by Tracy Brody
It wasn’t his parents’ name and number displayed on the caller ID, but a 212-area code. Hope shot through him at the possibility they’d hear that Vasquez had wired the money. As he answered, it clicked that 212 was a New York City area code, not D.C.
“Vincenti. It’s Jarrod,” Carswell returned his greeting.
“What’s up?” Jarrod, he mouthed to Angela. That Jarrod would call instead of someone in the D.C. office triggered a warning in his brain.
“I heard about Angela. I can’t believe it after what she’d been through. We’re all in shock up here. I know you two were close, so I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I can’t believe it myself.” He caught himself before saying too much. Of course, Jarrod wouldn’t know about Vasquez and the contract—hopefully—since only the Bureau’s D.C. office participated. Better to keep it that way since Jarrod had a big mouth.
“Did you hear anything about who they think is responsible?”
“Not yet. An agent picked her up at the airport. If I’d … I planned to go up this weekend.” Tony walked to the family room, away from Angela, to keep his concentration.
“Do you know details on a funeral?” Jarrod asked.
Shit. Would Jarrod seriously consider going after the way he’d treated her?
“They’re going to—” He paused, drawing in a breath for effect. “They’re going to do a cremation and hold a memorial service. The obit’s supposed to run tomorrow with the time and place. The D.C. office is handling it.”
“I’ll check online then. Again, I’m sorry, man.”
After they ended their conversation, Tony sat on the couch, letting the hostility brewing in him subside. Glasses clanked as Angela loaded the dishwasher.
“What did Jarrod have to say?” She joined him in the living room and sat beside him.
“Called to offer his condolences.” Though had he said that? What did he really want? “He didn’t try to start things up again when you were in New York, did he?” He had to ask.
“No. It would have been a moot point anyway. I have no attraction to Jarrod. None. Not after I found out what he was really like. When we were working in Afghanistan, I asked him if he was married on more than one occasion. Each time he misled me. Didn’t outright lie, but when I brought up a wife, he said ‘Wife? You don’t see a wedding band, do you?’ or ‘What? Do you only have a thing for married men? I’d hate for that to spoil the possibilities.’” She shook her head, her mouth set in a dismayed twist. “I should have known from the way he ducked giving a direct answer.”
“He lied, even if he didn’t say ‘I’m not married.’ It’s not your fault you believed him.” Typical Jarrod. Tony wanted to beat the shit out of his former teammate. And he thought Dominguez played games when it came to women.
“After the ambush, they shipped him home to the States. I felt bad, so I went to the hospital when I got back. Coming face-to-face with his wife …” She shook her head. “I did my best to cover. I told her we worked together. I’m not sure she bought it.”
“Again. Not your fault. All Jarrod thinks about is himself.”
“Yeah. I certainly learned that—too late. He gave me a headscarf he bought at the market in Khost. Then he got mad when I didn’t wear it. It was handmade and distinctive.”
“If someone identified it as the one he bought, that would expose you.” Duh. What the hell had Jarrod been thinking? Oh, about his pride. And his dick. Tony kept his mouth shut. Questioning her choice of Jarrod as a romantic partner wouldn’t help when she clearly regretted the relationship.
“Exactly. I pointed that out, and he still acted as if I was making too big a deal. He said only the woman who made it would know. Anyway, I’m not Jarrod’s favorite person, either. I didn’t know he was leading the mission in New York when I went up. And he sure as hell didn’t know it was me coming in to help until I showed up.”
“Hmm?” He didn’t follow how Jarrod wouldn’t know.
“He knew me as Angelique Gilbert. My given name. I changed it when I left the CIA. It seemed safer considering the contract. Anyway, New York was strictly a working relationship. Jarrod needed me because the first undercover agent, who he selected, nearly exposed the Bureau’s interest in Hakim. Jarrod is smart and charming on the surface, but it’s crystal clear that he only cares about one thing. One person: Jarrod. He’s not near the man you are in any way. Being involved with him was a mistake, so I’d rather not give him any more of my time—especially when we were right about here.”
She shifted on the couch to lean in and invade his space. “And I think your shirt was coming off.” She gave a playful tug to the bottom of his T-shirt.
God, that sultry look in her eyes shut out any jealousy pricking him about Jarrod. Considering his past, Tony couldn’t hold hers against her. Not when what they had was so damned perfect. And what was under her shirt was so damned perfect, too. Blood drained from his upper body and headed straight to his groin.
Time to forget Jarrod and give Angela his undivided attention and more incentive to stay.
Thirty-Seven
The hum of the garage door opening set off the same giddiness of a high school girl with a keep-me-up-at-night crush. Angela’s fingers froze on the laptop keys. She wanted to think her reaction to Tony’s arrival resulted from having someone to talk to after being alone throughout the day. But it was more than that.
For years, she had no problem being alone. It was Tony. Spending time with him made her want more. Want the things she’d given up after joining the CIA. The longer she stayed, the harder it got to separate the present from her future.
Imagining Tony’s brawny arms was enough to make her lose her train of thought. His eight-pack abs—yeah, his body sported not six, but eight—packed a wallop of desire whenever he appeared in a towel.
Or a pair of jeans.
Or in uniform.
Or naked.
His keys clanked against the kitchen countertop, and seconds later, Tony strolled into the family room. She closed the screen of her laptop, and her body temperature shot up. He made the plain tan crewneck T-shirt sexy with the way it emphasized his arms and broad chest.
A new kind of tingling started when she noticed the bag in his hand. “What’s that?”
“What? This?” His grin broadened. He pulled a gift-wrapped box out of the nondescript bag. “Just something you’ll need.” He held the box in his hand, not yet extending it to her. “I figured you might be tired of being cooped up in here most of the time. Thought when you’re up for it, we’d get out and do something fun.”
She squirmed on the couch but refrained from reaching for the gift. It wasn’t her birthday or any special occasion. Based on the size of the box, it wasn’t lingerie—not that she would have minded. A fancy dress and dinner didn’t suit either of them. “What’d you have in mind?”
His eyebrows waggled playfully. She smiled back while her mind shifted away from the gift.
“You want to open it now or, uh, later?” He stepped closer, then laughed as she debated how to answer. He took a seat on the couch, then laid the box in her lap.
She ran her fingertips over the satin ribbon.
“Go ahead.” He grinned at her.
She couldn’t wait any longer. The box was heavier than she expected. Like a kid on Christmas morning, she shook it before pulling the ribbon to undo the bow. Her hands shook as she peeled back the layers of tissue paper. She gasped when she saw what lay inside.
“I thought we’d go riding soon,” he said.
Her fingers glided over the jacket’s soft, supple leather. She couldn’t bring herself to lift it from the box. “You shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”
“I haven’t had someone to spoil in a long time. Unless you count my folks and nieces and nephews. Try it on.”
The mention of his family, people he cared about and needed to protect, jabbed at her.
She took the riding jacket out and held it up. “But I won’t be
here much longer.”
He started to speak, then stopped, taking an exaggerated breath. “You know … it’s not a good idea to go back to D.C.—even if you are ‘dead.’ It could get back to whoever …”
“I know. That’s why I’m working with Kathryn to transfer to another office.”
Tony’s mouth tightened. “I hoped you’d stay here.”
“And do what? Sponge off you? I can’t do that.”
“There’re plenty of businesses that need translators.”
“Not to sound conceited, but I helped stop a bombing. I saved lives. Becoming a translator for the courts, a hospital, or defense contractor, that’s a big step backward.”
“Defense contractor might pay better than the Bureau,” he grumbled.
“And would you take a job with a private contractor?”
“If it meant giving us a shot, I’d consider it.”
Whoa. That was the last thing she expected. She sank back against the couch and laid the jacket on the box.
“What about the Bureau’s Charlotte office?” he suggested.
It was her turn to sigh. Time to bring out the sledgehammer. Make it sink in—for both of them. “And what about a family? You want that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Tony didn’t hesitate.
“If I’m a few hours away, and we get together every couple of weeks—”
“That’s not what I had in mind—”
“Exactly! Tony, I … I can’t have a family. Not with my past. Somebody put a freaking bomb under my bed!” Her voice broke, and tears staged a surprise ambush.
“I know. I was there. But we stopped it. We’re going to get whoever did that.”
“We don’t know who it was. It might be tied to al-Shehri or the Vasquez family. They aren’t the only ones who have a score to settle with me.”
“Whoever it is, we’ll stop them. I can protect you.” His firm voice didn’t waver.
“You can’t take out everyone who might want to hurt me. And you can’t be there all the time.” She shook her head. “What if … what if we had kids? Some of these people are ruthless. You’d be targets. I can’t live with that.”
“I can take care of myself. Maybe we don’t have kids …”
Kids? Dammit. Why did I bring up that possibility? Where did it even come from? Because I love him. Yes, she was flat-out, gobsmacked, down-the-rabbit-hole in love with him. “I can’t ask you to give up everything you want.”
“This would buy us time to figure things out. Make a plan.”
“People don’t get everything they want. And what if we tried? Then say one day you come home, and I’m gone. Maybe the place is torn up. There’s blood. Or maybe there’s nothing out of place. I’m just … gone. And you don’t know if someone took me, or I had to leave to keep you safe. Then what do you do?”
For once, Tony had nothing to say. He sat there, his mouth open, his head shaking.
“You have an exit plan,” he finally said. “Okay, you tell me where and—”
“I can’t. You know that.”
His mouth turned into a grim line as she countered every objection. Anger flashed in his eyes.
“You’re talking like this is a sure thing. You’re willing to walk away on the chance that someone will come after you.”
“They already have. I couldn’t live with myself if someone died because they were close to me.” Saying it broke her control; her throat constricted, so she could hardly breathe. Tears scorched the back of her eyelids.
His mouth was tight, and anger rolled off his body, but he didn’t get up and stalk away. Not yet. She couldn’t blame him if he did. He had given her an expensive, thoughtful gift. The grown-up, Tony-version of a promise ring. And what had she done? She stole his joy—not just about the gift, but about how their relationship was progressing.
It hadn’t been her original intention, but she had to find out if her assumptions about him wanting a family were on target. It wasn’t fair to mislead him—not when he was talking about their future.
She didn’t say more when he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. When the jacket slipped to the floor, neither of them moved to retrieve it.
“This isn’t over. You have to give us time for this to play out. Find out who and shut them down.”
She didn’t expect him to give up without a fight. That wasn’t in his nature. For now, she’d give him time to process the whole picture. Once he did, he’d come to accept it. That gave her more time, too. Time to stock up as many memories of Tony as possible to carry with her when they had to part.
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Screw it. Tony lowered the weights and let go of the hand pulls. He strained to hear Angela’s voice. She must have moved into the kitchen after getting the phone.
He grabbed his towel, then pushed up from the bench. Wiping his face, he stepped out of his home gym and paused, listening again. What was he afraid of? This was his home.
Strolling to the fridge, he studied Angela’s face. Distractedly, she tapped a pen on a legal pad. A few lines of notes were scribbled near the top. Under those, swirls of ink formed a dark cloud.
“It sounds like they bought the explosion being successful.” She glanced up but didn’t hold eye contact with him. “I won’t hold my breath on that. Thanks, Kathryn.”
While he drained a glass of water, she continued tapping her pen on the pad.
“Kathryn Barnsley?” That explained Angela’s rush to answer the phone while they were working out. Only she didn’t appear happy with the outcome of the conversation.
“Yeah.” Her hand stilled. “Four-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars was wired out of a Vasquez account yesterday.”
The hair on his sweaty forearms stood at attention. “That’s what we wanted. Now we know who.” Finally, things were moving forward. But obviously, she didn’t share his enthusiasm. Why?
“You want to cash in on that action?” She managed a grim smile.
“Not nearly enough. Especially for you.” He winked, then took a seat at the kitchen table.
“The money was wired to an account in Singapore.”
“Shit.” Singapore. Not only was it offshore, but banking privacy laws meant the Bureau wouldn’t be getting any info on the account holder. Someone had the brains to make it hard, if not impossible, to trace the money.
Angela’s mouth pursed, and her head shook in agreement. “They did get a name from the wire transfer on the Colombian bank’s end. So far, no hits on an Austin Cooper in the FBI database. Or Homeland Security. Or Interpol.”
“Austin Cooper?” The name rattled around his brain. “Isn’t he that actor who did the show pranking other celebrities?”
Angela shrugged, reminding him she rarely watched TV. “Without access to the identification used to open the account, the Bureau’s hitting a brick wall. It’s a waiting game to see where the money goes next. Which, if it’s a professional hit, could be a while. It reinforces what I’ve been thinking.”
Her tone as much as her words pulled him forward on his seat.
“Maybe it’s just as well if we don’t find out who.” Her shoulders sagged.
“What?” She couldn’t mean that.
“Currently, the Vasquez family thinks I am dead. They’re out a chunk of change, but it’s not as if they don’t have millions more. If the assassin thinks he completed his job, he’s moved on.”
“You want to … let them off? They tried to kill you!”
“And they didn’t succeed. Not this time. If we find who set the bomb and put him on trial, everyone learns I’m alive, and I’ve got a bull’s-eye on my head again. This way, I can move on, too.” Acceptance of her situation showed in her eyes.
She had a point, but the idea of someone getting away without repercussions incensed him. He slouched back into his chair and took a long, deep breath. Then another. It didn’t ease the pounding of his pulse or his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Me,
either. But we can’t charge the Vasquezes or an assassin with murder if I’m still alive. Attempted murder, yes, but … It’s a trade-off. They get away with it; I get to live without looking over my shoulder all the time. The Bureau can set me up with a new ID, and I can start over somewhere. Maybe they’ll find evidence to convict the assassin of another crime or murder.”
Or Tony could find this Austin Cooper and kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands. The guy hadn’t killed Angela, but he was killing his shot of a future with her. Every time she brought up leaving, it felt like a knife butchering away part of his heart. How the fuck was he going to convince her to stay instead of shutting him down and out?
He pushed back from the table. “I need to get a shower before I go into work.”
She stood, blocking his exit. “I think you need to expunge some of this hostility first.”
He didn’t respond though her suggestive smile implied she didn’t mean going back to finish his workout. “I’ll shoot things.” He wasn’t in the mood to be pacified. He debated forcing his way around her—until her hand rested on his stomach. The spark in her eyes held him captive.
“Shooting stuff was not what I had in mind.”
“Sex doesn’t solve everything.”
“No.” Angela’s victorious smile grew. “But I’ve got some frustration to work off, too. Angry sex might make us feel better. It won’t hurt. Well, maybe a tiny bit. In a good way.”
Oh, Lordy. So much for not being in the mood. In the two seconds he closed his eyes and swallowed, her shirt pulled a Houdini. No point countering her argument when he couldn’t help but get a hard-on anticipating how she might plan to work out her frustration now that she was solidly on the road to recovery.
Thirty-Nine
Tony jerked the note off the training room door. He crumpled the paper and shot it into the trashcan before hustling out of the command post. Down at the dirt clearing, the team stood outside the ring where Dominguez and Porter circled, armed with training knives.
