d be okay,” Kayla relented. What the heck? It wasn’t like she wore the thing 24/7. Shooting Mike most likely wouldn’t be necessary. Yet.

“Did you cook?”

Kayla glanced across the seat. If her daughter’s eyes hadn’t been as round as saucers and her voice hadn’t sounded so incredulous, Kayla might have let the remark pass.

“What’s that supposed to mean, young lady?”

Jazz bit down on her lower lip, in an effort to hold back the giggles, no doubt. “Maybe we should go out.”

Kayla yanked one of her long braids. “Not necessary,” she shot back. “Lu Wan’s is delivering our dinner.”

Her daughter’s face lit up. “I love Lu Wan’s!”

The truth was, she and Jazz both loved anything oriental when it came to cuisine. So did Mike, she’d recalled. Though Kayla was far from happy about this arrangement, she had to do the right thing. Tonight might as well be tolerable.

With more than two hours to spare before the food and the father arrived, she and Jazz picked up a tree at a local lot and did the decorating thing. Kayla watched her daughter and her heart filled with gladness. How had she been so lucky? She couldn’t help thinking of Rainy and how she’d wanted a child so badly. She’d had the terrific husband but no child. Kayla, conversely, had the terrific kid but no husband.

Life could be so ironic.

With the thought of Rainy’s husband came Peter Hadden’s assertion that Marshall Carrington was somehow involved in smuggling. She wouldn’t believe that. Rainy would have known. Or would she?

The memory of her discussion with David Gracelyn joined the rest of the worries whirling around in her head. If Rainy was unhappy with Marshall would she have bothered to pay attention to what he’d been up to recently?

That was something Kayla would simply never know.

She thought of Christine Evans and Nurse Betsy Stone, both women she had known for years. Respected figures at Athena Academy. Both with secrets. One hanging on to life by a thread, one nowhere to be found.

Her gaze settled on her daughter once more. Though her entire family was quite modern, they still kept close to their hearts many Navajo traditions, such as enjoying the simpler things and the love of family. Other than her misstep that last year of school at Athena, attendance there had made a tremendous impact on her life. A very good impact. She was stronger and was a better person for her time there.

But Rainy was dead.

Then and there Kayla made the decision that had been weighing so heavily on her heart. She would send her daughter to Athena Academy—but only if she solved this old evil that still loomed over the school like a dark cloud.

Finding that truth was more than a matter of her job, more, even, than a matter of the promise…it was her quest. She must succeed in this quest to ensure her daughter’s future.

For the first time in a long time Kayla felt at peace with what lay before her.

The doorbell rang just then, and a whole new layer of tension and trepidation wrapped around her.

Mike was here.

Jazz was about to spend her first evening with her father.

Jazz opened the door and Mike towered in the threshold. He wore his Air Force uniform, for Jazz’s benefit, Kayla suspected. He wanted to impress his daughter.

“For you.” He held out a large bouquet of lovely cut flowers in Kayla’s direction.

Uncertain what to say, she accepted the sweet-scented peace offering.

“And for you.” He pulled a smaller, similar bouquet from behind his back and offered it to Jazz. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

So it began.

Mike laid on the charm and Jazz soaked it up like a sponge. Dinner arrived a few minutes later and they ate. Mike told an amazing assortment of military stories and Jazz loved every moment of it.

Kayla tried hard not to resent how much her daughter appeared to enjoy her father’s company, but she just couldn’t help herself. It was so unfair. All this time she’d managed without him, and now he was here, as big as life and stealing the show. She felt like an actress who’d won the role of a lifetime only to have it jerked out from under her at the last moment by a devious understudy.

But he was here. He was Jazz’s father. To pray that he would go away would be both unfair and unkind on a basic level. She couldn’t do that to her daughter.

Jazz was a bright child. As jealous as it made Kayla to watch her revel in her father’s attention, Jazz knew who had been there for her all these years.

Suddenly Kayla realized what really bothered her about Mike’s presence. She’d gotten over him long ago. She really wasn’t afraid of him, not really. What she was afraid of was being second-best in her daughter’s eyes.

Jazz looked toward her at that moment, as if Kayla had somehow telegraphed that last thought. She smiled widely, appreciatively.

She loved her mother. She appreciated Kayla’s tolerance of the situation. It was all there in those big hazel eyes.

Kayla didn’t have to worry about being second-best to Mike Bridges.

By ten Kayla had gotten pretty comfortable with Mike’s presence. Her tension had softened and she decided she could tolerate an occasional visit. Thinking beyond that was more than she could deal with, so she didn’t.

When Mike had said good-night to Jazz, Kayla walked him to his shiny red SUV.

“So you’re heading for Nevada tomorrow?” She’d heard him tell Jazz that he had to be back on the base this weekend, but she needed to confirm it.

“That’s right. I’ll be in touch with you about Christmas.”

Kayla tamped down the irritation that wanted to surface. “Just keep in mind that Christmas day is spent with my family.”

He nodded. “I’ll work around it.” He opened the driver’s side door of his vehicle. “You’ve got my number.”

Then he was gone.

Kayla stood there in the darkness and watched his taillights fade in the distance.

Jazz had told him about the church play next Sunday, the day after Christmas. He’d likely show up for that if he could get the leave time.

Again she tried hard not to resent his participation, but it wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination.

A sound whispered across her auditory senses.

She turned slowly and stared into the inky blackness of her backyard. The thick cluster of trees blocked out any light from the star-filled night.

Wishing she hadn’t given in to her daughter’s request that she not wear her gun at dinner, Kayla backed into the shadows at the side of the driveway. Slowly, noiselessly, she maneuvered her way toward the rear of the house.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at full attention and goose bumps skittered across her skin like tiny pearls spilling across the floor.

For months she’d been seized by this overwhelming sensation of being watched. She’d even considered that Mike might have someone watching her, trying to gather evidence. But he’d been here tonight. Why would he have had someone keeping an eye on her tonight? Then she’d wondered if it was Hadden, but that didn’t appear likely at this point.

Another sound raked across her senses. Closer. Maybe half a dozen yards from the corner of the house.

The idea that Christine Evans had been shot in her own home just last night didn’t deter Kayla from moving in that direction. She didn’t like being stalked, for any reason. If this was some ambitious private investigator Mike had hired, he was about to find out what it was like to two-step with a real cop.

If it was Christine’s shooter, well, since she was unarmed Kayla would have to improvise.

A thud on the other side of the privacy fence that separated Kayla’s yard from the neighbor’s behind her had her racing in that direction.

She scaled the dog-eared wood fence in two seconds flat. The neighboring yard was empty but the gate swung back and forth on its hinges on the street side of the property. Kayla headed in that direction but took a good look first left then right before bursting through the gate. She was unarmed after all.

Nothing.

Whoever had been in her yard was gone now.

A car engine started somewhere in the distance. Brake lights flickered briefly as the vehicle zoomed through an intersection.

Black. Two doors. She couldn’t make out the license plate. Just like the cemetery.

Kayla skirted her neighbor’s yard rather than barreling back through it. Back in her house she found Jazz engrossed in her favorite computer game.

“I don’t have to go to bed now, do I?”

The plea in her eyes won any battle Kayla might have hoped to launch before she uttered the first protest.

What the heck? It was Christmas vacation.

She hadn’t completely forgotten what it was like to be a kid.

“One more hour,” Kayla qualified.

“Thanks!” Jazz gave her a big hug. She looked up at her mom then. “And thanks for not freaking out about…Dad.”

Dad. God, that would take some getting used to.

“I’m a highly trained officer of the law,” Kayla informed her, hoping to conceal her real feelings with humor, “I don’t freak out.”

Jazz gave her one of those yeah-right looks. “I gotta get back to my game.”

Kayla propped her shoulder against the bedroom door frame and watched her daughter kick some cyber butt. She wondered if Jazz would want to go into law enforcement like her mom. Or maybe the legal side of things. Or even forensics. There was investigative reporting, the military or even private investigations.

All Athena graduates had their choice of futures. Her daughter would have that too.

Kayla would not fail her.

She had a promise to keep, to Rainy as well as her daughter.

Chapter 9

Monday morning brought a call from Rebecca Claussen.

The backup files for Athena were in. The download had completed at 9:30, just half an hour ago.

Kayla stared through the glass wall of Christine Evans’s room in ICU. Christine lay in the bed with half a dozen lines snaking out from her toward the machines that monitored her fragile hold on life. She remained in stable condition. The doctor had made his rounds and insisted that her condition looked quite good, the prognosis more favorable with each passing hour.

But she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Things could still go either way.

At Kayla’s prompting the sheriff had elicited the help of Youngtown’s police chief. Between the sheriff’s department and Youngtown’s finest, a guard stood posted outside Christine’s door 24/7.

Comfortable with Christine’s care and security, Kayla headed for Athena Academy. She wanted to get into those files as quickly as possible.

The weekend had turned out pretty well considering.

Dinner with Mike had gone better than she’d anticipated. Jazz’s grown-up attitude continued to amaze Kayla. She had to keep reminding herself that her daughter was only eleven…okay, she’d be twelve in a few weeks. But still, that was so damn young. How had she gotten so smart in such a short time?

She’d been cordial to her father, attentive. She hadn’t overreacted or withdrawn. The whole concept amazed Kayla. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but it wasn’t that. She had worried that Mike’s transition into their lives would be disruptive, problematic. The ease with which he waltzed into the situation felt almost surreal.

Her grandmother had always said that when something appeared too good to be true it usually was. Trepidation trickled through Kayla. She hoped, for Jazz’s sake, that her grandmother’s wisdom wouldn’t prove accurate this time.

Sunday dinner with her folks had gone smoothly as well. Mary had taken it upon herself to inform the family about Mike since Kayla had been tied up with the investigation into Christine’s shooting. Thank God for big sisters.

Kayla’s mother and father actually considered Mike’s involvement in Jazz’s life to be a pleasant surprise. Wow. Kayla still had trouble swallowing the overwhelming acceptance. Maybe she was the only one who’d had trouble coming to terms with this new twist. But then, her folks didn’t know everything. She hadn’t told them about Mike’s recent troubles with the Air Force. Maybe she should have.

And then what?

Made this tougher than it was already?

No. It was best to move forward, not look back.

One thing was certain: for her Mike Bridges was still on probation. She wouldn’t be letting down her guard any time soon.

Kayla parked in the admin parking area and headed straight for the files room. Rebecca had insisted that she make herself at home there. She’d also promised to have her secretary continue the search for Betsy Stone. Kayla had contacted every single relative and reference listed in Betsy’s file. No one had heard from her in years. Apparently she didn’t consider family a priority.

Jim was running a formal background search on Betsy, but so far he hadn’t turned up anything Kayla didn’t already know. Thankfully, Kayla could focus solely on this case since the shooting. That was the only good thing to come out of it. Another deputy was taking her regular shifts.

Kayla had mentally tossed around a number of scenarios over the weekend. Her investigation of egg harvesting had revealed two things consistently. Those involved in the process were either desperate to have a child of their own, or were hoping to find the closest thing to a perfect egg donor as possible. The point was to select a donor with preferred human characteristics. Physically and mentally superior.

Rainy had been strong, healthy as the proverbial horse. No defects. She had come from a family with the same traits on both sides, in other words good stock. She possessed the other desired qualities as well. Extremely intelligent with no mental instabilities. All of which came in a beautiful package. From what Kayla had ascertained about Thomas King, the suspected sperm donor, the same could be said for him.

Considering the extreme—and illegal—measures that had been taken to select the perfect specimens, it only made sense that the resulting offspring would be provided with all the best life had to offer in order to follow through with the intended theory.

Kayla entered the main files center at Athena Academy and sat down before the computer screen. The job that lay before her couldn’t be called simple. The number of files she would have to review was daunting. But she knew with complete certainty that the task would be worth the effort.

In the past few months Kayla had focused on searching for any sort of inconsistency in the files. Anything that stood out. But now she had another approach—looking for a student who resembled Rainy.

A child created with Rainy’s fertilized egg might have been sent to the finest schools on the planet. And if that child was a girl, that would no doubt have been Athena Academy. Kayla mentally kicked herself for not thinking of this earlier. Maybe she had. Perhaps she’d been looking for that connection from the beginning without actually spelling it out to herself.

It was a long shot. She couldn’t be sure…it was only speculation. The child, the baby girl Cleo Patra had given birth to, might not be Rainy’s. But Kayla had to try. It was the best idea she had right now.

The whole concept made sense. Those involved would consider the step pure genius. Create the perfect child, then send her to the perfect school—the same one her mother had attended. What better way to gauge results?

To narrow down her search criteria she selected students who would have attended Athena between twelve and eighteen years after Rainy’s eggs were mined. That dropped the number of candidates to a more reasonable level, just under four hundred.

Kayla thought about the information Tory Patton had provided on Thomas King, then limited the criteria further by selecting only those students with either blue eyes, like Rainy’s, or green, like Thomas King’s. Though she knew it was possible for the offspring to have inherited an ancestor’s eye color other than that of a parent, it was the next logical step to her way of thinking.

With the number of names reduced to around one hundred, she then threw in a third eliminating criteria, hair color. Rainy’d had chestnut-colored hair while Thomas King had blond. The list of names thinned to well under one hundred.

It was possible she had already disqualified Rainy’s child with her rudimentary criteria, but it was all she had to work with at the moment.

Since she already suspected that surrogate mothers would have borne Rainy’s babies, the offspring could have been adopted.

For attendance at Athena Academy, thorough background investigations were conducted on all potential students. Adoption information would be listed even if a parent didn’t want it to be.

Unfortunately not a single student under the current criteria base had been listed as adopted. Damn.

Kayla grumbled in frustration. She needed more.

But there was no more, leaving her no alternative except to review each one of those files in-depth.

No problem. Christine’s shooting was certainly related to Rainy’s murder, making both a part of Kayla’s ongoing case. Jazz was with her aunt Mary. Kayla had all day.

Since the files were listed in alphabetical order, that’s how she began. Each file included a picture, which she scanned, looking for a hint of Rainy in every face. She reviewed every single word regarding each student, then verified all pertinent personal data such as address, number of siblings, occupation of parents. Every damned detail. It was the only way.

And even then she might be looking at the wrong candidates.

A needle in a haystack.

But for now, it was the only direction in which she had to go. Anything was better than nothing.

She wouldn’t give up.

O.

O’Shaughnessy, Dawn.

Kayla stared at the image of the young, blond-haired woman with the gold-green eyes.

Her heart thundered, forcing the blood to roar in her ears.

It was incredible. The facial structure…cheekbones, mouth, even the straight slant of her nose was all Rainy.

“Jesus Christ.”

The hair and eyes were exact replicas of Thomas King.

The age was perfect.

Kayla had used Athena resources as well as law enforcement ones to verify her suspicions. The parents listed for Dawn O’Shaughnessy had never existed. The street address was false, the mailing address was a post office box that had changed hands a dozen times in the intervening years. The social security numbers for all three amounted to identity theft of the deceased.

Her hunch—shot in the dark, really—had paid off. Dawn O’Shaughnessy not only had the right looks, her background was as trumped-up as Santa Claus’s, no offense to the upcoming holiday.

Damn, that reminded her, she had a couple of gifts she still had to pick up.

Kayla scrubbed at her forehead.

Last-minute shopping would have to wait. Right now she had to find this Dawn.

DNA testing would easily confirm that she was Rainy’s child. Permission to conduct such testing was another matter altogether. She could only hope the girl would be as determined to learn the truth as Kayla was.

Her next step was to call the Cassandras and pass on the news. Before she reached for the phone she e-mailed Alex a copy of the file. Alex’s FBI contacts could be useful in finding the girl.

As usual, Darcy, Sam, Tory and Josie were unreachable. Kayla left messages for all four. Hearing Alex’s voice went a long way in soothing Kayla’s frazzled nerves.

“It’s her,” she told her Cassandra sister. “I know she’s Rainy’s daughter. Did you look at that picture?”

Dawn O’Shaughnessy had only attended Athena Academy for one year, her junior year. That didn’t really surprise Kayla. To keep the girl at the academy much longer would have been a risk. Selecting that particular year for her attendance had proven well thought out. As a junior Dawn would have had flying lessons as well as numerous other advance survival and self-defense skill courses at her disposal.

She had excelled in all.

“It’s incredible,” Alex said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. “The resemblance between her and Rainy is remarkable once you get past the golden hair and extraordinary eyes.”

“We have to find this girl.”

“I’m working on it already,” Alex assured her. An extended pause set Kayla’s nerves further on edge. “But I feel like I need to be there. For Christine…and for you.”

Kayla closed her eyes and held back the emotions that wanted to overflow. “That would be good. I could use your help.” And your support, she didn’t add.

“I’ve talked to Justin, and he wants me to fly over tomorrow. You know this affects him as well.”

She was right. Justin Cohen’s sister had been one of the surrogates, if their theory proved true. Although according to hospital records, the child she’d carried had died, too. Then again, look how accurate Rainy’s records had been….

Would Dawn have any ideas about her past? Wherever she had gone to college or now worked was a total mystery. At this point it looked as if the girl simply vanished after her one year at the academy.

There was always the chance she could be dead.

Kayla pushed aside that theory. She needed her alive. She wasn’t going to allow herself to believe otherwise.

“Call me when your flight arrives,” Kayla reminded Alex.

As she disconnected the call, she felt stronger already just knowing that Alex was on her way.

They were getting close now.

Kayla could feel it.

She packed up her notes, shut down the system she’d been using. At this point there was no reason to share what she’d discovered with anyone else. Especially since she wasn’t sure who she could trust, and what she had was clearly circumstantial. She hated to think of Rebecca Claussen as anything other than an ally, but she wouldn’t take the risk. Peter Hadden’s tall, handsome image popped into her head. She was actually surprised that she hadn’t heard from him this weekend, after Christine’s shooting. Maybe he was tied up on a big case.

Or maybe he’d decided that working with Kayla wasn’t worth the effort. Then again, after what he’d said to her in his car that night, maybe he was simply too embarrassed by his own admission.

It was dark already when she returned to the parking lot, but her mind wasn’t really fixed on how late it was. She kept playing Peter’s words over and over. He was attracted to her.

She hesitated, her hand on the Jeep’s door. Peter? Since when had she started referring to him as Peter?

Dumb, Kayla, she chastised as she opened the driver’s side door. Really dumb.

She hesitated before climbing into the vehicle. That creepy sensation of being watched engulfed her.

Kayla surveyed the deserted parking area. Had everyone gone home already? Rebecca hadn’t even popped in to say good-night. Was she still inside? But her car wasn’t in the lot.

Kayla sat down behind the wheel of her Jeep and closed the door, instinctively depressing the lock button.

The incidents were growing closer, increasing in frequency. Whoever was tracking her was growing bolder.

Kayla started the engine and shifted into drive. Tail or no tail, she had things to do. Intimidation, if that was the intent, wasn’t going to slow her down. She touched the weapon at her side. Not in this lifetime.

With even more certainty, she had reason to believe Christine’s shooting as well as this persistent shadow were connected to Rainy’s murder. Someone knew Kayla was getting closer to the truth.

How close would she be allowed to get before more aggressive steps were taken to intervene?

Only one way to find out.

Kayla drove straight to Christine’s bungalow. She passed slowly, then abruptly stopped halfway down the street that would lead to Betsy Stone’s home.

She climbed out of the Jeep. Strode straight up to Christine’s home and performed a perimeter check. A guard hadn’t been posted, since it was unlikely further evidence could be gathered from the scene.

Kayla turned all the way around, scanned the moonlit area. Her shadow stayed out of sight, but he was there. She felt his presence.

Kayla walked the distance to Betsy Stone’s place. As with Christine’s, she walked the perimeter, checked the doors and windows. Nothing had been disturbed.

Nurse Stone had not returned to her small, cozy home.

Kayla didn’t have to speculate on that conclusion. Last time she’d stopped by she’d taped the doors, front and back, as well as the windows. If anyone had entered the premises the transparent tape would have been broken or detached. In each instance the tape was exactly as she’d left it.

Wherever the good nurse had disappeared to, she hadn’t returned to her home or the campus as far as anyone knew.

Was she running for her life, or on the run?

Or dead?

Kayla had to find her, if she was still alive. She was the key.

Then and there Kayla made another decision. Whether Betsy Stone showed or not, she intended to get a search warrant on her home first thing tomorrow. If there was any evidence inside those four walls, Kayla wanted it before someone else got hold of it. But she had to get it legally, or anything she found would be inadmissible in court.

The possibility that Christine’s shooter could have already pilfered Stone’s house punched a hole in Kayla’s hope, but she had to be sure. Overlooking any lead or aspect, no matter how remote, was bad police procedure. Kayla prided herself on good cop work, and she wasn’t about to change now.

When she’d looked her fill she drove to Mary’s house. She hated missing dinner with her daughter but it was too late to worry about that now.

She braked to a stop at the curb, her full attention zeroing in on the red SUV parked behind her brother-in-law’s truck.

Until she’d gotten out and walked up to the vehicle so she could make out the license plate she told herself that it couldn’t be. Had to be a coincidence.

But she was wrong.

1PILOT.

Mike.

Fury exploded inside Kayla as she strode up the walk and onto her sister’s porch.

The scene inside the house only fueled her already out-of-control fury and frustration—a volatile mix under any circumstances.

Mike, looking as much at home as any member of the family, sat on the sofa next to Jazz. Mary’s husband occupied his favorite chair. Mary’s two boys were sprawled on the floor, heads cupped in hands, watching television.

“Hey, Kayla.” Her sister greeted her, the door held open wide as if the scenario playing out inside her living room was completely innocent and totally normal. “I was worried.”

The worry in Mary’s eyes was the only thing that kept Kayla from going off then and there. The expression on her face signaled that she wasn’t completely comfortable.

“Sorry, I was on a case.” Her gaze shifted to Mike. “What’s up?”

Mary ushered her into the room and closed the door. “Mike dropped in on us a couple hours ago,” she explained, keeping her tone light and cheery. Too cheery. “He had the day off and thought he’d drive down.”

Mike finally bothered to join the conversation. He stood and walked toward Kayla.

She worked hard at keeping her face free of the anger boiling inside her. “Really?” The tension in the one word was thick enough to cut with a knife. “How nice.”

He flared his hands. “I tried to call you today but never could catch you at home.”

“That’s why I carry a cell phone,” she inserted with an exaggerated smile.

A frown marred his handsome face. “I…ah…” He shook his head. “I don’t have your cell number.”

As much as she wanted to bite off his head and spit down his neck, he was right. Dammit.

“Anyway,” he went on, “I left a couple of messages on your machine en route.”

“You drove all this way not knowing if we’d gone out of town for some reason?” That just didn’t sound like the self-serving guy she’d once known.

He shrugged. “I had to take the chance. Something’s come up at the base and I won’t be able to get away this weekend. I didn’t want to have to wait until after Christmas to give Jazz her present.”

Fury mushroomed inside Kayla all over again. He’d come bearing gifts? Perfect.

“Come look, Mom!” Jazz motioned for her to join her at the dining room table.

Mary looked utterly mortified.

Kayla had a bad feeling.

“Isn’t it cool?”

On Mary’s dining room table Kayla saw her daughter’s gift from her newly interested father.

A state-of-the-art, big-name laptop computer.

Not one of the no-frills models Kayla had purchased. She recognized the compact machine at once. It must have cost at least two grand.

Son of a…

“It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Kayla smiled and made all the expected responses. What else could she do? Her daughter was clearly thrilled. But Kayla felt sick to her stomach. What was she supposed to do with the laptop computer she’d purchased? What in the world would she buy for her daughter now?

There was no way to top Mike’s gift.

Kayla suddenly felt exactly like second best.

She nibbled at the dinner Mary thrust in front of her. Her mouth somehow tossed out the necessary answers whenever someone addressed her. But she didn’t know how she kept it up. Only by the grace of God.

Finally Mike mentioned that he should get on the road. He couldn’t be away from the base as long as he would have liked.

Poor bastard, Kayla thought with absolutely no sympathy.

She stiffened as he kissed his daughter good-night. But it wasn’t really his gesture that got to Kayla—it was the way her daughter responded. She hugged him so tight…as if she wanted to hang on…and on.

Kayla told herself she could be rational about this as she followed Mike outside. But the moment they were alone that possibility evaporated in a blast of red-hot anger that should have melted the soles of her shoes.

“How could you?” she demanded between clenched teeth. He’d upstaged her Christmas. Had outmaneuvered her.

“What’re you talking about?” Mike laid on that innocent look just a little too thick.

“I had already bought her a laptop,” Kayla snarled like a wounded animal. Only he, or maybe some criminal, could bring out the beast in her like this.

He held out his hands in bewilderment. “I had no idea.” He dropped his arms back to his sides and cocked his head to eye her suspiciously. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Kayla? You think I did this on purpose?”

“Don’t try that innocent gig on me, Mike,” she ground out. “Remember, I know you. I learned your MO the hard way.”

“Don’t confuse me with one of your criminals.” His face tightened with his own mounting anger. “I’m only trying to do the right thing here.”

“Too little too late, hotshot.” She planted her hands at her hips. “Do you think you can just come back here and act like the past twelve years didn’t happen? Get real, Bridges, this is not a game. This is real. I’m not going to let you play games with Jazz’s feelings.”

“I’m not playing games.” A muscle in his hard jaw flexed. “I have a right to see my daughter. I’m sorry if my showing up tonight was an inconvenience but to be honest, you weren’t around, so what does it matter?”

Any hopes she’d had of keeping this civil vanished. “You bastard. I have a job to do. Don’t you dare hold that against me. You’ve used your career to get out of every personal responsibility you’ve ever had. You have no right to come here and judge me.”

“I have as many rights as you do,” he threw back. “Ask any lawyer.”

Fear tightened around her throat like the greedy fingers of the grim reaper. “Don’t even think about it, Bridges,” she cautioned. “I’ll dig up your every escapade. You think your name is mud now, just try me.” She glared at him, infusing every ounce of determination she possessed into that lethal stare. “You will regret it.”

“I tried to reach you,” he restated, visibly backing off.

The about-face startled Kayla. Was this some kind of new tactic? “So you said. Just remember, we do this my way. Next time you want to see Jazz you don’t show up until we’ve squared it. Got it?”

He hesitated, but only for a split second. “Got it.”

“I guess you’d better get on the road.”

He nodded, his gaze averted, his posture still rigid in spite of his composed tone. “I’ll be in touch.”

Kayla didn’t move until he was gone from sight. She closed her eyes and grappled for calm. What the hell was he thinking? Instinct warned that it was not nearly as simple as he wanted her to believe it was. The fear that had gripped her throat relaxed marginally, just enough for her to draw in a much-needed breath.

She definitely could not trust him.

“Why’d you do that?”

Kayla whirled around at the sound of Jazz’s voice. Her daughter stood on the porch staring at her, tears glistening on her cheeks, hurt shining in her big eyes.

“Jazz, you don’t understand.” Kayla started toward her. “Your dad and I—”

“I understand,” she accused. “You want him to go away like before. You don’t want him to come around any more.”

Kayla’s heart bumped against her sternum, sending a shattering ache reverberating through her. “No, sweetie, that’s not true.” When she started up the porch steps Jazz backed away.

“I know you don’t like him,” she said, her voice shaky with emotions. “But I do.”

Kayla exhaled a heavy breath as she crossed to where her daughter hovered in the door, half in, half out of the house. “I know you do. I’m not trying to make him go away.” She held out her hand to her daughter but Jazz dodged her touch. “Let’s go home now. We can talk about this tomorrow when we’ve both settled down.”

Jazz shook her head. “I’m not going with you. I’m staying here.”

Before Kayla could say more Jazz ran inside. Mary, who’d waited by the door, clearly torn between interfering and keeping her mouth shut, stepped out onto the porch.

“Let her be,” she offered gently. “This is all so confusing for her. Let her spend the night with me.”

“But, Mary, we need to work this out.” Kayla fought back the sting of tears.

“Of course you do, but not tonight. Let her sleep on it.” Mary managed a faint smile. “You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. She’ll wake up in the morning asking for you. You know how kids are.”

Kayla could only hope. She shook her head. “Why is it I’m the bad guy?” It just wasn’t fair. “He flits around all over the world while I’m here taking care of business, then when he finally shows up I’m the one doing everything wrong.”

Mary hugged her close, smoothed a hand over her hair. “Shhh,” she urged. “Don’t do this to yourself. You know this isn’t your fault. It’ll work out.” Mary drew back then, her cheeks damp with the emotion she could not restrain. “Mark my words, sister, all will work out if you allow nature to take its course.”

Kayla released another of those soul-shuddering breaths. “You’re right. I’m overreacting.”

Mary patted her arm reassuringly. “You’re human. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll deliver your precious daughter to you tomorrow after choir practice—or you can pick her up.”

Kayla had forgotten about that.

“I’ll pick her up. Kiss her good-night for me, would you?”

“I will.”

Leaving with that heartache unresolved between her and her daughter was one of the hardest things Kayla had ever had to do. But she was the grown-up here. Her daughter didn’t fully understand. It would take time and patience on both their parts.

Tomorrow things would be better.

Chapter 10

Kayla parked in her driveway but didn’t get out of the Jeep. Her heart felt heavy with regret that she hadn’t been able to make up with Jazz. But a part of her was still furious with Mike.

No doubt she would get inside and find a couple of messages from him, but why hadn’t he bothered to call her office? Anyone there would have been happy to patch him through to her. The bottom line was he hadn’t wanted to locate her. Not really. He’d wanted to avoid the whole confrontation and simply show up…and steal the show.

That’s what he’d done, all in one fell swoop. Jazz was charmed and Kayla was the bad guy.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to push aside the hurt and anger. Being a parent just kept getting harder…her every move lately felt wrong.

A soft tap on her window jerked her head up and her eyes wide open. Her hand was on the butt of her weapon before her brain assimilated what she saw.

Peter Hadden.

Detective Hadden, she amended, annoyed at herself for thinking of him in any other capacity.

“You planning to stay a while?”

His smile had the usual effect. She felt her tension melting despite her determination not to let him get to her on any level.

She opened the door and got out, automatically depressing the lock button as she closed it. The act had nothing to do with her certainty that someone was keeping a watch on her. An unlocked door, home or automobile, was an invitation to thieves.

“What’re you doing here?” Was the wrong man popping into her life tonight destiny or what? First Mike and now him.

And what was so wrong with this handsome detective? another voice challenged. God, there it was. The part of her that suffered with loneliness and wished she had a physical relationship in her life. Why was it a woman didn’t feel complete without a man in her life? Was this God’s sense of humor at work? Or maybe it simply boiled down to basic biology.

That’s all she really needed, wasn’t it? Just some good sex to stave off depressing nights like tonight?

“I wanted to ask how your friend is doing.”

He was lying. He hadn’t driven all this way just to find out information he could have gotten over the phone. He might be a great detective, might even fool the suspects he interrogated, but whenever he lied to her she could tell.

“She’s stable.” Hanging on by a thread, she didn’t say. “Still unconscious, so we don’t know any more about what happened than we did when we found her.”

He nodded, his expression somber. He knew the way this worked better than she did. No cop wanted a case to stand still. Not moving forward equated to going backward. In some aspects of the overall investigation Kayla had made definite headway, but in others she was still running blind.

“Can we talk?”

Something changed in his expression then, and the transition set her on edge. “What’s up?”

He inclined his head toward her house. “You could invite me in?”

She would have liked to think that the query was an invitation based on the other night’s confession of attraction, but she sensed that there was something more on his mind.

A new kind of apprehension working its way into her composure, she shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

He followed her onto the porch, waited patiently while she unlocked the door. She flipped the wall switch and a lamp next to the sofa bloomed with soft light. She cringed. She hadn’t picked things up in a while, and Christmas decorating paraphernalia was scattered everywhere.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?”

She hadn’t meant to make the offer but she could damn sure use one herself. It wasn’t like she could have a drink without asking him and taking the edge off this night had just gone from a nice idea to an outright necessity.

“I’d love one.”

She peeled off her jacket and tossed it onto a chair. Her utility belt, including her weapon, followed. She didn’t need to worry about it lying around tonight. Jazz wouldn’t be here. A fresh stab of pain sliced through her heart. This evening had definitely sucked.

In the kitchen she pulled the half-empty bottle of white wine from her fridge and dug through her cabinets until she found two stemmed glasses. She thought about the wine and glasses at Christine’s house. Prints had been lifted from both the glasses and the bottle, but no match in any of the databases had been found. No real surprise there.

Someone Christine knew, most likely, had entered her home, shared wine with her, then shot her. Kayla wouldn’t have been so certain about that were it not for the way the glasses had been stored. Christine Evans was too particular to have put the glasses away dirty and to have stuck a bottle of red wine under the sink. In fact that quick cleanup had been so sloppy, Kayla felt certain she’d interrupted the perp.

Kayla’s thoughts went back to Nurse Betsy Stone. It could have been her. Damn, she hated to think the nurse was capable of attempted murder, but she’d certainly been involved with what happened to Rainy. Criminal activity escalated more often than not. There was every reason to believe at this point that she could be involved in most anything.

With the glasses filled, she made her way back into the living room where Peter Hadden waited. He’d occupied himself with looking at the collection of framed photos she had sitting about. Most were of Jazz, from infancy to this last Thanksgiving. A few of family. Then one or two with Jazz and Kayla together. Not a single one of the father.

God, she had to get past the whole Mike issue. It wasn’t like his sudden appearance was the end of the world.

Enough was enough. She glanced at the answering machine as she passed it, two messages. Just like he’d said.

“Your daughter is really gorgeous,” Peter said as he set a photograph back on the mantle.

Hadden. Not Peter.

“Thanks.” She handed him the glass in her left hand.

“Thank you.” That high voltage smile flashed, sending a little shock wave straight through her.

Flustered, frustrated, and just plain fed up, Kayla took a long drink of her wine. She had to regain control here.

“She’s with your family tonight?”

Nosy, wasn’t he?

“Yeah. We had a fight.” She gulped another swallow, hoping against hope the alcohol would hurry up and do its woefully needed work.

“About Mike Bridges.”

She almost choked, coughed then cleared her throat. “You got a crystal ball in your pocket, Detective?”

Maybe he was the one who’d been following her. Nah, that couldn’t be right. What would be his motivation?

“I called looking for you over the weekend and your partner said I shouldn’t give you any grief because you had enough already with the shooting of Christine Evans and Jazz’s father showing up.”

Kayla considered whether capital punishment applied when one cop killed another. Jim must have really been worried about her. She had complained a number of times about Hadden’s annoying interference. She narrowed her gaze. More likely the fine detective had wormed it out of her pushover of a partner.

“That’s right,” she admitted. “He’s decided he wants to know his daughter after all this time.” Why the hell was she even telling Hadden this? “His timing stinks, but then it always did.”

Hadden set his glass on the nearest table. “I wish I didn’t have to dump more bad news on you.”

Kayla went still. “What?” She set her glass next to his. Had he learned something else about Rainy or Marshall? If he was here to try and convince her that Marshall was a bad guy, well, he could just save himself the energy.

“Kayla, Marshall Carrington is dead.”

She blinked. Her mind refused to accept the words her ears clearly heard. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he was killed in a smuggling operation. The authorities in Bogotá haven’t given us all the details yet, but the FBI is looking into the incident. The consensus is that the deal went sour and Marshall was caught in the middle.”

Bogotá? FBI?

She shook her head in denial. “He said he wouldn’t be going to Colombia until after the new year.” This didn’t make sense.

“The trip got moved up. His contact in Tucson called and passed along the instructions Friday afternoon.”

“But I just talked to him—”

Hadden wrapped his strong fingers around her arms and gazed down at her with genuine sympathy. “I know you didn’t want to believe the worst about him, but what I told you is true and it cost him his life.”

She shook her head again. “This is crazy. I need to call—” She couldn’t think what to say…how to proceed. This couldn’t be real. No way. There had to be a mistake. “Who identified the body?” That’s it. It was a mistake. Marshall had been confused with someone else.

“A Bureau agent identified him, Kayla. There is no mistake.”

She jerked free of his hold. “Why would he be involved in smuggling? It’s not like he needed the money!” She froze, her mind screaming but her body unable to respond immediately. “Are…are you thinking that what he was involved in had something to do with Rainy’s murder?”

“I don’t know. We believe he kept that part of his life completely secret from Rainy, but his associates could have known about her.”

“How long…” God, even asking the question felt like an outright betrayal to the man she had adored and respected. “How long was he supposed to have been involved with this smuggling?” A frown nagged at her brow. “And what the hell was he supposed to be smuggling?”

“There’s not a lot I can tell you,” Hadden cautioned. “I can say that he’d been involved for at least two years, maybe longer. I can’t share more than that at this point. But,” he pressed her with his piercing blue gaze, “trust me when I say there’s no evidence that ties his activities to Rainy’s death.”

He still refused to call it a murder.

She turned away from him, unable to deal with the truth she saw in his eyes. All that she’d believed in was suddenly going to hell. Rainy was dead. Athena Academy was somehow involved. Christine Evans and Betsy Stone were up to their necks in secrets, one fighting for her life in the hospital, the other missing, maybe even dead. And now Marshall. Jesus, that didn’t even include Mike’s sudden interest in her daughter.

The idea of what might be next was too terrifying to contemplate at the moment.

“I really am sorry, Kayla.” Hadden moved in close behind her. Her body reacted instantly to his nearness. “I didn’t come here to gloat. I wanted to be the one to tell you because I knew you’d be hurt.”

Anger flared inside her. She swiveled to face him. “Well, you were right. Bully for you. What do you want now? A medal? Thanks, Detective, but you aren’t likely to find any compensation here.”

The angst in his expression told her she’d accomplished her mission. She’d cut him to the bone. Somehow the realization gave her no satisfaction.

“I should go.”

Before he could walk away, a truckload of contrition heaped onto Kayla’s shoulders. “Wait.” She closed her eyes and blew out a weary breath. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” She’d have to call the girls. Alex…

Who would call the Millers? She wasn’t sure Marshall had any close family living. Did he have an attorney?

She opened her eyes once more and lifted her gaze to Hadden’s. He did look as if he cared how she felt. Or was that wishful thinking?

She so needed something good to be real tonight.

The hurt from seeing Mike with Jazz and that damned laptop. Watching Christine lie in ICU on the edge of death. Discovering the identity of a young woman who might be Rainy’s child. Marshall’s death. It was just too much.

His arms were suddenly around her and Kayla didn’t resist. Couldn’t possibly have held back. She needed his strength, his warmth. Needed him.

For a long while he held her that way, allowing her to lean against him. But that would never be enough.

Without having to say a word, he suddenly understood that she needed more. He lifted her face to his and he kissed her, long and thoroughly. He took his time, didn’t rush, allowing the sweet sensations to wash over and over her again and again.

Kayla couldn’t remember how long it had been since a man had held her…kissed her this way. Didn’t even want to think about it. She just wanted to feel.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the hall. “Second door on the left,” she murmured between kisses.

That was all the instruction he required.

Peter Hadden lowered her to her feet in the middle of her cluttered bedroom. One by one he released the buttons of her police-issue shirt, then pulled it free of her slacks and pushed it off her shoulders. He ushered her to the edge of the unmade bed, then knelt before her to remove her shoes and socks.

Kayla said nothing. She simply reveled in watching him. His unhurried movements. His close attention to every single detail, like the way he massaged her bare feet. The feel of his long fingers soothing, caressing almost undid her completely.

He released the button at her waist. She stood just long enough for him to lower the zipper then tug down the slacks. At last she was naked save for her bra and panties. The way he skimmed her body with his eyes, his expression awed, she couldn’t possibly feel embarrassed, only flattered…desired.

With slow, infinite finesse he kissed her belly, teased her flesh with his tongue.

Her body quivered in anticipation. She couldn’t take it.

Tugging him to his feet she assumed control. She wasn’t nearly so patient and careful in removing his clothes. Buttons flew loose from his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and she dragged down his trousers and briefs.

Finally they were on the bed together, his weight bearing down on her. The panties and briefs disappeared. The bra fell away. He was touching her all over, with those skilled hands and that wicked tongue.

His kisses went on and on, pleasured every part of her and she paid him back in kind.

When neither of them could take the building tension any longer, he entered her…held completely still for one endless moment. When they could breathe again he started to move…she met his every thrust until they came together in a searing blast of frantic release.

The second time they reached for each other, both had grown bolder, more creative, allowing for an even deeper physical satisfaction. This time it was about pure pleasure, not the desperation of the first time.

His breath ragged from his recent climax, Hadden slumped against her back. The smooth, damp feel of his skin set hers on fire all over again. She snuggled deeper into the covers, arched her bottom against him and relished the feel of him on top of her, his still-hard sex pressed firmly against her buttocks.

She should have known it would be like this. Maybe that’s why she’d resisted the attraction for so long.

There had been other men in her life, but somehow, she had known Peter Hadden was different…special. Too good to be true. She shivered, suddenly uncertain of herself.

“I may not survive this night,” he murmured against her ear. “You are incredible.”

Kayla couldn’t prevent the smile that tickled her lips from widening into a grin. “Don’t talk,” she warned. “Catch your breath so we can go again.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Fine by me.” He kissed lower, flicked his tongue in slow circles on her flesh. “This time you can be on top first.”

“You like that, do you?” she asked, forcing away her feelings of vulnerability.

She started to turn over, but he stopped her. “Hold still.”

She obliged, unsure she actually wanted to wait for anything. Considering the second round had been markedly more delicious than the first, she could only imagine how round three would be.

“What’s this?”

He touched a sensitive place on her back just above her shoulder blade.

“What does it look like, a mole?” She had noticed a tender spot now and again at the edge of where her bra strap hit, but each time she’d tried to see the cause in the mirror it simply looked like an irritated mole.

“I don’t think this is a mole. I think…hmmm.”

“What?” She pushed her way into a sitting position, forcing him to move off her. “What is it?”

“Let me wash my hands.” He climbed off the bed. “Do you have some peroxide and maybe some Q-tips?”

“In the bathroom.” Frowning, Kayla watched him trot to the adjoining bathroom. But the view had her frown fading fast. He had a great ass. Truly superb, muscled buttocks that made her insides contract with want…even after two sessions of phenomenal sex.

“Look under the sink,” she shouted when she heard him rummaging through her medicine cabinet. Maybe a third round wasn’t a good idea after all.

Prompted by the sound of water running she decided maybe she should at least pull on her panties. By the time she’d tracked them down and tugged them up her legs he was back, peroxide, Q-tips, and cotton balls in hand.

Her gaze instantly dropped from that well-defined chest to a six-pack abdomen and then lower still to runner’s legs and a semi-aroused sex. The air hissed out of her lungs.

Oh, yes. There would have to be a round three.

Whatever tomorrow might bring…she was going to enjoy this. The damage was done. She’d slept with him. What difference did it make if it was once or four times?

“Sit.” He gestured to the edge of the bed. She obeyed. He settled onto the bed behind her. “This might sting a little.”

“What the hell is it, Hadden?” She absolutely would not call him by his first name and make this any more personal.

“We’ll see, Ryan,” he mocked.

Her face flushed with the idea that he knew exactly what she was doing. She felt him probing with one of the Q-tips and she focused on that for the moment.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

Sorry or not, he kept prodding. She gritted her teeth to keep from complaining further. No way was he going to call her a wimp.

“Got it.”

He dabbed peroxide onto the wound. “Check this out while I get the antibiotic ointment and a bandage.”

He handed her a cotton ball with a tiny object, about the size of an apple seed, on it. What the hell?

Carefully she set the cotton ball on the dresser and put on a T-shirt. She needed a magnifying glass. She picked up the cotton ball, then moved into her living room and fished for the magnifying glass she kept in her desk. If need be she’d drag out Jazz’s chemistry set. But a microscope might not be necessary.

Ten minutes later, her wound covered with ointment and a bandage, she’d dug out the microscope and both she and Hadden had taken turns viewing the object.

“It’s a tracking device,” she pronounced, bewildered.

“I agree.” He drew back from the child-size microscope and looked at Kayla. “When do you suppose you picked this up? And where?”

Thankfully he’d pulled on his pants, otherwise she might not have been able to concentrate. She raked her fingers through her hair and wracked her brain for an answer. “I don’t know. I…” The memory of fainting at the academy back in August shortly after Rainy died slammed into her memory. She’d gone there just after Rainy’s funeral to make a copy of Rainy’s medical file. She’d passed out, right by the copier. At first she’d thought it was from stress, but later she and the Cassandras had discovered that the Cipher—the assassin who’d killed Rainy—had a device that used a frequency to cause people to pass out. He’d used it to cause Rainy’s accident. He’d later tried to do the same to Alex, while she’d been driving. And he had likely used it on Kayla. And now she could guess why.

Betsy Stone had been keeping an eye on her when she awoke. Kayla just bet that Betsy had implanted the device.

Christine had been there too, when Kayla woke up. Could she have been in on it?

“How long do you think it’s been there?”

He thought about that a moment. “More than a few weeks. Couple months maybe. It’s hard to say. Your bra strap probably irritated it.”

If his guess was even close to accurate, the timing fit.

She bagged the device in a Ziploc sandwich bag. The idea that Betsy Stone had planted the device on her while she was unconscious, probably a victim of the Cipher’s technique, made her blood simmer with rage. No wonder her shadow had been able to follow her every move. She had no doubt now that the numerous anomalies were connected. Rainy’s death, Christine’s shooting and Kayla’s shadow were all related. “I’ll have Fred Kaiser over at the lab take a look at this to confirm our suspicions.”

“Good idea.”

She set the bag on the counter and looked up at him. As furious as she was at the idea of Betsy Stone having done this to her—certainly no one else had had the chance—there was nothing she could do about it tonight. And she definitely didn’t want to answer any more of Hadden’s questions. Like him, when it came to his cases, there was only so much she was at liberty to disclose.

“So, what now?” she asked. Her heart started to hammer as she saw desire flicker in his eyes.

“It’s not that late.” He was right. Just past midnight. “I guess we could get some sleep since we both have a big day tomorrow.”

She locked her arms around his neck and tilted her mouth toward his. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Right.” His mouth closed over hers and everything else drifted into insignificance.

Kayla overslept the next morning.

“Dammit.” She snapped her utility belt into place and shoved her weapon into its holster.

What the hell had she been thinking last night? She grabbed the bag that contained the tracking device. She’d drop it off first, then check on Christine.

Then she intended to find Betsy Stone, dead or alive.

“The morning after is the worst part.”

Her gaze collided with Hadden’s. He lounged against her kitchen counter, second cup of coffee in hand. She had to look away from his damaged shirt. She couldn’t believe she’d ripped it off him. Those desperate moments tumbled one over the other through her mind.

No matter how embarrassed a part of her was this morning, her body still hummed with lingering pleasure. Damn, the guy knew how to make love to a woman.

“I have to go.” She couldn’t talk about last night right now. Didn’t even need to be thinking about it. She had to find that nurse. Alex and Justin would arrive sometime today. And she had to touch base with Sam, Darcy, Tory and Josie about Christine and Marshall. God, she still couldn’t believe Marshall was dead. But it was true. And with his body still in Colombia, God only knew when a funeral would happen. “Lock up for me, would you?” She had to get out of here.

Hadden stepped in her path when she would have left the room. “I’ll call you.”

She nodded. Didn’t want him to make promises he might not be able to keep. Her experiences thus far with commitment had been less than reliable. That’s why she didn’t do long-term relationships.

He took her by the arm before she could get away. “I will call, Kayla. Count on it. I’ll be in the area for a day or two on another case. I hope we can have dinner.”

“Gotta go.”

Kayla left the handsome detective from Tucson in her kitchen. She had to have been out of her mind to have allowed things to go so far with him.

She did a bone-jarring, ninety-degree turn in Reverse out of her driveway and rocketed forward in the Jeep.

She hadn’t even been out on a date with the guy and she’d slept with him!

Christ!

Was that stupid or what?

Blocking any further thought on the subject before she could start answering herself, she whipped out her cell phone and checked in with her partner. He needed to know where she would be this morning.

Next she called Mary’s house, but her sister had already taken Jazz to choir practice.

Dammit. She’d wanted to talk to her daughter this morning.

She’d just have to make sure she picked her up at noon and that they spent some quality time together. Sorted out this mess. Maybe she’d even call Mike and apologize. Scratch that. She wasn’t going to surrender that easily. He had to understand that his participation in Jazz’s life had to be a team effort. He had to work with Kayla, not against her. Let him apologize.

The drive to the lab near Casa Grande took up precious time. Kayla didn’t hang around and chat with her pal Fred. He promised he would have a full analysis for her by lunchtime and would call her cell phone. She smiled grimly at the thought that whoever was tracking her would be on a wild goose chase until they realized the game was up. Just over half an hour later, having broken a number of traffic laws, she was back in Athens.

Athena Academy looked desolate this morning. Only a few more days from Christmas, it was most likely everyone was gone for the holidays. Rebecca Claussen wasn’t in yet so Kayla decided to check out Betsy Stone’s place just in case she’d returned.

She parked her Jeep at Christine’s bungalow and made her way on foot through and around the copse of trees that dotted the rear of the small housing area. There was still no vehicle in sight at Betsy’s house, but it could be in the garage. If Betsy was in there, Kayla didn’t want her to have any warning that she had company. She supposed there was some chance the woman didn’t realize her cover had been blown. It took some courage to keep doing her job when Kayla had confronted her on two other occasions with certain facts. The seemingly unfazed woman had simply denied the accusations and gone on about her business. Or maybe the woman was just plain cocky. If Kayla’s suspicions proved accurate, Stone had been at this for years. She’d had plenty of time to get comfortable with lying.

When Kayla reached the rear entry door to Betsy Stone’s bungalow a smile slid across her face, the first job-related one in several days.

Someone had been in Betsy’s house. The tape Kayla had placed across the edge of the door beneath the locking mechanism had been pulled loose from the jamb by the opening of the door.

Kayla’s pulse rate jumped into double time. She hoped like hell it was Betsy.

Kayla prayed the back door wouldn’t squeak as she slowly turned the knob and ushered the wooden door inward. It obliged.

Sounds echoed from somewhere beyond the kitchen. A bedroom maybe?

Kayla moved noiselessly across the room, her weapon drawn and leveled. As she cleared the living room and started into the hall the sounds grew louder, more distinct. Whoever was in there, he or she was definitely doing some damage. The rip of fabric combined with the friction of ransacking splintered the air.

Kayla paused outside the door of the first bedroom she reached. The perp didn’t let up, had no idea he or she was about to have company.

Tightening her grip on her weapon, Kayla swung around the doorjamb and leveled her weapon on the first thing that moved.

Betsy Stone.

Chapter 11

Kayla watched Betsy Stone from the observation booth on the other side of the mirror flanking one wall of the interrogation room. She hadn’t admitted to anything yet other than having driven to Texas to visit her niece. Dammit. Kayla suspected it was a lie, but since she hadn’t been able to reach the so-called niece, she couldn’t disprove Betsy’s statement.

“You realize we can only hold her twenty-four hours on suspicion,” Jim said, “then we’ll have to charge her or let her go.”

“I know.” Letting her go would be a huge mistake. Betsy Stone had been preparing to run when Kayla had found her. The woman’s purse had contained her passport as well as a couple thousand dollars cash. Kayla couldn’t figure out what had brought her back to her place on campus unless that’s where she’d left the passport. Kayla hadn’t found a thing of interest in her search. The house had been a bust, as had the woman, other than the passport. So far.

The destruction Betsy Stone had been up to in the bedroom could have been an attempt to make it look as if her home had been ransacked. With her missing and her place torn apart, anyone looking for her might tie her disappearance to Christine’s shooting.

Kayla had proposed just such a scenario to her suspect moments ago, but Betsy had refused to respond.

“I’m gonna try one more thing,” Kayla said, more to herself than to her partner. She couldn’t let Stone slip through her fingers. She knew too much.

“Need my help?”

Kayla thought about that a moment, then said, “Yeah, I do.”

She filled Jim in on her plan before sauntering into the interrogation room where Betsy Stone waited, her entire demeanor amazingly serene.

For almost a full minute Kayla stood there and peered down at her suspect, giving the woman ample time to grow apprehensive about what would happen next. Betsy Stone wore her usual conservative attire, slacks and a sweater. Her bottled-blond hair was secured at her neck to keep it out of her way. The only thing missing was the stethoscope she’d accessorized with for as long as Kayla could remember.

“Ms. Stone,” she said finally, using the formal address to set the necessary tone, “I’ve just come from another interview room where we’re holding a material witness.”

Betsy looked up at her and shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean, Kayla.” She rearranged her face into a frown. “Why did you bring me here? You surely know I didn’t have anything to do with Christine’s shooting. I wasn’t even home. I only just returned from Texas.”

Kayla kept the smirk off her face. She had one ace up her sleeve and it was now or never. “The witness I was referring to is Cleo Patra. She’s from Vegas. Sound familiar?”

Giving Stone credit, she didn’t even flinch. “I’m afraid I have no idea who you’re talking about. Does she claim to know me?”

Kayla pulled out the adjacent chair and sat down. “Actually she does. About twenty years ago you worked with a Dr. Henry Reagan in providing prenatal care for the child she surrogated.”

Stone blinked her blue eyes a couple of times in bewilderment. “I’ve already told you I worked with many women during my time with Doctor Reagan. I don’t remember a Cleo Patra—one surely wouldn’t forget that name. But I saw so many people, it’s entirely possible that I did work with her.”

“Really.” Kayla pushed back her chair, allowing the legs to scrape across the tile floor. She stood, folded her arms over her chest and walked around the room, pretending to mull over the nurse’s comment. She took her time, didn’t rush, let the woman stew.

Eventually Kayla stopped, leveled her gaze back on Stone’s. “You don’t know anything about Cleo Patra or Kelly Cohen receiving fifty-thousand dollars to become surrogate mothers.”

Stone moved her head adamantly from side to side. “I have no idea what this woman is talking about.” Disgust glinted in her eyes. “How could you believe anything a slut like that would say?”

Kayla quirked one eyebrow. “Slut? I’m not sure what you mean.”

Stone averted her eyes. “I do remember her coming into Dr. Reagan’s office,” she admitted. “She was nothing but trash. She’s probably making up her testimony just to get the attention.” She smirked. “Cleo Patra, please. She’s likely as unreliable now as she was then.”

Kayla braced her hands on the table and leaned toward the nurse, who’d finally started to get a little nervous. “Actually, her testimony isn’t all we’ve got to go on, Ms. Stone. Christine Evans gave a statement before the shooting indicating that she’d caught Dr. Carl Bradford going through student files around the same time Rainy’s emergency surgery took place. And she caught Bradford cheating on her—with you.” Kayla smiled at the slight telling flare of the woman’s pupils. “It doesn’t take much of a leap to put together the error in Rainy’s medical files along with the damage to her ovaries from the egg harvesting to a surrogate named Cleo Patra under the care of Dr. Reagan—who, conveniently enough, performed Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. Hmm. Now, why would a gynecologist be the physician of record for an appendectomy?”

Stone shook her head again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t—”

Kayla put her face in the nurse’s. “Yes, you did. You and Bradford selected the best candidate. Reagan took care of the rest. I know that’s how it happened. Don’t lie to me. It’s over, Betsy, we’ve got you.”

“No jury is going to take that whore Cleo Patra’s word over mine,” Stone argued, though her voice lacked conviction. The slightest hint of panic had niggled its way into her expression.

Kayla straightened. “You could be right. So, let’s make this easy. Cleo has already agreed to a polygraph, we’ll want the same from you. That should tell us what we need to know.”

Stone’s eyes rounded. “You know those things aren’t always accurate.”

Kayla turned her palms upward in a gesture of indifference. “If you’re telling the truth you have nothing to worry about.”

Stone’s hands shook before she clasped them together in front of her. “I…want a lawyer.”

Jim walked in just then. “Let’s go, Ryan,” he said to Kayla. “Christine Evans just regained consciousness. She wants to give a statement about the identity of her assailant.” He flicked a suspicious glance in Betsy’s direction. “She apparently knew the perp.”

Kayla headed for the door. “Think about what I said, Ms. Stone.”

“Wait.”

Kayla stilled, turned slowly so as not to act too enthusiastic. “I really have to go. We can finish this later.”

Betsy exhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll tell you what I can.” Her gaze fastened on Kayla’s. “But you’ll have to promise me protection. They’ll kill me if they find out I talked.”

Kayla looked to Jim and smiled. “You go ahead without me.”

Jim closed the door and headed for his real destination, lunch. Christine Evans hadn’t regained consciousness, unfortunately. But Kayla had suspected that Betsy wouldn’t want to risk that whoever had shot Christine might have revealed something that would incriminate her. Or that the shooter’s identity could be tied to her in any way.

“He made me do it,” she said right off the bat but Kayla didn’t believe her for a second. “Carl Bradford told me that I’d lose my job if I didn’t help him. He’d already pitted Christine and me against each other. I just didn’t know it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t do anything wrong. All I did was help him review the files so he could select the best candidate. Dr. Reagan took over from there. That’s all I know. I was told nothing more.” She looked up at Kayla, a plea in her eyes. “I was just a pawn. They used me.”

Kayla had to suppress the urge to punch the woman. She’d helped do this to Rainy.

“Why?” Kayla asked, her tone lethal.

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” Stone looked scared now. Really scared.

“Why did Reagan and Bradford do this? Who backed their work…commissioned it? Why Athena Academy?” She moved in close to the woman again. “I need to know.”

“I don’t know why,” she trilled. “I just did what he made me do…that’s all…” She dropped her head into her hands. “That’s all I’m guilty of.”

Kayla sensed she was lying. But she couldn’t make her confess to anything else just yet. “And what about the tracking device? I know you did that.”

Betsy’s head shot up, her expression startled. “You just don’t understand, if I had refused I’d be dead now. I couldn’t say no…not to him.”

“To the Cipher, Lee Craig?”

Stone’s surprise morphed into shock. “How did you know…?” She blinked, glanced around the room like a caged animal. “You have to protect me.”

Kayla ignored her plea. “I’m going to have you transferred to county lockup. It’s the only way I can protect you.”

To her surprise Stone nodded in agreement.

Kayla moved toward the door without saying anything more. She wanted to shake the woman, somehow make her understand that what she’d done had culminated in Rainy’s death. But she had to tread carefully. Alienating Betsy at this juncture would be a mistake. She knew far more than she was telling.

“Kayla.”

The woman’s voice sounded small and uncharacteristically fearful. Kayla hesitated at the door and turned back to her. “Yeah.”

“They’ll kill me if they get to me, just like they tried to kill Christine. You have to believe that, if you believe nothing else I say.”

Kayla felt certain she would never forget the look in Betsy Stone’s eyes when she said those words. She was terrified. Whatever else she knew, she understood that her life was in jeopardy because of it.

With orders in place to relocate her to county lockup, Kayla intended to check on Christine, then pick up Jazz for lunch. After she’d had her talk with Jazz, she’d pay another visit to the nurse and see if she had suddenly remembered something more. At the last minute, she’d confessed to having risked returning to the bungalow for her passport. As Kayla had suspected, she’d hoped that ransacking the place would make it appear she’d gone missing, throwing both the cops and her former colleagues off her trail.

Sitting in county lockup was no walk in the park. Kayla imagined that environment would have the woman ready to make any kind of deal she could.

Kayla didn’t want to make any deals, she just wanted the truth. She wanted to bring down whoever had done this to Rainy. She wanted to clear Athena Academy, ensure that the school was safe again.

Her cell phone vibrated. “Ryan.”

“Kayla, Investigator Devon just called. He’s going to need you to come in ASAP and have that interview with the D.A.”

“Now?” She couldn’t believe this. She was in the middle of an official investigation that involved attempted murder. Not to mention the unofficial one into Rainy’s murder. Surely her chat with the D.A. could wait.

“Sorry, kiddo, but this new hotshot D.A. ain’t gonna take no for an answer.”

Frustrated, Kayla drove all the way to Casa Grande to meet with the D.A. in charge of the bike bust that was apparently turning into the sting of the decade.

The interview didn’t take long. Kayla had a feeling it had more to do with his measuring the strength of her presence and ability to present her testimony. He was taking no chances on this case. Understandable, since the key witness against the big fish he’d nailed was a slimy thief himself.

“Thank you for coming in, Lieutenant Ryan.” He shook her hand and offered that million-dollar smile that had likely gone a long ways in getting him into this high-profile office.

“Not a problem,” she lied. “It’s my job.” She produced a smile of her own and tried her level best not to look impatient. She had things to do!

“Just so you know,” he said, waylaying her once more, “we’ve written a clause into Terrence Swafford’s immunity contract.”

Kayla pushed aside her impatience for a moment. “A clause?”

“If he threatens you or anyone close to you he’ll be in violation and then—” the young, clearly ambitious D.A. grinned “—his ass will be mine and there will be no bargaining.”

This time her smile was the genuine article. “Thanks.”

So maybe this little side trip hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

She glanced at her watch. She still had time to get to the church and pick up Jazz.

As she neared Athens her phone vibrated once more. She hoped she wasn’t late. Shortly after noon was the time she’d understood, but all this business with Marshall, Mike and Hadden had her second-guessing herself.

Heat rushed through her at the thought of Hadden and the way they’d made love last night. She had so needed that, as foolish as getting involved with the guy was.

“Ryan.”

“Kayla, I’ve got that analysis for you.”

Fred. “Great, what’d you find?” She rolled her shoulder, wincing at the small sore spot where the device had been removed.

“Definitely a tracking device,” Fred told her. “I’d estimate that considering the tissue collection on its surface it’s been implanted about three-and-a-half to four months.”

Boy, he was good. That’s why she loved him.

“I thought as much.” That would tie in with when she’d fainted at the Academy. “I’ll swing by and pick it up this afternoon if that’s okay.”

“There’s something else.”

The ominous tone in her friend’s voice was more than his usual dramatic flare. “Oh yeah?”

“I’ve never seen a device like this. I had to show it to one of my colleagues in D.C.” Which meant he’d uploaded a digital image for cyber-perusal. “He says it’s the latest technology.”

Kayla’s heart rate picked up a few extra beats. “Does that mean it’s not available on the general market?”

“That’s only the beginning.” Fred laughed, the sound strained. “Kayla, he says this thing is ultra-secret military shit. He wants to know where the hell we got it.”

And then she knew her worst fears were on the money.

This went way higher than a couple of staff members at Athena Academy. Josie’s sister was right. Whatever Lab 33 was, that tracking device had to have come from there.

The government held a great deal of power over Athena Academy. Was this why they’d created an all-girls school in the first place, to lure in potential egg mining candidates? Had Marion Gracelyn discovered that evil scheme and lost her life because of it?

“You still there, Kayla?”

She swallowed hard and scrambled to find her voice. “Yeah, Fred, I’m here. Listen, put that thing up where no one can find it, would you? I’m going to need it.”

“What do I tell my D.C. colleague?”

“Tell him a cop in Athens got it from someone connected to Lab 33.”

“What the hell is Lab 33?”

“Just tell him, okay?”

Kayla ended the call and tossed her phone into the seat.

She could feel the news vibrating across the airwaves already. A cop in Athens, Arizona, had discovered a link to Lab 33. Fred’s colleague in D.C. probably wouldn’t know what that was, but he’d report it to his superior. That superior would report it to his, and so on. Within an hour or so, the information would reach the right ears. And someone at Lab 33 would know that Kayla Ryan was onto them.

She glanced in her rearview mirror. She hadn’t felt her shadow around today. Maybe she’d better make it a little easier for him. Instead of going straight to the church, she swung by the house, then dropped by hers and Jazz’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

If her shadow wanted to follow her now, he’d have to get a little closer. That’s all the leverage Kayla needed.

She put their lunch in the floorboard on the passenger side of the Jeep. She closed the door and started around the hood but that familiar sensation of being watched stopped her. Goose bumps scattered over her skin and those tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Well, well, about time.

Instead of getting into the Jeep, Kayla strolled back toward the small restaurant. She moved around the side of the building, past the Dumpster and the employees’ entrance, and headed to the very back where the restaurant nestled up to an apartment building and a Laundromat.

She rounded the rear corner of the building but instead of continuing down the alley, she flattened against the brick wall of Lu Wan’s.

Assuming a battle-ready stance, she waited.

The whisper of a soft sole on asphalt broke the silence.

Then nothing.

Kayla held her breath. She focused her full attention on the person around that corner. She couldn’t be certain how close he or she was…but close.

An abrupt shuffle of footsteps told her he’d decided to cut his losses.

Kayla barreled around the corner and lunged into a dead run.

Target was maybe ten yards ahead.

Medium height. Thin.

Tufts of blond hair showed beneath a baseball cap.

“Halt or I will shoot!” Kayla leveled her weapon, not daring to slow in her pursuit.

Surprisingly the perp skidded to a stop near the Dumpster. Kayla hadn’t really expected that to happen. She drew up short, coming to her own sudden stop.

“Don’t move,” she ordered. “Get your hands up where I can see them.”

A pair of gloved hands went up. It was chilly out, but not that damned cold. The gloves weren’t about protection from the weather. Kayla’s internal alarm shifted to a higher state of alert.

Despite the bulky jacket and baggy trousers, Kayla suspected her shadow was female. It was as much about the way she held herself as it was the attire. A kind of sultry confidence that didn’t scream femininity but definitely lacked any true masculine quality.

“Turn around.”

She, or he, if Kayla was wrong, didn’t move.

Kayla’s pulse tripped into triple time. She braced herself for a tactical maneuver. “I said turn around!”

Only three or four feet stood between them, Kayla held her aim steady.

Slowly, her body moving in timed increments almost like the eight count of dance moves, the perp executed a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn.

The hair might have been stuffed beneath that cap but Kayla would have known the eyes anywhere. The exquisite line of her jaw…the straight sophisticated nose.

Dawn O’Shaughnessy.

“Caught me,” she said flippantly, “whatcha gonna do now? Shoot me?”

For two beats Kayla couldn’t respond. She could only stand there and stare into the eyes of the young woman she knew with every fiber of her being was Rainy’s child.

“You’re Dawn O’Shaughnessy.”

“And you’re a murderer. You and your friends,” she snarled. Any softness Kayla had thought she’d noted in the woman’s face transformed into a hard mask of determination.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Dawn.” As much as Kayla would have preferred to lower her weapon, considering the woman’s identity and attitude, she couldn’t see taking the risk. “I imagine you’ve been told a lot of lies.”

The girl stormed up to her, allowing the barrel of Kayla’s weapon to press into her chest. Not the first spark of fear showed in her eyes. This woman was prepared to die if necessary. Kayla didn’t doubt for a second that she was just as prepared to kill.

“You and your friends killed my uncle.”

“I’m afraid you’ve got me at a loss.” Kayla’s brain worked double time to figure out who Dawn was talking about.

“He was the only family I had. And you’ll all pay.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Your uncle—”

“Lee Craig,” Dawn snarled.

Who the hell…? And then she knew. The Cipher.

“He was your uncle?”

“That’s right.”

Kayla’s heart missed a beat. She knew where this was going. “You’ve been following me using the tracking device Betsy Stone implanted.”

That Dawn didn’t look surprised to hear Kayla had connected the tracking device to Nurse Stone told her two things: she already knew Stone had been compromised and whoever wanted to stop Kayla and the Cassandras from learning the truth was running out of time. Things were escalating rapidly.

“Are you ready to die, Lieutenant Ryan?”

Dawn’s penetrating gaze bored into Kayla’s. Somehow she couldn’t help finding the situation just a little ironic. She’d spent months trying to bring to justice those behind Rainy’s murder and now Rainy’s own child wanted Kayla dead.

Though the other woman didn’t appear to be armed, one of them wouldn’t be walking out of this alley. Kayla knew instinctively that it was as simple as that. She had one chance here at preventing bloodshed.

“Don’t you want to know why my friends and I tracked him down?”

Dawn’s gaze narrowed with mounting suspicion. “Nothing you have to say interests me.”

She said the words with a total lack of emotion and yet Kayla saw the lie in her eyes. The faintest flicker of uncertainty and curiosity.

“Lee Craig—the Cipher—killed Lorraine Miller Carrington. She was a dear friend,” Kayla explained.

“Too bad.”

Kayla bit back a scathing retort. That’s what Dawn wanted, animosity. “That’s right. It was too bad. Rainy Carrington was one of the finest people I’ve ever known. And she was your mother.”

The statement visibly startled the younger woman. “Lying won’t save your ass, Ryan.”

“Then check it out,” Kayla urged. “If you know the Cipher, then you probably know the people who sent him. Those people took something from Rainy about twenty years ago.” She searched Dawn’s eyes as she spoke, looking for any hint that she was making headway. “That something they took was eggs from her ovaries. A man named Dr. Henry Reagan and another, Dr. Carl Bradford, orchestrated at least part of the procedure. They used those eggs to produce offspring through a sperm donor and surrogate mothers. You’re one of those children.”

Kayla waited a full five seconds for that information to sink in before reiterating, “You’re Rainy Carrington’s daughter.”

The side door of Lu Wan’s suddenly flew open.

For a split second Kayla’s attention splintered.

A man wearing a white apron sauntered into the alley, simultaneously lighting up a cigarette.

Dawn leaped into the air, jerking Kayla’s gaze back in that direction.

Her left foot shot outward and the weapon in Kayla’s hand flew from her grasp.

Dawn’s feet hit the ground running.

Kayla snatched up her weapon and raced after her.

Down the street…past the few other shops that made up the tiny community of Athens.

Dawn cut into another passage that ran between two buildings with Kayla right on her heels.

Shoving her weapon back into its holster she pushed hard…harder…came almost within reach of her. Using her weapon to stop the woman was out of the question.

Dawn flung herself toward a towering chain-link fence that separated commercial property from residential.

Kayla grabbed on, scaled after her. She manacled the other woman’s ankle just as she straddled the top of the fence. Dawn kicked to free herself. Kayla held on, dragging herself upward with her free arm.

The back of a hand collided with Kayla’s cheek. She grunted but didn’t back off. She reached the top of the fence, flung her arm around Dawn’s waist.

Dawn twisted.

They both went over…falling…slamming into the ground, then struggling against each other.

Rolling to a grinding stop, Kayla pinned Dawn onto her back.

The seemingly unarmed young woman suddenly had a weapon in her right hand.

“Back off!”

Kayla froze.

“Get off!”

Kayla held her ground. “Think about what I said, Dawn. Cipher and his people killed your mother.”

Dawn rammed the muzzle of the weapon beneath Kayla’s chin. “Get off!”

Kayla held up her hands to show her surrender. “All right.” She pushed to her feet and backed away.

Dawn scrambled up, her gaze and the aim of her weapon never deviating from her target.

“Toss your weapon over there.” She jerked her head toward the clump of grass a few feet away.

“They lied to you, Dawn.”

“Shut up and do it!”

Kayla drew her weapon from her holster. She held it firmly. Giving up a weapon was the stupidest thing a cop could do.

“I guess you’ll just have to shoot me,” she suggested, hoping like hell the girl wouldn’t. She’d had other opportunities and had chosen not to. Then again, maybe her orders hadn’t included killing Kayla until now. Kayla’s last images of Jazz flashed through her mind in rapid succession. That her final moments with her daughter had been angry ones ripped at her heart.

Dawn blinked, then did something totally unexpected.

She turned her back and sprinted away.

Kayla started to yell for her to stop. But she knew that wouldn’t happen this side of the grave.

Instead, she let her go. She put her weapon away.

There was nothing else she could do.

Jim and another deputy showed up. Kayla told her partner what she could, which included everything but the woman’s identity and connection to Rainy Carrington. For now, she had to keep that to herself.

As Kayla climbed back into her Jeep the smell of Chinese food met her with a vengeance.

Her gaze flew to the digital clock on her dash.

12:45 p.m.

She swore.

Jazz.

She was half an hour late picking up her daughter.

She backed out of the parking slot and burned rubber. As an afterthought she one-handedly tugged on her seat belt.

Driving as fast as she dared she reached the small church in only four minutes.

She’d been that damned close and still she was late.

She didn’t bother dusting off her clothes or checking her face to see if she had a shiner blooming there. After double-timing it up the front steps she forced herself to slow, to pull together her wobbly composure as she entered the solemn house of God.

“I am so sorry I’m late picking up my girl,” she said to the choir director the moment their gazes met. She gestured to her disheveled appearance. “Police business.”

The choir director’s pleasant expression fell slightly. “I thought you already picked up Jazz.”

Fear clenched around Kayla’s heart. “No. No. I just got here.”

The director looked around as if searching for someone to confirm her statement. “I’m certain she’s gone. I think I saw her get into a car.”

Kayla heaved a sigh that allowed her heart to start beating once more. “Mary must have picked her up.” She should have thought of that. Jazz would have called Mary since she was likely still angry with Kayla.

The director’s smile lifted back into place. “Sure. She must have gone with your sister.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “My goodness. What a scare. There were so many children and so many cars. I just knew everyone was accounted for.”

Kayla felt about as miserable as she no doubt looked. “Sorry.”

She walked as quickly as she dared down the quiet corridor. Once she got through the doors she ran to her Jeep, grabbed her cell phone and stabbed in her sister’s number.

“I’m sorry I was late. Thanks for picking up Jazz.” Deep in her gut that funny feeling had started all over again. Regret, guilt, she told herself.

“What?” her sister’s voice echoed across the connection.

A flood of anxiety washed over Kayla a second time in as many minutes. “Jazz. You picked her up at church, right?”

“I thought you were going to pick her up.”

Full throttle terror banded around her heart. “Dammit, Mary, did you pick her up or not?”

“No, Kayla. I didn’t pick her up. I haven’t—”

Kayla’s phone fell from her useless fingers and bounced twice on the ground. She turned all the way around in the middle of the street. But there was no one to call to for help.

Where was her daughter?

Chapter 12

Kayla’s phone started to vibrate against the asphalt at her feet.

Still in shock she stared down at it as if it would somehow explain what was happening.

The grating sound echoed again and she jerked out of the trance she’d lapsed into.

She had to find Jazz.

She grabbed the phone and jumped into her car.

“Ryan,” she snapped as she started the engine.

“Lieutenant Ryan, how nice to finally hear your voice.”

A wave of nausea rolled over Kayla. She didn’t know the voice. That alone told her this was no friendly call.

“Who is this?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t guessed by now. You seem to have figured out everything else. And here I thought that you would be a bigger problem than Christine and Betsy.”

Carl Bradford?

Fury obliterated her fear.

“Where’s my daughter, you son of a bitch?”

“Now, now, is that how you were taught to speak at the police academy? I know you weren’t taught such crude language at Athena.”

“If you hurt her, Bradford, you’re dead.” Her voice cracked with the mixture of rising hysteria and shuddering fury. “Know that right now. I will kill you if you harm her in any way.”

The thought of what he and Reagan had done to Rainy twisted in Kayla’s chest like barbed wire. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears burning there.

“Perhaps, but you see, Lieutenant, I’m the one holding all the cards, so let’s not waste anymore time exchanging meaningless chitchat.”

“What do you want?” She went completely numb with the exception of the rage roiling inside her.

“As if you don’t know. Please, don’t patronize me, Lieutenant. I have no patience for such trivialities. Follow my instructions precisely and you might see your daughter one last time before she joins your dear friend Rainy.”

Kayla restrained the clawing desire to scream at him. To reach through that phone and break his sick neck. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said with a sudden, unexpected calm. The abruptness of it made her dizzy. For the first time in her life the idea of taking someone else’s life appealed to her like the thirst of blood to a vampire. She was going to kill this man. Whatever it took, he was dead.

“Ah, now that’s more like it. I’m sure you’ll recall that there’s a special place you girls used to go. Meet me there and I’ll allow you and your daughter to die together. Come alone, Lieutenant Ryan,” he cautioned, “or else I will have no choice but to cut her tender throat on the spot. I think you know I won’t hesitate to do so.”

A single click punctuated his final threat.

Kayla stared at the phone, her heart sinking all the way to her feet. His intentions were crystal clear. He wanted her as well as her daughter dead. Kayla for what she knew, Jazz for simply being her child…for being Kayla’s entire life.

She couldn’t let him get away with this.

The only question was, could she risk going in alone? There would be no objectivity…her ability to reason was already greatly compromised.

But could she take the chance and call for help?

Kayla rammed the gearshift into drive and rocketed onto the street. She had to assume that someone would be watching her. Quite possibly Dawn O’Shaughnessy. Or that her cell was bugged or locked into some sort of monitoring system.

Kayla would have to do this another way.

When she arrived at the main entry gate of Athena Academy she paused for the guard at the guard shack though she knew he recognized her vehicle.

She stretched out her hand to him, her wallet open, displaying her driver’s license as ID.

“You didn’t need to stop, Lieutenant.” He looked at her wallet, confusion marring his brow.

Oh, but she did. She kept her wallet thrust at him until he reluctantly accepted it. “Do you have a cell phone I could use for a few minutes, my battery is dead. I’ll only be an hour or so. I’ll drop it back by on my way out.”

“Sure.” He passed her wallet as well as his cell phone to her. “Just remember I go off duty at four.”

Kayla managed a brittle smile as she drew the two items into the Jeep with her. “I’ll be back in a flash,” she promised. Anyone watching her would not realize she’d just picked up an alternate means of communication.

She eased forward, her heart pounding like a drum in spite of the relief gushing through her. With a few flicks of her fingers she’d entered a number. She held the phone to her ear as discreetly as possible while she maneuvered the road that would take her to the foothills of the White Tank Mountains.

“I need your help.” She gave the location and an abbreviated version of the situation. “Approach with caution.” Then she disconnected. She couldn’t afford to say more. There was no time to devise a plan. Chances were help wouldn’t even arrive in time. But someone had to know she and her daughter were in danger. However Bradford intended to cover up their disappearance, she didn’t want him to succeed.

She tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. She’d either just made the biggest mistake of her life or she’d saved her daughter’s life. There was no way to predict which just yet.

Kayla didn’t know how Bradford knew about this special place. She and the Cassandras had gathered here when necessary for private consultations. Rainy had made them all promise to never speak of this special place unless it was to call a meeting there.

But that had been years ago…when they were kids. Kayla hadn’t even thought of that spot in years. Obviously Rainy hadn’t either, since her final call to the Cassandras had been for a meeting at Christine’s bungalow. But then, they were much older now. A warm living room with a comfy sofa was far more appealing than a scrub of brush in a thicket of trees in the dead of night.

Her heart wrenched at the idea that her daughter was out there…scared to death…wondering why this was happening to her. Kayla would make that bastard pay for this.

She could only assume that one of Bradford’s cronies, such as Nurse Stone, had kept track of where the Cassandras went, even when they didn’t know it. Maybe even with a tracking device like the one Hadden had dug out of Kayla’s back.

She prayed the guard wouldn’t find her actions suspicious. She’d driven through that gate enough times without stopping in the months since the guards had been posted. All the guards recognized her. This one had likely noted the direction she’d taken. But then, he also knew that she was investigating Christine’s shooting. He probably wouldn’t consider anything unusual under the circumstances.

The gate and the guard were all well and good, but the fact of the matter was that there was simply no way to protect five hundred acres of academy property from intruders. Bradford had gotten in. He definitely wouldn’t have come in through the gate.

Of all people, she knew how easily someone could slip in and out of Athena if he or she really wanted to. Wasn’t that why no one had ever learned what happened to Marion Gracelyn? Years from now would others still be wondering what happened to Christine Evans? To Kayla and Jazz? Without a small battalion of soldiers it would be impossible to guard every possible access to school property.

Bradford could have a whole team of thugs out here.

She refused to think the worst until she’d assessed the situation. She couldn’t do it. Focus on the next step, she told herself. Do this one step at a time and pray help arrives in time. Bradford would likely have someone monitoring dispatch at the office. Calling her partner had been out of the question. She could only hope Bradford hadn’t thought of the option she’d utilized.

When the service road ended, Kayla parked her Jeep and got out to make the rest of the journey on foot.

The White Tank Mountains towered over the valley where Athena Academy ruled. The freestanding range of mountains rose sharply from its base, offering deeply serrated ridges and inspiring canyon walls. Folks loved walking those slopes, climbing to those peaks. Kayla had always equated the mountains with peace and serenity, a monument to all her people believed in.

But there was nothing peaceful or serene here today.

As she crossed the wash trail left behind by the infrequent heavy rains, she thought of how the bedrock revealed by the flash floods looked as barren and defeated as she felt just then.

She didn’t care that this fragile desert landscape of cholla, ironwood, and creosote had always given her a safe feeling of being home.

None of it made her feel safe and welcome today.

Her daughter was out there, held by a madman.

The only thing she wanted was to make sure his black heart stopped beating here and now.

Her skin prickled and Kayla drew her weapon. She slowly scanned the open landscape but discovered nothing. She wondered if her shadow had followed her here. Why not? This was what she’d wanted. To lure Kayla to her death or to find the right moment to execute her. But now it had gone too far. Kayla had learned too much and had outwitted her pursuer, leaving Bradford feeling desperate.

Desperation was a bad thing. It caused people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do. Taking Jazz had been an extreme measure but one that assured him that his orders would be followed.

Her fingers tightened around the butt of her weapon. Maybe she wouldn’t ever know who had commissioned Bradford and Reagan to carry out these heinous crimes, but she would end Bradford’s participation. Officially Reagan was dead of a heart attack but he could have been murdered. Maybe she could beat it out of Bradford before she killed him.

The need for revenge for what he’d done to her daughter this very day…for what he’d done to Rainy all those years ago…sang in Kayla’s blood.

As she neared the base of the mountains she slipped into the thicket of trees, used the patches of thick growth to move toward the larger copse of trees where she and her Cassandra sisters had met so many times all those years ago.

It wasn’t until she’d gotten within thirty yards of her destination that she saw Jazz. She sat on the ground. Her hands appeared to be bound behind her back.

A new flash of white-hot rage surged inside Kayla.

A man who must be Bradford stood over her daughter, holding court and seemingly alone. But she knew better. The bastard would have backup around here someplace.

As she watched he surveyed the landscape, looking for her, she surmised. He would know she was close if by no other means than the passage of time. She’d driven straight to the campus. He would be expecting her about now.

She crouched down and moved from one rock outcropping to another, used bushes, trees, whatever was available for cover as she journeyed closer to her target. The sun warmed her back, making it hard to remember that it was almost Christmas. That her daughter would forever associate this terror with Christmas gave Kayla all the more reason to want to wring the breath out of him.

Bradford appeared to go to no particular trouble to determine her whereabouts. He looked around now and then but nothing more.

Additional measures were definitely in place. No way would he be so nonchalant otherwise.

The thought fully evolved into Kayla’s mind at the same instant the cold hard muzzle of a weapon bored into the back of her skull.

“On your feet, Ryan.”

Kayla didn’t have to turn around to identify the voice.

Dawn O’Shaughnessy.

Kayla had never known anyone else who could sneak up on her like that. The girl was good.

She stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

“Lose the weapon,” Dawn ordered.

Kayla pitched her piece into the grassy stand a few feet away. She would have fought to keep it under other circumstances, but with Jazz’s life at stake she wasn’t taking any chances. “I guess you decided not to give any thought to the information I passed along.”

She had hoped Dawn would be moved by the realization that her associates had murdered her mother. Clearly that had been wishful thinking.

“Don’t talk.”

She nudged Kayla in the back to get her moving. Her heart fluttered wildly as she journeyed closer to where her daughter waited like a lamb bound for slaughter. Seeing her so terrified turned Kayla inside out. She could scarcely bear to look. But she could not turn away.

Jazz suddenly turned her gaze in that direction, as if sensing her mother’s nearness, and Kayla almost lost control completely. Tears streamed down her baby’s face. Her mouth had been taped shut. Kayla gritted her teeth and promised herself again that Bradford would die today.

“Well, I see our guest has arrived.”

Kayla’s gaze shifted to his. Tall, trim, with silver hair and gray, piercing eyes. Those damned eyes seemed to look right into her soul. He gave her the creeps.

“This gives new meaning to the term private practice,” Kayla mused aloud. “Is this why you closed your practice in Phoenix? Afraid someone would see you for what you are? Hiding is much more becoming for scum like you, Bradford.”

“Enjoy your final moments,” he suggested with a broad smile. “I know pretending you’re in control makes the situation more tolerable for you, Lieutenant.”

“You don’t know anything.” She flung the words at him like poison darts, wishing like hell that’s all it would take to end his rotten life. She crouched down and drew her daughter into her arms. Jazz shuddered, sobbing against her. Tears spilled past Kayla’s lashes. Why did Jazz have to be caught up in this? She wished Mike had been the one who’d taken her. The thought had entered her mind when she’d first realized Jazz was missing. Then Bradford’s call had come.

“I love you, sweetie,” she murmured. “It’s gonna be all right.”

“For God’s sake, Ryan, don’t lie to the child!” Bradford sneered.

Jazz shook in her arms. Kayla clenched her jaw to keep from responding. Instead, she sat back on her heels and gently peeled the tape from her baby’s mouth. She pressed her finger to her trembling lips when she would have spoken.

Then Kayla pushed to her feet. With her eyes she told Jazz to stay put. She smiled down at her child one last time before turning to face Bradford.

“Do you really think you’re going to be safe with me out of the way?” Kayla challenged.

Bradford chuckled. “Why, of course. The others are far too busy with their lives well away from Athens to bother with continuing this useless pursuit.”

Oh, he just didn’t know. The Cassandras had backed Kayla up every step of the way. All that she had gleaned regarding Rainy’s murder and Athena Academy’s involvement had resulted from their joint effort.

“Just tell me why,” she ventured. Turning the question into a challenge he wouldn’t be able to refuse she added, “if you know the details, that is. I’m certain you played only a small role in all this.”

He acknowledged her remark with a nod. “Clever, my dear. But remember, I’ve studied the behavioral sciences my entire career. I know what makes you tick. You believe you can goad me into telling you what I know.” His head moved side to side. “I’m afraid you’ve overestimated your power of persuasion.”

She shrugged. “You’re going to kill me anyway, why not indulge my final wish. I want to know why you did this to Rainy.”

He brought the palms of his hands together and pressed his fingers to his lips. “Ah, sweet Rainy. She was absolutely superb. Perfect in every way. Far superior to the rest of you.”

Kayla didn’t rise to the bait, she simply listened, all the while hoping the second part of her plan would fall into place soon.

“The sperm donor was equally perfect. An amazing specimen of the male species.”

“Unlike yourself,” Kayla suggested.

Fury contorted Bradford’s face. “This is precisely why you should be dead already.” He flicked a glance in Dawn’s direction. “If someone had done their job as ordered this meeting would never have been necessary.”

So Dawn was supposed to have killed her. Interesting that she hadn’t. Kayla banished the distracting thought.

“Think about it, Bradford,” she persisted. “Even if you kill me, even if none of my friends return to Arizona to hunt you down, what about Christine Evans and Betsy Stone? They know what you’ve done.”

Bradford smirked. “Do you really think I would allow any loose ends? Christine will not survive the day. I’ve already arranged heart failure.” He sighed. “Tragic. And wholly unnecessary. If you hadn’t showed up at her home she would have died as planned. I’d calculated it out to the last detail. It was so shamelessly simple.”

“I have your prints, you know,” Kayla pointed out. “On the wineglasses and the bottle you stuck under the sink.” She was the one shaking her head this time. “You really should have put that bottle of red wine in the fridge. And the glasses—” she shrugged “—why didn’t you just take them with you? Not a good move.”

Anger lit in his gray eyes. “I’m certain I can arrange for that evidence to disappear as easily as I took care of Betsy Stone.”

Kayla felt a prick of panic. “Betsy Stone is in protective custody.”

“Even those in county lockup are allowed access to legal counsel. She didn’t even argue when I insisted she swallow both cyanide capsules. I was long gone before she seized—shock likely delayed the usual immediate physical response. Poor thing. I’m sure the autopsy will reveal an abrupt yet painful ending to her pathetic existence.”

Panic fluttered in Kayla’s stomach. Betsy was dead. Christine would be as well if Kayla didn’t survive this encounter. She had to keep him talking. She needed more time.

“You still didn’t tell me why. Who came up with this foul scheme?”

He scoffed. “Foul scheme? Really, Lieutenant, I would have thought someone such as yourself considerably more knowledgeable. Science is never foul or scheming, it simply is. Without science where would we be?”

“I know you didn’t come up with the master plan on your own,” she tossed out. “Dr. Reagan was no better than you, just another minion following orders. What was the point? Black market babies? Genetics?”

Bradford’s face suddenly cleared of any and all emotion. “I’m afraid that this stroll down memory lane has become quite tedious.”

“Just tell me, Bradford,” she urged, moving a step closer to him. “Tell me who did this to Rainy.”

He withdrew a handgun from inside his jacket and aimed it directly at her. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t even trust the devil himself with that information. And since you’re going to hell post haste, I’ll just keep that to myself.”

“Let my daughter go,” she urged, the panic gaining a foothold now. “It’s me you want out of the way.” Building anxiety punched a big hole in her bravado.

“That’s true.” He nodded succinctly. “But you see, the plan is to get rid of both of you and then pin it on Major Mike Bridges. He couldn’t have his family, so he killed them.” He shook his head sadly. “Happens all the time. Such a shame. His showing back up in your life at this particular juncture provided a definite advantage for me.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Kayla warned. “Just let her go.”

“Mommy!”

Kayla held up her hand, urging her baby to keep quiet.

“Step out of the way, Ryan, and I’ll make it quick. I want you to take the image of your child’s death to your grave with you. It’s my gift to you.”

Kayla had to do something and lunging toward him would only temporarily delay the inevitable.

“You mean like the gift you gave Dawn.” Kayla jerked her head toward the young woman who stood only a few feet away, her weapon still trained on Kayla. “I can imagine every child’s wish would be for their mother to be murdered before she even had a chance to get to know her.”

“Rainy should have left it alone,” Bradford snarled. “Her death was necessary.”

“And if Alex and Josie and the others don’t just walk away, are you going to kill them all?”

“We have ways to conceal our deeds.”

She nodded. “Like with Rainy. Your assassin, the Cipher, caused her to have that accident. She died without ever having known about her child. Without having seen her daughter. Do you have any idea how badly Rainy wanted children? Do you even care how what you’d done tore her apart?”

“Rainy Carrington was of no consequence once we had what we wanted from her. Just like Reagan. He outlived his usefulness as well.” He leveled his weapon. “Now, step aside.”

Kayla dove for his midsection.

A shot exploded.

She and Bradford hit the ground.

She scrambled to get free…to see if Jazz was hit.

Bradford made no attempt to stop her frantic movements. Kayla stared down at him. His eyes were open wide as if in surprise. Crimson had spread across his white shirtfront.

He’d been shot. His own weapon remained clutched in his hand. Kayla snatched it away from him and spun around. Her daughter was fine, her knees hugged to her chest in a protective manner. Thank God.

Kayla’s gaze swung to Dawn O’Shaughnessy. She hadn’t moved, her posture still in the firing stance, her weapon clasped in both hands, ready to fire again.

Kayla lifted Bradford’s weapon, took aim at the younger woman. “Drop it,” she ordered.

Dawn looked at her for several seconds before she moved.

She didn’t utter a single word. She simply turned her back on Kayla just like before and walked away, eventually disappearing into the rocky landscape.

Kayla resisted the urge to run after her. She had to make sure her baby was all right. Couldn’t leave her here alone…even if Bradford was dead…there could be others.

Suddenly her daughter was in her arms.

Kayla dropped to her knees and held her child tight against her, chanted the words bursting in her chest over and over. I love you. God, I love you. Thank God you’re safe.

“Looks like I missed all the action.”

Kayla looked up to find Peter Hadden crouching down to check Bradford’s carotid pulse.

“He’s dead,” she said flatly, too damned emotionally drained to infuse any inflection into her voice.

“Definitely.” Hadden stood, peered down at the motionless body and then stepped around him. “What happened?” He looked down at Jazz, who peeked up at him from against her mother’s shoulder.

“He kidnapped my daughter,” Kayla repeated what she’d told him on the phone. She got to her feet, bringing Jazz up with her. “He knew I was closing in on him. He’s the one who shot Christine and he was involved in Rainy’s murder. He used my daughter to lure me here.” Kayla squeezed her eyes shut and held on to her child even tighter. She thanked God over and over again for sparing their lives.

“So you killed him?” Hadden suggested, his gaze settling on the weapon he assumed she’d used.

Kayla knew she couldn’t answer that question without further consideration. “I…I don’t know exactly what happened. He had the gun. I lunged at him…a weapon discharged…and he was dead.” She gestured behind him. “My weapon’s over there somewhere.”

Hadden grunted thoughtfully. “Self-defense.”

Kayla felt suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline was draining, leaving her as weak as a kitten. “Yeah. Self-defense.”

“How about I drive you two to the hospital and get you checked out.” He placed a warm, strong hand on Kayla’s arm. “I’ll call someone from campus security to come guard the body until someone from your office and forensics can get over here.”

The hospital.

“Oh, God.” Her gaze collided with Hadden’s. “Christine. We have to let her security know that her life is in danger. Bradford—” she nodded to the dead guy “—said he’d made the arrangements already.”

“Doing that now.” Hadden flipped open his phone and made the call. Next he called the guard shack and summoned security.

Kayla ushered a trembling Jazz toward her Jeep.

“I’ll drive,” Hadden insisted.

He escorted both Kayla and Jazz to his car. “Why don’t you sit in the back with Jazz?”

Jazz looked up at him as if startled by his use of her name.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Kayla assured her. “Detective Hadden is a friend.”

As Jazz scooted into the back seat, Kayla’s gaze locked with Hadden’s across the top of the car.

He was a friend.

A very good friend, whom she’d turned to instinctively in her worst hour.

But she still couldn’t tell him about Dawn.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Chapter 13

Hadden delivered Kayla and Jazz to her home just as the sun dropped behind the mountains that evening.

She’d never felt so exhausted in her entire life. Jazz had fallen asleep against her in the back seat of his car. Kayla peered down at her now, so damned grateful that she was safe. Neither of them had been injured, discounting her bruised cheek where Dawn had slugged her.

From his position behind the steering wheel, Hadden turned back to her and asked, “Do you think I’ll wake her if I carry her in?”

“We can give it a try.”

He got out and went around to the passenger side of the vehicle. The door opened and in one fluid motion he reached inside and scooped her daughter into his big, strong arms. Jazz stirred but resettled against his broad shoulder.

Kayla scooted out and hurried to unlock the front door. She led the way to Jazz’s bedroom and quickly turned back the covers.

“Rest, sweetie,” she whispered against her child’s forehead as she tucked her in with soft pink blankets and sheets alive with colorful butterflies.

Jazz murmured something inaudible then drifted back to sleep. Though both were physically unharmed, Jazz had been extremely upset. Rightfully so. The pediatrician on call had suggested a mild sedative to get her through the night. Kayla had refused any help of that kind since she needed to keep a clear head about her. There was too much she had to sort out…too many loose ends still dangling. Thank God Hadden had been in Casa Grande giving his statement to the D.A. regarding the shootout at the U-Store-It. She really hadn’t expected him to reach her and Jazz in time to help but she’d needed to try. Mostly she’d needed someone to know.

She eased out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. Voices in the living room dragged her attention there. Kayla heaved a weary sigh and headed in that direction. The voices were too low to make out. If she were to hazard a guess she would say her partner had arrived to demand to know what the hell had been going on.

Give the lady a cigar.

Jim Harkey stood, hands on hips, in the middle of her living room looking madder than hell and ready to take it out on someone.

He pinched his lips together and shook his head when Kayla moved into the room.

“What the hell you doing, L.T.? Trying to get yourself killed? You should’ve called me for backup. I am your partner.”

Kayla walked straight up to the big guy and gave him a bear hug. “I did what I had to do,” she told him, a new wave of emotions rushing over her.

“I told him you had no choice,” Hadden interjected, his voice the epitome of reason.

Kayla shifted to him, abruptly remembering the way he’d looked at her as he’d undressed her last night. God, had it been just last night? His arms had made her feel safer than she had in too long to recall.

Heat stirred deep inside her, in spite of the horrendous day she’d had. She needed that warmth right now. Needed it so badly. But that couldn’t happen tonight…maybe not ever again.

“He’s right.” She turned back to her partner, not wanting to start melting right there in front of God and everyone. Continuing to stare into Hadden’s blue bedroom eyes would definitely prompt exactly that reaction. “There was nothing else I could do,” she assured her partner. “I couldn’t risk putting in a call to you or dispatch. That kind of move might have been anticipated ahead of time. On the other hand, there was no reason for anyone to suspect I would call Hadden.”

Jim sniffed, not completely convinced. “Investigator Devon needs a statement from you.” Jim gave her a knowing look. “He’s madder than hell that you left the scene.” When Kayla would have attempted some acceptable excuse, he added, “But I smoothed things over with him, told him that getting to the hospital ASAP was necessary. All I can say is you’d better act like you were injured when he comes fishing around for your report.”

Kayla nodded. “Gotcha.”

He snapped his fingers. “Damn. I almost forgot. Betsy Stone committed suicide this afternoon.” He shuddered visibly. “The sheriff believes the attorney who visited her slipped her some cyanide capsules.” A grimace furrowed his face. “Hell of a way to go.”

“Did they get a description of the attorney?” She knew it was Bradford, but she needed to determine if the authorities had identified him yet. She didn’t actually see that as a problem. He couldn’t be connected to Athena Academy at this point other than the fact that his death had occurred there. There was always the chance the episode could stir up those rumors Shannon Conner had started. Maybe she’d better give Tory a call for some damage control.

“Got him on video and lifted prints from the interview room where they met,” Jim said. “Funny thing is—” he scratched his chin “—the guy looked a hell of a lot like the stiff the M.E. hauled to the morgue from that hoity-toity school you used to attend.”

“It’s him.” Kayla folded her arms over her chest in hopes of holding herself upright. Damn, she was beat. “Carl Bradford kidnapped my daughter in an attempt to lure me into his trap.”

Jim tipped her chin up and studied her cheek. “Did the old bastard do that to you?” He wouldn’t bother asking why Bradford would have wanted to lure her anywhere. Jim understood that about her “unofficial” investigation into Rainy’s death.

Kayla shrugged. “Who knows? Things were happening pretty fast and I was worried about Jazz.”

Jim’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “It’s over now, right?”

She offered a halfhearted shrug. “Pretty much.”

Clearly that wasn’t exactly the response he’d hoped for. “I guess I’d better get going.” He sauntered to the door then hesitated. “Make sure you get ahold of Devon first thing in the morning.” He gave her a meaningful look. “And try to stay out of trouble.”

He worried about her. That touched her more than he could know. “Will do.” She could feel an interview with the sheriff coming on. Two shootings in the space of one week. He didn’t like those kinds of odds.

Kayla waggled her fingers at Jim as he opened the door. He gave Hadden a nod the way men do when they make an exit and don’t want to bother with what they consider unnecessary pleasantries.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”

She turned to face Hadden, not really surprised that he didn’t plan to give up on his pursuit of the facts. “I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” she said in all honesty. “There are parts I don’t even understand.”

“Why don’t you try starting at the beginning,” he suggested as he took a step in her direction.

That sweet glow of heat he always generated shimmered through her again. This thing between them had gotten completely out of hand. But it damn sure felt nice.

“How about we talk about this tomorrow? I’m really beat.” And right now, this instant, she could use some distance to try and recover her perspective on a number of things. Dawn O’Shaughnessy for one.

For a second or so she wasn’t sure he would let it go quite so easily, but he finally caved.

“All right. For now,” he clarified.

Relief made her knees weak. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her. Damn, he was handsome. And she could definitely deal with those big strong arms tonight.

But she needed that distance. Had to get her head back on straight. Too much had happened too fast. She also needed to feel her daughter in her arms tonight. Today had been far too close.

Hadden pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Call me,” he murmured, “when you’re ready to talk.”

His thumb slid across her cheek before he let go.

He left. Kayla stood there, her eyes closed, her heart fluttering wildly. There was a lot she had to do before she could go where he threatened to take her.

Lots and lots to do.

First and foremost, she had to make sure she could take the risk. She needed to call the gang…fill them in on all that had taken place. Take care of Jazz. Find a way to apologize to Mike for behaving like a jealous kid. Boy, she had her work cut out for her.

A soft rap on the front door dragged her attention there. She scrubbed her hands over her face and took a deep breath in preparation for facing her family. She’d called her sister and her mother from the hospital to let them know that Jazz was fine. Mary had promised to call the choir director at church. Word traveled fast in a small town, especially when a child went missing.

Her new company would no doubt be the Ryan cavalry.

Sure enough, her sister and her family, along with Kayla’s mom and dad, poured into the house. A five-course meal, all packaged neatly in covered plastic containers, was placed on her kitchen table. That’s what the Ryans and their people did when they got nervous, they cooked. Well, all the Ryans except Kayla. She’d somehow missed out on that genetic trait.

No one wanted to risk disturbing Jazz, so little peeks were taken around the edge of her bedroom door and then the entire family rendezvoused in the living room.

“She’ll be fine,” Kayla’s mother said with a nod. “She’s a strong girl.”

Kayla’s father put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Good and strong.” His dark gaze settled on Kayla. “Like her mother.”

Kayla tried not to cry but she couldn’t help herself. Her parents held her and then Mary plowed her way through for a hug of her own.

“I was scared to death,” Mary whispered.

Kayla couldn’t answer.

Mary drew back and looked at her. “But I knew if anyone could save her, you could. The spirit is with you, sister.”

Her parents seconded Mary’s assertion. “Your grandmother’s spirit guides you,” her mother added.

Kayla’s grandmother—her mother’s mother—had always urged Kayla to follow her instincts. Apparently the lady had known what she was talking about.

“Now, you must eat,” Kayla’s father urged. “You need to replenish your strength.”

Kayla swiped her eyes. “I don’t know if I can.”

Her mother laughed. “Please, Kayla, a Ryan can always eat. It’s in the genes.”

Kayla had to laugh with her when she noticed her father was already unwrapping her mother’s broccoli casserole.

So she nibbled. Let her family fuss over her, as they needed to.

Oddly she couldn’t help thinking of Hadden—and wishing he was there, too.

When her folks were convinced Kayla was really all right, hugs were exchanged and her family left in a flurry of parting queries: Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay with you? and Is there anything else we can do to help?

Kayla sagged against the closed door when everyone was at last gone. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to figure out a response to another single question.

Hot tea. That would do the trick. Wine was out of the question though she could sorely use some about now.

She had just put the kettle on the stove when a firm knock resonated from the front door yet again.

Kayla heaved a sigh and headed in that direction. What now? Surely Investigator Devon hadn’t decided to get his statement tonight. She checked the viewfinder and her breath caught.

Alex and Justin.

Jesus, she’d forgotten Alex was flying in from D.C.

Kayla jerked the door open. “You’re here.” It was all she could think to say.

“Kayla, are you all right?” Alex surveyed her from head to toe. “We heard about what happened with Bradford.”

Kayla pulled Alex into a hug, couldn’t resist. “I’m okay.”

“Thank God.” Alex drew back to look at her. “And Jazz is all right?”

Kayla nodded. “She’s a little shaken up but she’s going to be fine. Come in. Sit.” She gestured to the sofa. “I was about to have some tea.”

“I’ll help.” Alex moved to her side. “Then you can fill us in on exactly what happened. You can’t imagine how worried we’ve been.”

As the two of them prepared the tea, Alex brought Kayla up to speed on how they’d arrived earlier that afternoon but hadn’t been able to find her at the office or here. Alex had even gone by her sister’s home as well as her parents’. What she hadn’t known, of course, was that Jazz had been missing by that time and Kayla’s whole world had turned upside down. Finally Alex had tracked down Rebecca Claussen and learned about the kidnapping and shooting, well after the fact.

Back in the living room seated around the coffee table, Alex’s faced paled as Kayla related the story of what Bradford had done. Justin Cohen, the man clearly in love with Alex, and a brother to one of the women who may have surrogated a child of Rainy’s, listened intently. A member of the FBI as well, he had been working with Alex to try and find the surrogates as well as any offspring that had resulted.

Alex picked up a framed photograph of Jazz from the coffee table. She sighed softly as she stared at the photo that had been taken at Thanksgiving. “I can’t believe she’s so grown up.” Her gaze met Kayla’s. “I’m looking forward to finally meeting her.”

Kayla smiled, her heart bursting with joy at hearing Alex say those words. “She’s a treasure.”

“She looks exactly like you.” She traced the image in the photo. “Just like you did when you started at Athena.”

There was that.

Trepidation chased away those softer feelings. “I’ve decided to let her attend next fall.”

Alex drew in a sharp breath as her gaze locked with Kayla’s once more. “That’s wonderful. I know she must be brilliant as well as beautiful.”

Kayla somehow kept her smile tacked in place. “She is very bright.”

Her friend’s expression fell. “You’re still worried about what happened to Rainy and…” She shook her head, the movement as weary as Kayla felt. “All this other confusion.”

“It was a big decision,” she admitted. “But I know sending her is the right thing to do. I just have to get to the bottom of what happened to Rainy first.”

Alex placed her hand on top of Kayla’s. “We’ll find the truth and then you can feel good about sending Jazz.” A grin slid across her face. “Imagine, Kayla, at the adventures she’ll have…the amazing young women she’ll meet.”

The smile was contagious. “I’ve been thinking about that.” She laughed. “And some of the great times we had. All of us.”

Alex nodded. “We were so lucky to have each other. The Cassandras.”

Kayla remembered Justin then and wondered if their sentimental journey bothered him considering what had happened to his sister. But he seemed quite pleased to hear about Alex’s life at Athena. Still, he had a right to know the rest of what had happened today.

“I suppose Rebecca filled you in on Betsy Stone.”

Alex nodded. “Cyanide. Not a pleasant end.”

Ditto. “She did confess to being involved with Bradford and Reagan. She claimed they forced her to take part. I had no doubt that she feared for her life. With good reason.”

“What did Bradford hope to accomplish by kidnapping Jazz?” Alex asked.

“He considered my investigation the main threat to him. I live here, have the most opportunity to investigate Rainy’s death and its connection to Athena. I believe he felt that if he got rid of me, the rest of you would let the whole thing die.”

“Then he didn’t know the Cassandras very well.”

“I still haven’t had any luck tracking down Dr. Reagan’s files,” Kayla mentioned in hopes of drawing Justin into the conversation. His sister had also been Reagan’s patient, and a surrogate, and more information on her might be in those files. Reagan’s files were crucial and Kayla sensed that his death was too convenient.

“We’ve hit a stone wall as well,” Justin answered. He stared at the cup of tea waiting on the table before him. “But I have to admit at this point that it looks as if my sister did die from complications in childbirth.”

“With Bradford dead,” Kayla pointed out, “we may never know what really happened to Reagan or the location of his files. Bradford did say Reagan had outlived his usefulness.”

“You killed Bradford?” Alex broached the question cautiously as if she feared Kayla’s emotions might be too fragile to go there right now.

She took a deep, bolstering breath and said what she’d been dancing around all evening. “No. I didn’t. The truth is, I’d be dead right now if someone hadn’t intervened.”

Alex blinked, stared at her expectantly. “That Detective Hadden who’s been ridding your ass all this time?”

Kayla felt her face redden at Alex’s too-close-to-home remark. She couldn’t possibly know about last night. That was one venue she didn’t plan to visit with anyone just yet.

“No. It was someone who’d been tracking my every move for months now.”

A frown worked its way across Alex’s smooth brow. “I remember you mentioned once or twice that you felt as if someone were watching you.”

“I was right. I discovered a tiny tracking device implanted just beneath the skin on my left shoulder. I had it analyzed. It was state-of-the-art technology…top-secret, futuristic technology.”

Alex tensed. “Lab 33?”

Kayla nodded. “That’s my thinking.” She picked up her cup of tea, her hands suddenly ice-cold and needing the warmth. “I figured out that Betsy Stone implanted it when I fainted at the Athena infirmary shortly after Rainy’s death.”

“The Cipher set it up,” Alex remembered. “Just like he did my accident.” She stared down at her own cup. “Like he did Rainy’s.”

“Now that I think about it—if they eliminated Reagan, maybe Lab 33 took his files,” Kayla said, mulling over the idea even as she said it.

“That would make sense,” Alex agreed.

Silence took over the group for a time. Kayla sipped her tea, needing the sweet heat to soothe her frazzled nerves to tell the rest of the story.

“Today I finally met the person who’d been shadowing me,” she said, knowing there would be more questions than she could answer, but she couldn’t keep this a secret any longer. She looked from Alex to Justin and back. “Female. Former Athena Academy student by the name of Dawn O’Shaughnessy.”

Alex sat her cup on the table with a clang. “It was her?”

Kayla nodded. “The face—now there’s something I won’t forget.” She cradled her hands in her lap and looked directly at Alex. “She’s definitely one of Rainy’s children.”

Justin’s shoulders stiffened. “How can you be certain of that?”

“Because I knew Rainy. Dawn is the spitting image of her, except for the hair and eyes.”

They waited for her to continue.

“Blond hair, gold-green eyes. Extraordinary eyes. Those she inherited from her father.”

Like Kayla, Alex had seen pictures of Thomas King. One wasn’t likely to forget those eyes.

“I did a thorough background investigation,” Kayla explained. “Just about everything about her past was falsified. She came to Athena in her junior year only, just long enough to get those skills that are offered at no other preparatory school, like flying.”

“Did you speak with her?” Justin asked.

“Yes. She grew up thinking Lee Craig was her uncle. The Cipher.” Adding that part wasn’t necessary. They knew who Craig was.

“Where is she now?” This from Justin. The anticipation radiating from him now was palpable.

“I don’t know. She saved my life and then she took off. She could be the child Cleo Patra carried.” She didn’t want to give Justin hope that the child his sister had died giving birth to had survived after all. At this point, all the evidence they had, meager as it was, indicated the opposite.

“She shot Bradford?” Alex looked totally confused.

Kayla nodded. “She saved my life. Mine and Jazz’s.”

Alex shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. From what I gathered listening to Bradford ramble on, she was supposed to have killed me days ago. He decided he’d just do the job himself when she continued to ignore his orders.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with this, Kayla.” Alex pursed her lips and considered what she wanted to say next. “We need to talk this over with the other girls.”

“I agree. Darcy will be here tomorrow.” Darcy had called to say she was coming to see Christine.

“We can dive into the Bureau files,” Justin suggested, “see what we can find on this Dawn O’Shaughnessy.”

“That would be useful,” Kayla encouraged. “Everything I turned up was crap.”

“Have you heard anything more about Marshall?” Alex asked. A new kind of emotion joined the mix in her eyes.

Kayla shook her head. “Nothing yet. Peter—Detective Hadden—will let me know when the…body…is back in the States.”

“I’m trying to find out what I can,” Justin added. “But it may take some time. He was involved in a case that’s ongoing, so security is tight.”

Kayla remembered that Hadden had said the FBI were involved. God, she still couldn’t believe Marshall was dead.

“It’s so hard to believe,” Alex murmured. Kayla started. Alex had seemed to read her mind, and Kayla choked up as she remembered how, back in their Athena days, they’d practically been able to finish each other’s sentences. Things really were coming full circle.

Justin took Alex’s hand, and Kayla almost got teary at the tenderness the tough agent showed her friend. “It may be days or even weeks before his body is brought home. The Colombian government isn’t always cooperative.”

Kayla shuddered. Well, when he did come home, they would still gather to acknowledge his life and death in a way that would make Rainy proud. No matter what he’d done, Marshall had loved their friend, and they would always respect him for that. Suddenly, a familiar sensation prickled Kayla’s skin. She stilled.

Alex was the first to notice her heightened tension.

Kayla held up her hand then made a circling motion for them to continue.

While Alex and Justin went back to discussing ways to look into where Dawn had come from, Kayla eased toward the kitchen. Maybe it was nothing, but she’d felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere of her home. Felt that familiar tingling. Someone else was there….

She palmed her weapon and swung around the corner into her kitchen, her aim leveled on the first object she identified as out of place.

Dawn O’Shaughnessy stood in the middle of the room. No weapon visible, but that didn’t mean anything, as Kayla had learned the hard way. Nor did locked doors, apparently, when it came to the young woman’s determination to access her target.

“I want to talk.”

Kayla put her weapon away and exhaled a tension-reducing breath. “Would you like some tea?”

The look Dawn sent in her direction spelled an unequivocal no. Kayla had to admit, she didn’t act like the tea type.

Kayla led the way into the living room. Alex gasped as her gaze roved over Dawn’s face. She didn’t wait for an introduction. “She is Rainy’s daughter.”

Justin appeared uncertain how to cope with what his eyes saw. Kayla knew he was wondering if there was any chance his sister might have given birth to this young woman. He would always hope.

“She wants to talk,” Kayla explained to Alex.

They all sat, except for Dawn. She didn’t allow herself to get too comfortable or too far from the door.

“You were right about Lab 33,” Dawn said abruptly. “I’m a part of Lab 33. I was raised there, trained there. The only family I’ve ever known was my uncle.” Her face tightened at the mention of her uncle.

“He took care of you,” Kayla suggested.

Dawn nodded. “He taught me everything I know.”

How to seek, Kayla surmised, how to kill.

“What can you tell us about what goes on at Lab 33?” Alex ventured.

“Whatever others can’t or won’t do, haven’t thought of or wished they could accomplish, that’s what Lab 33 does.” She mentioned the technology her faux uncle had created, how he’d used it to mimic sudden lapses into deep sleep, as he’d done with Rainy…with each of them to serve his needs.

“Why are you telling us this?” Alex asked, her tone openly cautious.

“At first I wanted to kill all of you.” She looked from Alex to Justin to Kayla and back. “The others as well.” Kayla guessed that she meant Darcy, Josie, Tory and Sam. “But then I overheard some of your discussions about what Bradford had been up to. I never trusted him. Or Reagan. As you guessed, Lab 33 destroyed his files.” She took a moment to consider what she would say next. “When you told me that Rainy Carrington was my mother, I knew I had to learn the whole truth.” This she said to Kayla. “I decided to do whatever necessary to…know everything.”

Kayla’s heart threatened to jump out of her chest. She didn’t want to risk spooking the young woman. She’d already run from Kayla twice. But she had to take a chance.

“I want to show you some pictures.” Kayla got to her feet and crossed the room to remove an old, tattered photo album from a bookshelf. She offered it to Dawn. “Your mother is in there. Look at her and then think about what Bradford and Craig did to her.”

Kayla and Alex exchanged anxious looks as Dawn pored over page after page. When she’d reached the end she tossed the album onto the nearest chair, seemingly indifferent.

“She’s dead. I’ll never know her.”

Dawn made the statement with such cold, clinical objectivity that Kayla shivered. What had Bradford and Reagan created here? She was beautiful, extremely intelligent and capable. But where were the emotions?

“There’s only one thing I want to know.” She looked directly at Kayla then. “Tell me who my father is.”

Another of those worried exchanges passed between Kayla and Alex.

“Dawn,” Alex began, “I think it would be best for all involved if we started an investigation into Lab 33. The Bureau could see that you’re placed into protective custody.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Dawn said, her tone nothing short of lethal. Tension started to radiate from her like the summer heat rising off the rocks in the desert.

“Why do you want to know?” Justin looked squarely at her. As an agent he’d certainly had extensive training in detecting deceit as well as refocusing negotiations about to go wrong.

“Because I have the right to know.”

“You wouldn’t want to harm him,” Alex countered.

“No.” The single word was cram-packed with frustration.

Kayla held up her hands for everyone to stop. “Let’s remember that we’re all on the same side here, right?” She looked to Dawn for confirmation.

After about ten seconds she finally nodded. “I want to take care of Lab 33 myself. You have no idea what you’d be dealing with.” She looked at each one in turn. “You and all your resources couldn’t do what has to be done. You can’t possibly comprehend what you’d be up against. I can handle it. I’m in deep. Clear for full access. I can destroy Lab 33.”

A new kind of anticipation fizzed inside Kayla. “They’re doing more experimenting like what they did to Rainy.”

Dawn scoffed. “Far worse. That was only scratching the surface.”

Kayla had to know. “Does what they do still involve Athena Academy?”

Dawn shook her head. “That was Bradford and Reagan’s game. Lab 33 has many, many resources. Their reach is mind-boggling.”

“Then how do you propose,” Alex wanted to know, clearly skeptical, “to bring them down single-handedly?”

“Trust me,” Dawn said flatly. “I can’t offer you anything more than that.”

The silence thickened for another pulse-pounding minute.

“And you’ll keep us in the loop,” Kayla pressed for some sort of guarantee.

Dawn considered Kayla for a time before responding. “You keep your knowledge of me under wraps and I’ll see that you know what I know. I can’t risk my cover being blown. Today was too close.”

Kayla knew she meant the shooting. “I’ll handle that. It was a justified shooting. If you hadn’t shot him he would have killed my daughter and me. Even if you were forced to go to trial no jury would ever convict you of murder or even manslaughter for what happened today. Any D.A. worth his salt wouldn’t even pursue charges.”

“You keep up your end of this bargain and I’ll keep up mine.”

Kayla looked to Alex for agreement. She nodded.

“But I’ll require a good faith gesture,” Dawn went on. “Since you have nothing to lose and I have everything including my life on the line, I need some amount of proof that you’re going to trust me.”

“What is it you require?” Alex didn’t bother beating around the bush.

“The name of my biological father.”

“There’s only one way to confirm he’s your father,” Kayla put in. “DNA testing.”

“But you know who he is,” Dawn argued.

“We know who we think he is,” Alex clarified.

Dawn’s expression reflected her impatience.

“Thomas King,” Justin relented. “Navy SEAL Thomas King. He’s a highly decorated hero.”

Dawn took a step back, her eyes widening. She looked shocked. Kayla wondered if Dawn had been part of the team sent to eliminate King and Tory when Tory had gone to interview the Navy SEAL after his surprise rescue in the volatile Central American country of Puerto Isla. Tory had mentioned a blond female sniper who’d shot at them…but she’d also said the sniper had died. Perhaps Tory was wrong. If Dawn had been that sniper, it just made the Cassandras’ case stronger in Dawn’s eyes. She hoped.

Dawn went to the table where Kayla’s answering machine sat. She jotted something onto the message pad there. “If you need to contact me leave a word at this number.” She turned back to the Kayla, Alex and Justin. “Don’t do anything that will jeopardize my cover. Forget I exist for now.”

When she would have disappeared the same way she’d come, Kayla stopped her with a question. “How will we know you’re safe?”

Dawn turned back to her, those gold-green eyes glimmering with a knowing quality. “Don’t worry about me, I’m pretty much kill-proof.”

“If you need us we’re here,” Kayla said. She moistened her lips, sucked in a breath. “That’s a promise.”

For a seemingly endless beat Dawn stood there, her eyes full of uncertainty. And then she was gone.

For a long time, no one spoke. Then….

“What if we never see her again?”

Kayla shook her head. She had no answer for Alex’s question. Dawn O’Shaughnessy was a complete mystery. “If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll keep her end of that bargain.”

Alex suddenly pulled Kayla into her arms for a hug. “It’s almost over.” She drew back. Her usually cool exterior was not so cool now. “We’re on the verge of bringing this whole empire of evil crashing down.”

Kayla tried to work up more enthusiasm. She felt utterly drained. “We still don’t know exactly who is behind all that’s happened.”

“But we’re getting closer. With Dawn’s help we’ll get there.”

Justin walked over to the two of them and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “I don’t know about you two but I think it’s time we ordered some dinner. We’ve got a lot to discuss. People to call.”

He was right. She and Alex had to pull themselves together…had to follow through on their pact. The other Cassandras had to be updated on the situation. An agreed-upon strategy for their new role in this continuing investigation—the wait-and-see role.

Kayla couldn’t have agreed more on the dinner suggestion as well. And she knew just the place to go.

Her kitchen. There was nothing else on the planet like Ryan cuisine.

Chapter 14

“I don’t think he’s coming out.”

No kidding. That was just swell. Kayla flattened against the wall next to the front door of the subject house. Her partner had taken up a position on the opposite side.

“It’s Christmas Eve, dammit,” she muttered. “Don’t these people have presents to open or something?”

Jim shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me.”

Perfect.

Here it was 6:30 on Christmas Eve night, her folks were already gathering for Kismus and she was stuck trying to defuse a domestic disturbance.

“Maybe he had a little too much eggnog,” Jim joked.

From the shouts going on just the other side of that door, she felt relatively sure he’d had a little too much something.

“Let’s give it another try.” Kayla whipped around, kicked the hell out of the bottom of the door in an effort to make herself heard over the ruckus. “Open up! Sheriff’s Department!”

She flattened against the wall next to the door once more in case the guy bellowing inside decided to shoot first and ask questions later.

The abrupt silence inside the house had her and Jim exchanging skeptical looks.

“Who the hell is it?” the husband of the woman who’d called in the complaint roared through the door.

“Santa,” Jim muttered under his breath.

Kayla had to laugh. She stifled the hysteria and shouted, “Sheriff’s Department, open up, Mr. Mitchell.”

The door jerked inward and a mountain of a man towered in the open doorway. He appeared unarmed so Kayla took the lead. Jim moved up beside her, his hand resting on his sidearm.

“We received a complaint about the noise, sir,” Kayla said with all the politeness she could muster for a guy wearing a wife-beater T-shirt and swizzling a can of beer while he waited for her to answer. His eyes, red-streaked from his alcohol binge, resembled road maps.

He gulped down the last of the beer in his can then crushed it in his fist. “What noise?” Two days’ beard growth and a greasy mop of tousled hair suggested that hygiene was not a priority.

“Sir, my partner and I heard you ranting at someone inside. May we speak with your wife?”

He threw down the damaged can. “What the hell for? Did that bitch call you?”

Not good. Kayla stepped closer to the door. “I’m sure your wife wasn’t involved with the complaint, sir, we’d just like to speak with her.”

“Well, come on in then.” The big burly ape suddenly grabbed Kayla by the shirtfront and jerked her inside.

Oh, hell was her first thought. I’m gonna have to hurt this guy her second.

She didn’t want to shoot him. She’d only just gotten squared away after the last two shootings.

“Release my partner and put your hands up, Mr. Mitchell.”

Ignoring Jim, the gorilla slammed Kayla against the closest wall. “She look okay to you?” He jerked his head toward his wife.

Shit. Kayla’s hopes of getting through this without excessive force withered and died at the sight of Jim leveling his weapon on the brute who’d pinned her to the wall.

“Look at her,” Mitchell repeated. “Don’t she look just fine?”

Kayla glanced toward the sofa where a woman, midthirties maybe, sat. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her long brown hair disheveled. There were no obvious bruises, but that didn’t mean a thing.

“Let go of me, sir, and we’ll get this cleared up.”

“You women,” he snarled, “you think you can treat us guys any way you want to and we’re supposed to put up with it without a fight just because you’re women.” He glanced at his wife. “Get me a beer, bitch.”

Merry Christmas, Kayla mused.

“Mr. Mitchell, I’m only going to ask you once more to release my partner.”

Mitchell didn’t flinch, didn’t even bother glancing Jim’s way. “Bitches,” he muttered, then burped.

Time was up. If Kayla didn’t do something quick Jim might just shoot this guy on principle.

Kayla heaved a sigh. “You know what, Mr. Mitchell, you’re right.”

He snickered. “Damn straight.”

“We bitches,” she added, “just don’t know when we’ve got it made.”

Mitchell laughed loudly. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

At that exact instant Kayla drove her right knee into his unsuspecting balls.

Big, bad Mr. Mitchell was suddenly on the floor howling in agony and curled into the fetal position.

Jim winced. “Man, that had to hurt.”

“Book him, Jim,” Kayla said, grinning from ear to ear.

While her partner restrained the asshole on the floor she walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Mrs. Mitchell.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

She nodded. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

“You’re sure?”

She turned to Kayla then, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. “I’m glad you came so quickly.”

Kayla placed a hand over hers. “That’s what we’re here for. Don’t ever hesitate to call for help when you need it.”

The woman swiped at her eyes and let go a shaky breath. “I didn’t call you to help me,” she said, her gaze connecting to Kayla’s in a look that sent a new burst of adrenaline into Kayla’s bloodstream.

“But he was hurting you? That’s why you called, right?”

Mrs. Mitchell reached beneath the throw pillow next to her and withdrew a handgun. She offered it to Kayla, watched her accept it. “I’d decided to use it this time.” The woman’s gaze lifted back to Kayla’s. “I called you to save him. I wasn’t sure I could let him to do this to me again.”

Kayla couldn’t decide what to say, except the necessary. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to bring you in as well for questioning. I hope you understand.”

It was almost ten before Kayla and Jim headed back to their small Athens office. Mr. Mitchell was sleeping it off in county lockup and Mrs. Mitchell had been admitted to General for psychological observation.

Dammit. Kayla’s family had probably given up on having her show up for dinner. Jazz would be intensely disappointed. She could imagine the whole clan of Ryans gathered around the table. Lights lining the driveway for welcoming the Christ child in celebration of the traditional Navajo Kismus. She was going to miss everything.

Oh, well, one of the many hazards of the job.

“Can you believe she was going to kill him?” Jim asked, dragging Kayla’s attention back to the interior of her Jeep.

Kayla laughed dryly. “Sure looked that way.”

“You’re positive you’re okay?” he asked, his tone somber.

“I’m good.” She was a little shaken but she’d live.

Every home in Athens was lit up with Christmas lights. Beautifully decorated trees glowed from the front windows and wreaths hung on the doors. ’Twas the season to be jolly. No point in being depressed.

Kayla made the turn down Main Street toward the office. She had so much to be thankful for. Her daughter, her family. A great deal of the mystery behind Rainy’s murder and the egg mining had been solved. Dawn had promised to keep the Cassandras in the loop as she progressed in her own investigation. Hell, Kayla had even worked out visitation arrangements with Mike. She had every right to feel damn good about her life right now.

“Kayla, there’s something I should tell you,” Jim said abruptly.

She parked behind the office they used as a station house for the small sheriff’s department detachment here in Athens. “Yeah, what?” She shook off the worry that immediately launched. “It’s Christmas Eve, don’t sound so ominous.” She’d had all the bad she wanted for one night, especially this night.

“You know there’s a lot of talk around the community about incorporating.”

Kayla shrugged. “Yeah, so?” The way Athens was growing she’d expected as much. The only thing that prevented the little community from becoming an incorporated city was the official steps.

“You know that means a full city council and mayor.” He opened his door and got out. “The whole works.”

Kayla emerged from the Jeep. She knew what he meant. “Which would include a city hall and city police force,” she said for him since he appeared to want to dance around that aspect.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“We’ll still have our jobs.” She figured that’s what he was worried about. The sheriff would likely reallocate the assets used in Athens. Pinal County was a large, thriving area. It wasn’t like the two of them had to worry about being laid off. Athens had been her territory for a long time now, she would miss being so close to home and her daughter, but she couldn’t stop progress.

“A couple people mentioned a candidate for police chief.”

She reached for the rear door of the building that housed their small detachment, but hesitated. “Anyone we know?”

“You.” His face split into a broad smile. “They want you, Kayla. The sheriff’s all for it.”

Too stunned to speak, Kayla just shook her head. She jerked the door open and went inside, grappling with the unexpected news.

She stopped and turned back to him as the door closed behind him. “That’s nuts. Why not you?”

Jim gave her that look. The one that said don’t be stupid. “We both know who’s the best man for that job,” he told her bluntly. “I don’t have the finesse required. I’m not chief material.” His expression turned petulant. “But I do want to be your deputy chief.”

Kayla had to laugh. “Okay, big guy. Consider it done. If, by some crazy stroke of fate, I’m asked to be chief of police when the time comes, I’ll make sure you’re my deputy.”

The sound of a voice clearing jerked Kayla’s attention down the corridor to the lobby. She blinked, looked again. What the…?

“Mom, what’re you doing here?”

The next thing she knew her whole family, including the extended Ryan clan, had dragged her and Jim into the lobby. The room was packed with her loved ones.

“We decided if we couldn’t bring Mohammed to the mountain, we’d—”

“I get the picture,” she said, cutting off Mary’s dramatic metaphor.

“Mom!” Jazz pushed through the crowd and wrapped her arms around Kayla’s waist. “We didn’t think you guys were ever going to get here. I’m starved!”

Just then the wonderful and varied scents of her mother’s cooking filled the air. In the room they used as a sort of conference room, every available surface was lined with food for the “big feed,” another Navajo Christmas tradition.

Jim didn’t waste any time; he grabbed a plate and headed up the line. Meat, beans, potatoes, breads, sweets, all the things her family pulled together for this special holiday.

“Merry Keshmish,” her father said as he hugged her close. “I’m very proud of you, Kayla.”

She kissed his cheek. “I know you are.”

Kayla blinked back the tears and accompanied her father to the food line. She was starved.

By midnight the celebration was over. Everyone had hugged and kissed and said their good-nights.

Two more deputies had taken over, and each had been left with an overflowing platter of celebratory foods.

At home, Kayla watched as her daughter opened the one present she was allowed to open the night before Christmas, though technically it was Christmas already.

“Mom, this is great!”

Kayla had figured out the one thing she could get that would complement the laptop Mike had given their daughter. She’d traded in the laptop she’d purchased and gotten two state-of-the-art video cameras made for computers. She’d sent one to Mike and wrapped the other for Jazz. Now she and her dad could do the video-calling thing. See each other as they talked. Mike had been thrilled at the idea when Kayla had called and told him about it.

Jazz gave her another big hug and a mega kiss. “You’re the best.”

Kayla tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Nope. You’re the best.” Another of the prettily wrapped boxes beneath the tree contained the invitation to Athena Academy. She and Jazz would discuss what it meant tomorrow. That would be the most special gift of all.

“Time for bed.”

Jazz didn’t put up a fuss. She knew the rising sun would bring lots more Christmas fun and going to sleep was the fastest way to usher sunup.

Kayla kissed her daughter once more as she tucked her in, then she backed out of the room, closing the door as she went.

Time for a weary mother’s kind of celebration, Kayla decided. She located the bottle of wine she’d picked up the day before and uncorked it. With the bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, she trudged into the living room to collapse on the sofa.

She filled her glass and stuck the bottle between her legs. Might as well keep it close. This was the kind of night that, as wonderful as sharing it with her friends and family had been, left her feeling lonely in the end. She was the one who’d have to crawl into an empty bed all by herself. That was a little depressing.

Oh well, there was always next year. Not that she considered having a man in her life the only way to feel complete, definitely not.

But it sure would be nice from time to time.

Just like the other night.

She could deal with that on a regular basis.

But she and Hadden hadn’t spoken since he’d left that night after Bradford’s shooting. He’d probably been too busy. She certainly had been.

Still, a call would have been nice. He’d said he would call.

A soft rap at her door tugged her from her troubling thoughts. Who the hell would show up at her door at this time of night? Maybe her sister, or even her mom. Both had sensed she was a little off tonight. As hard as she’d tried to be all smiles, her loneliness had apparently been visible to those who’d wanted to look closely enough.

Who wouldn’t be lonely after a night of great sex with Hadden? Having him around could become addictive.

She set her wine aside and lugged herself up and across the room. Opening the door put her face-to-face with the man in question.

Speak of the devil. Anticipation made her heart beat faster.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his expression schooled.

“Your turn to play Santa?” she said, deadpan. It was after midnight after all. But, God, it was good to see him.

He smiled. “I know it’s late.”

“It’s not that late.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Hadden stepped inside and waited for her to close the door before saying, “This is for you.”

She stared at the delicately wrapped box in his hands. The white wrapping looked like silk. A fragile pink organza ribbon completed the package.

“Thank you.” She accepted the box feeling like a complete heel for not buying him a gift, but how was she supposed to have known?

He hitched a thumb toward the door. “There’s a much larger box in the car for Jazz but I thought I’d better check with you before I brought it in.”

Kayla couldn’t open the box just then, she was too busy soaking up the sight of him. So tall, so gorgeous. So damned sexy. Navy trousers and a pastel blue shirt that complemented his eyes. Wow.

“Open it,” he urged.

She shrugged. “I don’t have anything for you.”

He moved closer, pulled her into his arms. “Yes, you do.” And then he kissed her, long and deep. No hurry, no hot frantic rush. It was just a kiss, soft and sweet and yet totally mind-bending.

“Open it,” he whispered against her lips.

She licked the taste of him from her lips and nodded. She took him by the hand and dragged him back to the sofa. Sitting down was necessary since she wasn’t sure if her legs would hold her up much longer.

The pink ribbon fell away as she tugged at the elegant fabric. The silk puddle around the small velvet box. She held her breath. Not a ring box. Way too soon for that. She opened it. The most beautiful necklace she’d ever laid eyes on winked at her.

The delicate silver chain held a tiny, equally delicate butterfly; its silver body glittered with tiny diamonds. It was so, so tiny and intricate.

She touched it. Her breath caught at its subtle beauty. “It’s exquisite,” she murmured.

He lifted her chin so that he could look directly into her eyes. “It reminded me of you.”

Her chest tightened and she had to fight to hold back the emotions brimming behind her lashes. Okay. Slow down, girl. She’d been through so much lately. Could she trust her emotions?

“Like capturing a butterfly…” He leaned closer, threaded his fingers into her hair. “So delicate yet so strong and determined to be free. I had to come back, Kayla. Calling would never have been enough.”

“And what do you think now that you’re here?” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He had the most amazing mouth. So sexy, so damned good at kissing…and a few other things.

“That I couldn’t let you go,” he whispered.

Kayla lifted her mouth to his. Whatever the future held for her and those she cared about…she knew for a certainty that this man would be a part of it.

Too good to be true?

God, maybe he was. But he was definitely worth the risk.

‘I think I can deal with that,” she murmured, hope blooming in her chest. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

Kayla took Peter Hadden’s hand and led him to the couch, where he sat down, looking bemused.

Then she told him everything she’d held back from him. About Rainy, the Cassandras and their quest for justice…and Dawn. Because if she was taking this chance, she was going to do it right.

No secrets. No hidden agendas.

Nothing but the truth.

And that was a promise.

Chapter 15

January

“I’ll get the coffee.” Kayla jumped up from the sofa, offered a tight smile to the Cassandras and hurried to her kitchen. She braced her hands against the counter and fought to hold back the tears.

No more crying.

They had buried Marshall Carrington that day. The sun had peeked from behind the dreary January cloud cover and poured over the Tucson cemetery as his coffin was lowered into the ground next to Rainy. It still didn’t seem right that Rainy was gone. Probably never would. But Marshall was with her now. Whatever his sins, he had loved his wife and she had loved him. Nothing else really mattered. Kayla wanted to remember Rainy and Marshall the way they had been before…on their wedding day all those years ago. Marshall had looked at Rainy and smiled before he kissed her. Everyone in the chapel could see that he loved her more than life itself.

Kayla’s tummy did a little flip-flop when she realized that she had caught Peter looking at her in a very similar manner.

She had to look to the future now. The past was gone, dead and buried. Rainy would want them all to get on with their lives. She would be furious if any of the Cassandras failed to do so.

Kayla had to smile as she imagined Rainy saying, “Get over it, Ryan. Life’s too short to wallow in what can’t be undone.”

“Kayla.”

She looked up as Alex wandered into the kitchen to join her. “I’m working on the coffee.” Kayla reached for the carafe.

Alex placed a hand on Kayla’s. “Let’s skip the coffee.” She draped an arm around her shoulder. “I think we’d all be happier if we went straight to the wine.”

Kayla hugged her friend, held on tight for a bit. It felt good to have Alex back in her life.

After the funeral they had all driven back to Kayla’s to visit for a while. Things had gotten a little sentimental as each had recalled fond memories of time spent with Rainy. With her composure back in place, Kayla drew back from Alex’s comforting embrace. “I guess we’d better get a move on or we’re going to have a riot on our hands.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Alex agreed. No one had felt like having lunch prior to the service, except the kids. Jazz and Charlie, Darcy’s five-year-old son, had stayed with Kayla’s sister Mary and her family during the funeral. Mary had taken them out to their favorite fast-food joint.

Alex gathered fruit and cheese from the fridge while Kayla put the glasses and the bottle of wine her partner had given her for Christmas on a tray. A few dessert plates and they were good to go.

“I thought you guys had gotten lost in there,” Darcy said as Alex and Kayla returned to the living room with their laden trays.

Kayla set her tray on the sofa table. “We decided to skip the coffee.”

As appreciative sounds rumbled through the group and Alex poured the wine, Kayla couldn’t help thinking how happy Darcy looked. Now that she was no longer in hiding from her abusive ex-husband, she’d stopped dying her natural blond hair. The blond and brown combination fit right in with some of the new fad hairdos Kayla had seen in magazines recently. Not to mention the style made Darcy look five years younger…or maybe it was being in love that gave her that radiant glow. She and Jack Turner, the man in her life, were working on a partnership in a P.I./bounty hunting business. Darcy thought they might move to California for a brand new start. Thankfully, her scuzzball ex-husband, Maurice Steele, would be going on trial for murdering one of his business associates soon. Darcy, who had uncovered the murder, intended to testify against him. Good for her.

“A toast,” Tory said, drawing Kayla’s attention to her. Kayla noted that Tory was beaming herself. She suspected the savvy journalist’s radiance also had to do with love, but Tory wasn’t revealing any sources. Yet.

“To the Cassandras,” Tory announced, holding her glass high. “And those dear to them,” she added with a smile aimed at Elle, Sam’s twin sister. Glasses clinked.

They had all been surprised when Sam had shown up for the funeral. As a CIA agent, Sam rarely had free time. And they’d been shocked to meet her sister. They’d known Sam had discovered her long-lost identical twin, but seeing the two of them side by side was startling.

Getting Marshall’s body returned home had taken less time than they’d expected, and no one had known until the last minute that it was actually going to happen. Kayla suspected Peter and Justin Cohen had both pulled some strings. The Millers, Rainy’s folks, had taken care of the arrangements since Marshall had no close family of his own. Kayla had contacted the Cassandras, and thankfully they’d all managed to make it.

“To Rainy and Marshall,” Josie offered on the heels of Tory’s toast.

A moment of silence punctuated Josie’s words. Kayla imagined that all were thinking of Rainy and how very much she was still missed.

A loud series of thuds shattered the silence. Kayla’s gaze locked with Darcy’s. They were at Kayla’s daughter’s bedroom door before either of them managed to speak.

“It’s okay!” Jazz assured them, seeing Kayla’s worried look as well as Darcy’s. “Charlie accidentally knocked my rock collection off the shelf.” Both kids were on their knees picking up Jazz’s odd compilation of strangely shaped and colored rocks.

“Sorry!” Charlie exclaimed with a hopeful look at his mother.

Kayla and Darcy simultaneously breathed sighs of relief. Charlie had definitely gotten over his shy stage. He was a regular, rambunctious little boy now. Good thing, too, since he’d start school in the fall. Kayla’s heart warmed as she considered that Jazz would start at Athena Academy. It was a big step but a good one in the right direction for Jazz’s future.

“Kids,” Darcy said with a chuckle as she and Kayla relaxed their protective mommy stances. “Gotta have strong hearts to survive them.”

Kayla couldn’t agree more.

“Is everything all right?” Alex wanted to know as the two returned to the living room.

Alex, Tory, Josie, Sam and Elle all looked so concerned Kayla had to laugh out loud. “No damage done.” She couldn’t wait for each to have children of her own. No one really understood what it was like until it happened to them. That might very well be sooner than one would think, considering every single Cassandra now had a man in her life. One who was far more than a passing fancy. Josie had recently moved in with Diego Morel. Now that was serious. Elle, Sam’s sister, had mentioned Riley, Sam’s team leader, and Sam had actually blushed. Unbelievable. Who would ever have thought cool, tough CIA agent Sam would blush about anything? Kayla couldn’t help wondering if Elle would be going to work for the CIA as well. With her connections to the Russian secret service, the SVR, Elle would make the perfect double agent.

With the toasts behind them and enough fruit, cheese and wine in her belly to make even an ever-ready cop relax, Kayla sat back and enjoyed the great company. It was so good to have them all together, in spite of the sad circumstances that had brought them here today.

“I hope you’ll give me an exclusive on the Predator spy plane when the testing is complete,” Tory said to Josie after the long, contemplative silence. Tory’s news show, A Closer Look, was giving the old-timers like 60 Minutes and 20/20 a run for their money in the ratings.

“I’ll talk to my new commander,” Josie assured her. “I don’t want Shannon Conner in my hair any more, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have covering it.”

Josie had worked hard to continue the work her mother had started years ago. Thank God her mother’s name had been cleared and General John Quincy was finally getting his due. The guy had been obsessed with Josie’s mother. Josie had learned that he’d sabotaged her mother’s career all those years ago, and recently had messed with Josie’s flight tests, causing the death of one of Josie’s pilots. It was good to see that Josie as well as her family were happy these days. The weight of an unjust past had been lifted from their shoulders. Josie and her sister, Diana, appeared to be closer than they had been in years. Too bad Diana couldn’t come. Josie had told the Cassandras earlier that Diana was using all her military connections to look into Lab 33. Uncovering Lab 33’s dirty deeds was the only way they would ever know for sure what happened to any other children that may have been produced from Rainy’s eggs, and they had no idea whether they’d hear from Dawn again or not. Kayla shivered when she recalled how much Dawn had looked like Rainy. There was still so much to learn about what had really happened.

“While we’re talking about exclusives,” Alex said, turning to look at Tory, “why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you and my brother.”

Uh-oh. Kayla and the others kept quiet in anticipation of Tory’s response. Alex had mentioned that Tory had come to Thanksgiving dinner with Ben, Alex’s brother. She suspected that Ben and Tory were hot for each other. Well, maybe she hadn’t said it exactly that way, but Kayla knew that’s what she meant. Anyone with eyes could see that like the others Tory had someone.

Like everyone else, Kayla had always considered Ben Forsythe to be nothing more than a devil-may-care playboy. A great guy, but certainly not the type to commit, not even to a real career. But Alex now had her suspicions. Somehow, Tory and Ben had ended up together after the whole Thomas King rescue. Could Ben’s playboy persona be a cover for something else? Kayla couldn’t be sure, but like Alex, she had wondered about that. Considering how Rainy’s eggs had literally been stolen from her body without anyone’s knowledge, anything was possible. Not that Kayla intended to become one of those conspiracy theorists but her eyes had certainly been opened.

Tory took another sip of her wine then smiled mysteriously for Alex, “I never kiss and tell, Alex. How about you? How’s the legendary Dark Angel?”

Giggles erupted through the group, as much maybe from the warm fuzzy feeling of the wine as from Tory’s challenge. The Dark Angel was a nickname for Justin Cohen, stemming from the two times he’d broken into Athena Academy as a young man, searching for answers about his sister’s death. Alex was the one blushing this time. She and Justin’s relationship, though a long-distance one, was still going hot and heavy.

“Let’s just say,” Alex returned smugly, “that despite our geographical differences Justin and I are quite happy.”

“So we all have serious love interests,” Sam suggested, accidentally, or maybe not, giving away the depth of her own feelings.

Kayla poured herself another splash of wine. “Guilty,” she allowed. No reason not to ’fess up. It was the first time she had admitted out loud that what she and Peter had was serious. Now that she had, it felt good. Jazz’s father was behaving himself, had apparently learned his lesson and wanted to be a good father for the first time. There was no reason why Kayla couldn’t have a serious relationship and be proud of it.

Alex thrust out her glass. “Let’s have one last toast,” she announced. “To the Promise.”

Each woman present, including Elle, who probably knew of the Cassandra Promise from her sister, lifted her glass.

“Wait!” Tory held up a hand. She looked a little guilty or maybe a little humbled by the mention of the Promise. “Before we do that, let me say to Alex,” she looked directly at Alex then, “that Ben is—” Tory sighed, unable to hide from anyone in the room the way she felt about Ben—the mere mention of his name had proven telling “—is far more than meets the eye. Just so you don’t think you’re imagining things,” she added for Alex’s benefit.

A smile slid across Alex’s face. “I knew it.”

“To the Promise,” Kayla repeated, drawing all eyes to her. “And to the Cassandras!” She looked from one familiar face to the next, pausing a moment on the newest member of the group. Elle might not have attended Athena Academy with them, but she was a part of them now, just as Diana was. “The old and the new.”

Sounds of agreement underscored one last clinking of glasses.

Not one of those present would ever forget what the Cassandra Promise stood for. They would always be there for each other, wherever life took them. Just a phone call away.

Don’t miss the next
ATHENA FORCE adventure,
DECEIVED, by Carla Cassidy,
available in January 2005
at your favorite retail outlet.

ISBN: 1-55254-666-7

ATHENA FORCE: BOOKS 1-6

Copyright © 2006 by Harlequin Books S.A.

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Coming Next Month

Don’t miss the next ATHENA FORCE adventure, DECEIVED, by Carla Cassidy, available in January 2005 at your favorite retail outlet.

ON SALE IN NOVEMBER 2006

CLOSER ENCOUNTERS by Merline Lovelace, Silhouette Intimate Moments

HIDDEN SANCTUARY by Sharon McClellan, Silhouette Bombshell

VAMPAHOLIC by Harper Allen, Silhouette Bombshell

THE SPIDER STONE by Alex Archer, Gold Eagle Rogue Angel

ATHENA FORCE BOOKS 7-12 by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees, Doranna Durgin, Silhouette Bombshell