by Tracy Brody
“I’m there,” she said.
Weiss talked Angela through rewiring the system to disable the scrambler without tripping a warning. The guy knew his stuff, so Tony kept his mouth shut to not step on any toes.
“All right. Let me mute the phone and see what you can hear.”
Though there was white-noise interference, they could decipher her words.
“Not perfect, but we can use it,” Calomiris said.
“Okay.” Angela switched back to the phone. “Let me—wait. Shit! We’ve got another problem. Hakim’s got an RF detector. And it’s not the cheap off-the-internet kind. Oh, yeah,” she said after a pause, “he uses this, he finds the surveillance bug, and it’ll point right to me.”
Calomiris growled. “Skip the bugs. We have too much invested. Switch out the SIM card on the phone. We’ll set up parabolic mics across the street if needed. You going to be able to get the files out tonight?”
“There’re too many files to upload or email from here. Hakim set the security system. Unless he tries to shoo me out later, I’m here for the night.”
“We’ll be here all night, too, then,” Calomiris said.
“Have fun,” Weiss added.
“At least I get to sleep horizontal.”
“Rub it in.” Weiss griped and reached for the coffee thermos.
Tony glanced at his watch. It was going to be a long night. While, thank God, he wouldn’t spend it listening to Angela having sex with Hakim, she wasn’t out of the woods, or that locked-down condo, yet.
Six
Angela heard Hakim move about in the bedroom, then brush his teeth. She’d pay a hundred dollars for a toothbrush and minty toothpaste right now. Instead, she laid still on the couch.
In her purse two feet away, she had the information the Bureau worked over a year to get. She’d also snuck in his bedroom and replaced the SIM card in his phone. She was close now. So close. It made her mouth water and her pulse race. She needed to keep up the pretense for a few more minutes.
I’m Sabine. Sabine. She forced her breaths into a deep, steady rhythm. Her heart slowed its frantic pace. Sabine had foul-smelling breath from throwing up, too.
Innocent Sabine had no reason to be afraid of Anmar Hakim. If she’d gone to bed with him, and he woke to find her with his phone or computer, that would have been a death sentence.
Angela resisted the urge to open her eyes before his hand touched her shoulder, gently rousing her.
“Sabine.” His voice was raw, hoarse.
She grumbled and stretched, then blinked several times before she struggled to sit up. “How are you feeling?” She rubbed her stomach for emphasis, then laid her hand on his arm, careful to downplay the fact she heard him puking his guts out last night.
“Horrible.”
“I’m sorry. Not a pleasant end to an otherwise wonderful evening. I just had to order the seafood plate for us.”
“You think it was bad shrimp?”
“What else could it have been?” She massaged her brow and looked toward the window. “What time is it?”
“Around seven.”
She groaned. “Thank you for letting me pass out on your sofa. The thought of trying to make it home in a cab was … well, more humiliating than …” She dropped her gaze to the floor. Her breaths came easier now.
“Yes, I—I understand.”
She slipped her feet into her pumps, stood, and swayed a bit. “Would you call down for a cab? I should get home.”
Everything in the apartment was in its original place. Another minute and she’d be out of here. This critical phase of mission complete!
The adrenaline rush of living on the edge, when discovery of her deceptions could lead to mortal jeopardy, was one incredible aphrodisiac. Not that she would benefit from it. And Hakim sure as hell wouldn’t, either.
The doorman had a cab waiting when she exited the building. The flash of headlights from the white truck parked half a block away confirmed Cal or Weiss saw her. She couldn’t risk going straight to the FBI offices in Federal Plaza, so she kept up the French accent and gave the cabbie her home address, then settled back against the worn vinyl seat.
Outside, the tall buildings blocked most of her view of the sky, the sun nowhere in sight. She’d enjoyed the bit of the city’s culture she’d managed to partake in.
When she’d walked the city streets or ridden the subway, she’d heard dozens of languages spoken every day. It’d given her a chance to brush up on her skills. But there were too many people here. Too many unfamiliar faces that kept her constantly alert in an exhausting way.
Reggae music played on the radio, and she fantasized about relaxing on a sunny beach, listening to waves break against the shore instead of the current honking of cars.
The cab pulled to the curb in front of the six-story building where the Bureau had set up the tiny apartment for her as Sabine. Her bosses may be desperate to get the files on the zip drive in her possession, but they were going to have to wait a few minutes longer.
Upstairs, she shoved a change of clothes in her gym bag and brushed her teeth. She tuned out the coffeemaker’s siren song calling to her—no time to wait for it to brew. Almost feeling like a civilized human again, she switched out her pumps for walking shoes. She retrieved the lockbox in her closet and removed her FBI credentials and tucked the zip drive in the holder.
Please, let this have solid information. It only took one thread to unravel a money-laundering syndicate. One email or file could tie Hakim to al-Shehri. She hurried back down the two flights of steps and was back on the street in under five minutes.
She scanned the street on her way to pick up the number four subway line, checked out the other riders, and the people she passed during her walk to Federal Plaza. She was too close to blow her cover by getting tailed now. As much as she wanted to go the additional block and get some good coffee, she figured there’d be a ten-minute wait. Duty won out, and she turned down Duane Street. A cup of crappy coffee would suffice until she could slip out after she turned the files over.
As she passed through building security, reality reached a climax. The information she held could lead to major breakthroughs and help locate terrorist cells. Today might turn out to be a great day. A twelve on a scale of one to ten kind of day.
She approached the elevator humming “God Bless America.” Two men in expensive suits and power ties, both toting thick leather satchels, shot her amused looks as they waited. She finished the line, then switched to sing in her head.
“Don’t stop on my account. I like a patriotic woman,” said the shorter one. The elevator doors opened, and he motioned her in with a gracious wave of the hand that held a coffee cup emitting a delicious aroma.
She pushed the button for the FBI’s counter-terrorism offices.
“Twelve, please.” He checked her out head to toe. “Not in uniform today?”
“Uni—” Oh, the stereotypical dark suit. “Cocktail Wednesday,” she quipped.
He gave a pleasant laugh. “What time do they start serving? If I’m done with my cases, I’ll come join you for a drink.”
“Not until after five. Silly rules and regs.” The guy wasn’t bad looking—for a lawyer. She preferred less hair gel. And muscular arms. She’d always had a thing for great arms—like Jake’s.
Last night, she’d laid on Hakim’s couch and pictured Jake’s arms and his eyes. His smile. His firm abs.
She’d drifted off to sleep indulging in fantasies she couldn’t resist after seeing him again. A sexy aura of danger emanated from the man, but there was more. Something she’d glimpsed when they worked together nearly two years ago. He definitely put this attorney in the “average” category by comparison.
“Maybe I’ll see you.” The lawyer stepped out of the elevator behind his colleague, leaving her alone for the remainder of the ride.
“Special Agent Hoffman.” Angela flashed her credentials to the young receptionist.
“Grochowski’s been as
king for you. Wanted you in his office an hour ago,” the woman said.
Do not pass Go. Do not collect much-needed coffee first. At least she’d taken the time to brush the fuzz off her teeth.
The special agent in charge was already on his feet and rounded his desk to meet her.
“Calomiris tell you we couldn’t plant the bugs?” she asked.
“He left me a message. You still made my day. Actually, my year.” Grochowski took the zip drive from her and led her out of his office and down the hall.
“Get on this. Top priority.” He handed the drive to the technical analyst who lit up like a kid getting candy on Halloween, then turned to Angela. “You want to transfer here, I’ve got a spot for you.”
“You have more terrorists for me to date? Wow. That’s an offer I can refuse.”
“Can’t blame me for trying,” Grochowski pressed as they left the tech. “I’ll have my assistant find you office space downstairs.”
“While she does that and we’re waiting for him to access and download the files, I’m going to change.”
Angela headed to the locker room, ready to dispense of her Sabine persona now that she was in the office for the first time in nearly two months.
She longed for a scalding shower to wash away the dirty taint clinging to her but settled for rinsing her face. If the computer files uncovered any terrorist cells or gave them information that led to Hakim’s arrest, it was worth every bit of the distasteful sucking up she’d done. If it led to al-Shehri, that’d be better than hitting the lottery.
“She’s in here,” Weiss called out. He made his way across the locker room while she buttoned the fresh, crisp white shirt.
“Oops. Sorry.”
She recognized the rich baritone voice immediately and glanced over her shoulder. That Jake caught her getting dressed, brought to mind some of the more intimate moments forced on them at the Deluxe Stay Motel.
Jake set the tray with two large coffees and a bakery bag down on the bench, then took a seat as she folded the dress. She swore she saw a flash of heat in his dark eyes. There had been that touch of her cheek last night, too, which she’d attributed to him checking for the wire. Okay, married but male.
“You were in the truck with those two?” She jerked her head toward Weiss as Cal entered the locker room.
“I volunteered.”
“But all night?”
Jake shrugged. “So, Hakim got food poisoning?”
“He thinks so, thanks to a little tetrahydrozoline in his nightly tea.”
“You dosed him with eye drops?” He laughed, smiling at her with an incredulous expression.
“They’re good for more than getting the red out.” She gave him a lecherous smile as he handed her a coffee. She inhaled the tantalizing scent, then took a sip and luxuriated in the smooth taste of the vanilla latte. “Mmmm … heaven.”
Undercover work meant having to remember cover identities: names, accents, associates, backgrounds, and more, but Jake remembered her favorite coffee. He sure wasn’t making it easy to keep her thoughts semi-pure. When he opened the bag, she salivated for more than him.
“Blueberry muffin or sausage, egg, and cheese croissant?”
Her lust for this man jumped yet another notch. She looked from one to the other, debating.
He gave another sexy, throaty chuckle, then cut the croissant in half. “I thought you might be hungry. You didn’t dose yourself, did you?”
“No. Fanciest dinner I’ve had in probably three years, and I had to stick my finger down my throat to make sure I didn’t get kicked out.”
“Better plan than the alternative Weiss thought you’d employ.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She shook her head and accepted half of the sandwich. “Thanks. I’m glad someone is a gentleman and thoughtful enough to bring me coffee and something to eat,” she jabbed at her fellow agents.
“Hey. I would have gotten you coffee, but I had to circle the block in the truck. No place to park,” Cal said in his own defense.
She took a bite while Jake cut the muffin in half. Is this what falling in love feels like? Because these small gestures made her want to kiss him. She was probably being overdramatic after years of providing for herself with no one watching her back. But, still, it was beyond nice.
Another gulp of coffee gave her time to regain her composure.
“Yeah, we woulda, but the Boy Scout had it covered.” Weiss’ tone held a hint of mockery.
“It’s Tony. Vincenti. And I’m not a Boy Scout!” He rolled his eyes.
Tony Vincenti. Finally. She’d figured he was of Italian heritage. Joey, Frank, Vinnie were all names she’d run through, but Tony fit him better. Knowing his real name would surely play into any future fantasies.
Damn. Somebody was a lucky woman. She needed to get control of herself. She polished off the remainder of her croissant and closed her locker.
Angela studied him as he ate and watched her with an adorable grin. Something was different—other than his haircut and clothes. His nose. Before, it had a bump on the bridge and hooked a bit to the left. His jaw appeared broader, too, though it could look different without the sexy scruff he had in Texas. Remembering how soft it had been against her cheek inspired an urge to stroke his face. Another impulse to resist.
He handed her half of the blueberry muffin, then took a bite of his. Leaning in, he spoke in a low tone. “When this is over, maybe we can go out to dinner. Make up for you losing yours last night.”
A date? Was he serious? Or … “You, uh, don’t have family to get home to—back at your secret base?”
“Special Ops Command at Bragg isn’t exactly a secret. Wait—family? The ring?” Understanding registered across his features. He held up his left hand and pulled off the gold band. “A prop for last night. I promise. Did you think—when we were in Texas …?”
A flush shot her body temperature up a few degrees. How did this man read her like a giant billboard? “I didn’t see why not. I mean, you behaved like a gentleman—or a married man.”
“No. Not married.” He shook his head. “Or in a relationship. I was being professional, and you, uh,”—he glanced over at Cal and Weiss to make sure they weren’t listening—“didn’t offer any overt invitations. I kinda thought you were married or involved with someone. Too bad we didn’t talk about that.” His smile broadened, and his eyebrows hitched up.
“We didn’t exactly have that opportunity.” Not with the surveillance camera planted in her room. While they’d put on quite a show pretending to be lovers in public, she’d focused on the assignment. Resisted the temptation.
Her past, the choices she’d made, and the contract on her life meant serious relationships were not an option. Probably never would be. But she could see having a little fun. “You’re planning to stay in the city for a while?”
“With the right incentive.” Again, one side of his mouth turned up in that appealing, make-her-stomach-flutter manner. “The colonel’s been on me to use some of my accrued vacation time. I was thinking about heading upstate to see family for a couple of days. First, we could get tickets for a show. Have a nice dinner. See some sights.” His gaze held hers.
She wanted to say yes—if he was being honest with her about not being married. She’d been burned before. Could she trust him?
Hell, she could find out. After all, she was with the FBI.
Seven
Seeing Angela had been an invigorating turnaround to Tony’s morning after a long night in the van. He’d love a twenty-minute power nap, but the rest of the Bad Karma team had arrived, and they’d all been relegated to a windowless FBI conference room. At least the Bureau higher-ups hadn’t told the team, ‘Thanks, but we don’t need your help’—yet. It would suck if they got sent home before he could honor his promise to take Angela out. Their exchange in the locker room gave him a double incentive to tackle the stacks of paper covering the table, hoping to find anything useful in locating al-Shehri or convict
ing Hakim.
“What,” a booming voice interrupted their work, “there aren’t enough assholes running around in Afghanistan to keep you guys busy? Now you gotta come to the big city and play here, too?” Jarrod Carswell, former Bad Karma team leader, stood in the doorway, grinning at the men.
“Look at you, Captain.” Lundgren rose to his feet.
“Not Captain anymore. Supervisory Special Agent Carswell now.” Carswell threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, posing in his dark-gray suit and yellow tie.
“What are you doing here? Last I heard you were working for that private contractor, Dìleas.” Lundgren shook Carswell’s hand.
“Yeah, well, that gig ended. Joined the Bureau four years ago. Here I am, running my first show when Grochowski calls last night, saying Hoffman requested to bring in outsiders. I said, ‘Hell no.’ We’re this close.” Carswell held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Then Grochowski says some Spec Ops team is about to pick up Hakim, and we’ve got to play ball. When he mentioned Colonel Mahinis, I figured it could be like old times. Didn’t know I was saying yes to my Bad Karma team. Might not have said yes if I’d known I was bringing you yahoos in.”
“Bullshit!” Mack Hanlon protested with a broad grin.
“Hanlon, Vincenti, you still dishing out bad karma?”
“Every chance we get,” Tony said. He and Carswell only served on the team together for a year, but they’d been knee-deep in serious shit on more than one occasion.
Lundgren introduced Carswell to the newer members of the team.
“How’re Cheyenne and the kids? Glad to have you home for a change?” Mack asked.
“Hardly,” Carswell grunted. “She’d be happier if I were overseas and bringing in the triple-digit paycheck. Flipside is I get to see the boys more.”
It sounded like married life wasn’t paradise for Carswell on this second go-round. Still, Tony wanted more than the string of short-term, shallow relationships that only satisfied his physical needs.
It was his own fault. Picking up women in bars—or being picked up as was the case over half the time—was not the ideal way to meet women who were interested in what he could offer beyond the bedroom.
