by Vicki Hinze
“Really?” she asked, suitably impressed.
“The mall thoroughfares and corridors smell like Christmas pine, and nearly every store has its own specific scent—coffee, lemon, fresh air, and even salt water, though I won’t hazard a guess as to why.”
“Fishing,” Maggie said. “It’s huge here.”
“Ah, of course.” Justin nodded. “All are distinct, though some of the scents are subtle. Others are blatant.” He grunted. “I wonder how many times people come here and never notice that?”
“A lot, I imagine,” Maggie said. “Few outside the field think in terms of fragrance masking bio-contaminates.” She paused and checked the center rounds. About eight feet in diameter, they were raised beds, home to potted plants and huge palms. “All of these rounds need to be netted.” They formed a line down the center of the common areas throughout all three levels.
Justin blinked hard, scribbled that down. “I missed that, darn it. It’d be ridiculously easy to drop in a vial.”
They walked on, through Center Court. On the far end, near the escalator and stairs, the stage stood empty. The heavy red-velvet drapes were tied to its white-column sides with thick gold ropes. “We’ll need to blockade that space under the platform.” Anything could be hidden under it. She looked down the wide marble steps to the pit that would be filled with snow. About three feet deep, it was roughly the size of a basketball court.
A ruckus erupted just outside the Tot Shop. Will Stanton surfaced right in the middle of it, planting himself between two shouting men. “Just calm down,” Will said, his voice carrying over to Maggie.
“We’d better see what’s up,” Maggie said, and walked over with Justin staying at her side.
The redhead from the auditorium meeting stood to the left of them, her round face pale. “I want him arrested. He’s in my store, spraying that...that...thing.”
Maggie looked at the “thing” and recognized it as an inhaler. She stepped forward. “May I see that?”
The wheezing man looked at Will, who nodded, then handed it over. “Asthma?” Maggie asked.
“Yes.”
She checked the label and then passed the item back to him. “Go ahead and use your inhaler, sir.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Will said. “We’ve had trouble with a couple guys playing with spray paint lately.”
Relief washed across the man’s face. He gave himself two sprays and then stuck the inhaler back in his pocket. His breathing cleared and the liquid sound disappeared from his chest. “If you’ve got a problem, lady,” he told the redhead, “you should ask a person before creating a ruckus.” Shaking his head, he then walked away with his friend.
“I had to check,” the redhead said. “It was an aerosol.”
“Gladys,” Will Stanton said. “Don’t make my life miserable. I can’t be so busy monitoring you that I miss an attacker.”
“Sorry.”
Maggie and Justin returned to their inspection. “Put your running shoes on,” she whispered. “It’s already started, but when the owners get Will’s lists, they’ll all be jumping at ghosts.”
“Annoying but inevitable, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. “But this time tomorrow we’ll wish we had Rollerblades.”
By the time Maggie and Justin had completed the vulnerability-and-familiarity inspection on each of the three levels, and on all twenty-six A-stores and the B-stores, they’d also dealt with two more aerosol alarms. The first was on Level One at Queen’s In, a women’s clothing store. A shopper had used a perfume atomizer, and the owner had freaked. The second alarm was at a Level Three children’s furniture store, Half-Pint. A mother-to-be had tested furniture polish to make sure she wasn’t allergic. The clerk had heard the spray but hadn’t seen the can and panicked.
Will Stanton met up with Maggie and Justin on Level One outside 24-Karat on Jewelry Row. “How’s it going?” A woman pushed a stroller with twin infants down the corridor. “Good, Will,” Maggie said. “But we’ve got a lot to do.”
“Do we have a shot at getting it done in time?”
Maggie assessed it. “Yes, but it’ll take effort and focus.”
“I might have to hog-tie Gladys.”
The stout redhead. Maggie smiled. “More incidents?”
“Two, so far.” He grunted. “We might want to reconsider having her here tomorrow.”
“Can’t,” Justin said. “If she’s not here, her life’s not at risk. There’s no way she’ll keep quiet about the preparations going on here.”
Will listened to a quick transmission on his walkie-talkie—something mundane on Level Two—checked his watch and then looked at Maggie. “Why don’t you two grab some lunch at one of the restaurants while my staff finishes getting the floor plans together.”
“How much longer will it be?” Maggie pulled a mint from her purse, offered Will and Justin one.
Will declined. “We need a little while. Oversize copies. Linda Diel, Barone’s assistant, arranged with a local architectural firm to run copies for us.”
“Terrific,” Maggie said. No sense in pushing him; the man was clearly working at this as hard as he could. “Will an hour do it?”
“Linger an extra fifteen minutes over dessert, and we should be ready for you. The firm’s across town and the copying will take a little extra time. I’m having them duplicate everything—fire, security—all of it. Some of the more sensitive plans are stored in the vault. We had to get access and Mr. Barone was a little reluctant, but Linda finally talked him around.”
Justin grunted. “No doubt, Linda convinced him with talk of legal liability. Little else would work with him.”
Will sent Justin a conspiratorial grin. “You got it in one, Doc.” He shifted his weight on his feet. “Maggie, Mr. Barone wants you to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” Maggie said. If GRID attacked Santa Bella, she had to share knowledge with the Threat Integration Center, First Responders and her entire chain of command. “But I will classify the plans top secret.”
“That’ll be fine,” Will said. “I’ll explain it to Mr. Barone.” Maggie didn’t envy him the task.
“Thanks.”
Will’s walkie-talkie beeped. “Enjoy your lunch. If you need me, I’ll be stomping out fires.”
Maggie watched him go and then turned to Justin. “Name your poison.”
Surprise widened his eyes. “What?”
“Lunch,” she said, then rephrased. “Where do you want to eat lunch?”
“How about seafood at Emerald Bay?” He suggested a quiet restaurant facing the Center Court pit.
“Works for me.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at a small square table draped with a snowy-white linen cloth. Maggie scanned the menu and made her selection. “Linguini with white clam sauce, a small house salad and iced tea, please. Sweet.”
The thin waitress had high cheekbones and dimples. She wasn’t a pretty woman, but she had an interesting face and a sunny disposition that made her beautiful. “Sir?”
“Grilled shrimp,” he said. “The vegetable medley, please, and a salad with house dressing. Sweet tea.”
Only in the south did one order “sweet tea” instead of iced tea and then add sugar. Two months ago Maggie had returned to her last assignment, the Biological Warfare Review Board at the Pentagon in Washington, and remembered how her request for sweet tea had raised eyebrows. In Florida, where a sweet tea order is the custom, she still forgot to order that way half the time.
Midway through their meal, general chat turned serious. “May I ask you a question?” Justin asked.
Chewing, Maggie nodded.
“When you gave me the odds of a GRID attack,” he said softly so as to not be overheard, “were you being conservative or generous?”
Maggie tried not to take offense. He didn’t know her. Still, she felt that knot of resentment form in her stomach. “Neither,” she said, hearing disdain in her
voice but unable to hide it. “I was being honest and as objective as possible.”
Astute, Justin picked up on it, and that the disdain was aimed in his direction. He frowned. “Maggie, have I done something to offend you?”
“No.” She stopped there, not eager to bring her personal bias or the sadness that rode shotgun with it out into the open. She felt and acknowledged both, true. But she didn’t want to have to admit it.
His expression tightened, dragging down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes turned cold and distant. “But....”
“Isn’t that sufficient?”
“Actually, no. It isn’t.” He dabbed at his mouth with his linen napkin. “If you have a problem with me, let’s get it out in the open.”
“All right.” She set down her fork. “The truth is, I’m not comfortable relying on you. It’s a position I’d rather not be in.”
“Why?” He looked baffled. “I’m just as reliant on you—likely more reliant, considering your added areas of expertise at what we’re facing—and I haven’t had the privilege of reading your dossier or performance reports. I don’t know nearly as much about you as you do about me.” He lifted a hand. “I’m a doctor, Maggie. I’m great in the lab and on bio subjects, but I’m not in the lab right now, and I don’t have the other essential skills you have.”
“Bluntly put, my skills are excellent or I wouldn’t be here,” she said. “But it isn’t your lack of field skills that bothers me, Justin.” Being honest was difficult, but Maggie refused to lie to him. She brushed her shoulder-length blond hair back behind her shoulder. “This will be horribly blunt, and I have no desire to hurt you, but the truth is, I don’t trust you. And I try very hard to never be in a position where I must depend on someone I don’t trust.”
Now he was seriously offended and challenged her. “What exactly have I done to destroy your trust?”
She shrugged.
“Then your rationale escapes me.”
Why did he keep pushing her on this?
Truth dawned and reflected in his eyes. He had put the puzzle pieces into place. “Whose sins am I being punished for? Kunz and GRID, or is this about your ex-husband?”
Shame washed through her. She couldn’t meet Justin’s eyes. He knew way too much about her personal situation already. The shame and sadness, the regret that she couldn’t go back and change anything. Not in her marriage, or in her reaction to finding out about Jack and Karen, which was totally and completely humiliating. To be that angry, that out of control...seemed so right. Dr. Morgan Cabot said Maggie’s wasn’t an uncommon reaction to discovering adultery with a friend and that Maggie should forgive herself. But she looked at the wedding band on her finger and she just couldn’t do it.
Justin knew most of that, except about Morgan, of course. Why did he keep pressing her?
Her chest went tight. “I don’t know whether it’s fear you’re a double or because of Jack,” she said honestly, feeling more confused than she’d felt since having her first crush on a guy in high school. “Maybe it’s neither, or maybe it’s both.” She risked a glance up into his eyes. “I’m not being a jerk, Justin. You confuse me.” You make me think and feel things I don’t want to feel, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Something swelled in her throat, threatening to choke off her air. She rubbed at it, hoping it’d go away, knowing it wouldn’t.
And then the reason hit her. He could hurt her. She liked him, and he could hurt her. “Do we have to get into this?”
“Considering my life and the lives of a lot of others could well be in your hands, uh, yes. Yes, we do have to get into this. You made a judgment call against me. I deserve to know the basis of it, Maggie. Right now, I’m not comfortable relying on you, either. But I would like to be.”
Her stomach revolting, her lungs air-starved, she set down her fork and laced her hands in her lap. “I’m afraid that the problem between us is just with me.” She stared at him, not quite believing what she was about to say herself. “I—I like you, Justin.”
He smiled. “That’s good news, not a problem.”
“Oh, yes, it is. A huge problem. No, don’t laugh. I’m serious.” She wiped a damp palm on the napkin draped over her lap. “It’s—it’s...” At a loss for words, she waved small circles with her hand.
“It’s worse,” he said. “Because I like you, too.”
“Oh, geez.” She did not want to hear that. Her hand on her thigh shook. Well, okay, she did want to hear it, but she shouldn’t. What a mess! The timing was so wrong. Maybe she’d plead for mercy. What else was left? Shame, anger, embarrassment, humiliation, and now this?
Nothing. Nothing was left. In some way, he’d touched something inside her. She didn’t like it. Okay, she did like it, but she shouldn’t like it. And she didn’t want to like it.
Definitely, plead for mercy. “Justin, just let this go. Please. I don’t want to create unnecessary tension between us, and I don’t want to lie to you. Nothing will be gained by us hashing through this, so there’s no need and no benefit in pursuing this discussion.”
“No need?” Shock rippled across his face. “There’s every need.”
Maggie stared at him a long moment. He wouldn’t relent. “Okay, then. Fine. But remember that you insisted.” Irritated at being shoved into a corner, she washed down her food with a long drink of cold tea, then set down her glass. Chilled drops slid down its slick side to the table. “During the course of my life, I’ve determined a few things to be true. One you’re familiar with already. Men are very good at deceit and cannot be trusted.”
“A crime committed by one man, for which you’re condemning an entire gender?”
“Not only one man, Justin.” She gave him a pointed look, reminding him of his own infidelity, which had been disclosed clearly in his dossier.
His face flushed, but he didn’t acknowledge that he was as guilty as Jack had been. “For you, there’s a lot more going on here than a lack of trust,” Justin speculated. “That can be earned. But you said there were a few things. What are the others?”
Earned. Yes, maybe. But he said it as if it were as easy as picking up a Sunday paper. It wasn’t. It was hard. She returned to her topic. “There are two,” she said. “The first is that men make promises and vows to appease women—and they break them the very second women interfere with what they want to do.”
“Ah, I understand now.”
She drank from her glass. “What?”
“The reason Colonel Drake warned you about the rules. I thought that was odd at the time, but now I totally understand why she felt compelled to issue that order.”
Irritated at being this transparent, Maggie bristled. “It’s important to follow the rules, Justin. Rules are like promises or vows. When you break them, the result isn’t hypothetical. It’s real, and too often, real people get hurt.”
He had to be angry. It should be radiating from him, but not a hint of it was evident in his voice. Silky-soft and smooth, it never wavered. “And your third truth?” He encouraged her to go on.
She did, seeing no sense in not saying it all now that most of it was already on the table. “Three. It’s my ironclad policy never to trust a man who cheats.”
“Because you divorced one,” he said.
“Yes.” And it’d nearly killed her. “Your marriage is none of my business, Justin, and I’m first to admit it. But it would be foolish to ignore our histories. As you said, lives depend on the decisions and judgment calls we make.”
“And personal feelings just blur the lines on rules and make things messy.”
“That, too.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. The look in his eyes turned hard and cold. Still his voice stayed velvet-soft. “I’m not shocked, Maggie,” he said. “Maybe a little disappointed in you, but I’m not surprised that when you look at me, all you see is a man who cheated on his wife who might also, despite Colonel Drake’s vouching for me, be one of Kunz’s body doubles.”
“I don’t think you’r
e a double—not at the moment, anyway.” Confusion inside her created chaos. Was he trying to provoke her or to make her feel guilty? She refused to feel either. Her feelings were her own, valid and forged in the agony that follows betrayal, in the pain of being tossed suddenly from the lifetime expectancy of “us” into “just me” without warning. She’d trudged through months of depression and wondering if her job had been the cause of their problems. Wondering why, during a time of national crisis, it had been so easy for her husband and best friend to hurt her and lie to her. She’d suffered, and she still suffered because there were no easy answers to these questions and a million more like them that haunted her. Often, there were no answers at all.
No, Justin Crowe wasn’t going to make her second-guess what she knew to be true. She’d lived the victim side of the unfaithful. She’d trusted Jack implicitly, totally and completely. And with no warning, he’d left her broken and devastated in the pile of rubble that once had been her life.
No man would ever have that power over her again. She just couldn’t survive it twice.
The waitress silently poured coffee, clearly picking up on the tension at the table. She cast a covert glance at Maggie’s hand, checking for a wedding band, and seemed reassured on seeing one, then left the table.
“I feel the sadness in you, Maggie.” Justin added cream to his coffee. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
She swallowed hard, lifted her chin. “No, I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, took responsibility. “I had no right to say any of that to you.”
He rubbed the handle of his cup with his thumb. “I might have gotten more than I wanted, but at least you were honest. I can respect an honest woman.”
What did he mean by that? Clearly there was a message in the comment, but exactly what was it? “Look,” she said. “I really don’t want a war with you. I was serious earlier. You have been helpful here, and we do have to work together. It will be so much easier if we do so on a friendly footing.”
“I don’t want a war, either. But let’s face it, you like me and I like you.” He stopped a second and sadness swept over his face. “The battle lines have been drawn. Between you and me, but even more so, between you and a man I’ve never met, and between me and a woman you’ve never met.” He chewed at his lip. “For what it’s worth, Maggie, I’m sad, too. I guess when we get down to it, we’re both victims of our past experiences.”
