She second guessed herself. Did she actually fold the clothes and was too tired to remember? Reaching over the back of the couch to retrieve the photo, her eyes fell on the French doors. Slightly ajar, an evening breeze smelling of a coming rain pushed the white sheers out like a ghost. Dumped on top of her clothes were the contents of her purse. A quick search revealed her money, credit cards and identification still in tack. Only the slip of paper with her uncle’s phone number was missing.
Tightening her robe up around her shoulders prevented the sudden chill from overtaking her body as she realized the photograph was gone.
Chapter 3
The tall woman dressed as a park ranger, stood near the image of Lincoln at his memorial. Most tourists gave her only a passing glance then hurried children or other annoying relatives away from her. Whether it was her menacing glare if they examined her too long or her sinister, narrowed smile on full lips, most dropped their heads or looked the other way. The long black hair, tied in a ponytail fell to the middle of her back. The recent exposure to too much sun made her olive skin a little darker and rosier than usual. Her ridged posture stood perfect as did everything about a body that practiced hard exercise and a strict diet of protein and fresh vegetables. The slight turn of her head looked robotic.
A couple of college aged men tried to engage her in conversation. Once she moved her long fingers to rest on her holstered weapon and turned her mirrored sunglasses their way, their smirks faded. They backed away, making Amazon women comments, which she committed to memory in case she encountered them again.
Having to monitor Tessa Scott on a hot, humid day ranked up there with having a tooth pulled without the help of a deadening shot. They met over a year ago in California during a mission involving a terrorist attack. Team leader, Captain Hunter, took great pains to protect the woman. The ordinarily solemn and methodical captain tolerated the woman’s rebellious disregard for authority on several occasions. He called her “an innocent” and after all wasn’t that what they were fighting for in a lawless world?
The woman frowned remembering how the captain had shown Tessa kindness, even admiration, at her assistance in the whole mess in Sacramento. She suspected more than a mutual respect between the two, but in the last year he had made no contact with the Grass Valley woman. It was as if she never existed. In return, Tessa honored her promise to never reveal the seriousness of how close terrorists came to wiping out life-saving isotope production.
Sam watched the three women dust off the seats of their pants after sitting on the steps. They were the same friends from the airport bar from the previous day. Rubbing their necks and foreheads indicated how clueless they were about the danger around them. Only Tessa’s eyes scanned the surroundings.
“That’s a good girl.” The female Enigma agent mumbled. “You’d better be observant.”
Maybe she was hoping to see Captain Hunter to fulfill some kind of fantasy. There could be no mistake about the looks that passed between them.
It would be so easy to take a shot from here. The thought of taking Tessa out in broad daylight forced a smile.
“Sam?” A voice in her earwig failed to stop her fingers from twitching over her holster.
A rage started to well up inside her. Knowing that as beautiful and available to the captain as she was, he only showed interest in that pathetic little mouse. How she managed to endear herself to the most respected man at Enigma remained a mystery. Playing second to another woman irked her. Here she was again, watching after the very person who threatened any hope of a relationship with the captain.
“Sam?” This time the voice grew anxious.
“She’s still here. No one has tried to contact her. I think her friends are fading fast. They appear to be complaining about something.” Samantha Cordova moved forward like a feline to the first step of the memorial. “Their next stop is lunch then the National Gallery. How do you want me to proceed?” She waited patiently, knowing the voice on the other end was trying to get instructions.
“Stay with her until she boards the bus. Carter will pick you up. He’ll tail the bus until it stops for lunch. Wait outside until they leave for the National Gallery. If her uncle hasn’t made contact by then you can return to headquarters. Once inside the museum Zoric will take over.”
Sam could picture the face belonging to the voice on the other end of the phone. The young Vernon Kemp became Enigma’s tech support member and continued to be extremely shy around women, especially her. Although smitten, he grew tongue tied in person. Communicating over cyber space made him sound normal.
She found him endearing. Respectful and appreciative of her work, Vernon never made unwanted passes or suggestive remarks concerning her perfect body. She toyed with him mentally, enjoying the stutter he developed in her presence. He remained a great deal calmer on the phone where he didn’t have to make eye contact. That too, amused her.
When Tessa walked into Enigma a year earlier, Vernon’s tongue couldn’t stop wagging. Something about that woman made men slobber like an infant. She’d watched them chat like old friends and even share a few jokes. Vernon commented that Tessa was his hero. The information grated on her volatile temperament. She’d even witnessed Vernon slipping an arm around her shoulders like old combat buddies.
No woman was that innocent and sooner or later she’d miss a step.
Unconsciously snapping the holster band open that secured her weapon, a thought ran through Sam’s head on the merits of killing Tessa now. Why prolong the inevitable?
“Sam?” It was Vernon. “Sam? You there?”
Sam snapped the holster in the secure mode. "They’re on the move.”
“You okay?”
Sam noted that Vernon’s voice sounded unsteady as she continued to listen.
~~~
Tessa smiled at her two friends climbing aboard the bus as if they were one hundred years old. The lunch of sandwiches and salads from a popular D.C. restaurant, followed by cheesecake, put the finishing touches on her friends’ inability to make nice with other conference goers on the city tour. Their eyes drooped toward a nap after settling down in their seats across from Tessa.
“Put us in a cab,” Shelly moaned as Kate laid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “My head is killing me. Do you want me to throw up on a Monet?” A wide mouthed yawn followed. “Unless the National Gallery has a live display of Chippendale Dancers, I’ll pass.” Kate nodded in agreement.
When they all exited from the bus, Tessa hailed a cab for them, relieved to send them on their cranky way.
While the conference goers gathered around their guide for instructions, Tessa shaded her eyes to look at a vehicle parking in a reserved space just past a second bus. It was a black sedan, not the SUV style she’d associate with a government vehicle. A healthy dose of paranoia followed her all morning.
The stranger last night left her with a sense of dread. Why hadn’t Enigma made contact? The sedan caught her eye when they left the Lincoln Memorial. A familiar woman got in the passenger side; a woman who resembled Samantha Cordova from Enigma, definitely a frightening turn of events. Black sedans moved like army ants in D.C. so when one parked across the street from the restaurant Tessa let herself get distracted by her whining friends.
“Isn’t that the car we saw at the Jefferson Memorial?” She elbowed Shelly.
An eye roll followed by her sticking out a thick tongue with a spit blow “You’re in D.C.” Tessa tried to shush her without success. “Heavens. You are going to have to get a life.”
Now here it was again. She slipped on her sunglasses and shifted her eyes to take in the surroundings. Although she heard the voice of her guide, the words fell flat as Tessa looked for surveillance cameras. Washington D.C. let no secrets wander around aimlessly in their city.
The group now moved up toward the entrance of the National Gallery. She decided to stop imagining conspiracies where none existed. She turned for one final look only to see the car disappear into traffi
c. Relief washed over her.
The guide answered a few questions about the different wings of the museum and then set the group free to explore. Tessa headed toward the special exhibit seeing that most of the others headed toward the famous works of Monet and Degas. She stopped to look down at the special exhibit brochure on East European artists. One name stood out; Nicholas Zoric. With a kind of reverence she passed into the next gallery.
A gasp slipped out of her mouth, echoing against the expansive gallery. Her hand tried to cover her throat, feeling a hot blush creep up her face. Mouthing an apology at a frowning docent forced her to take a deep breath before turning back to the painting. Seeing oneself hanging in the National Gallery shocked her back to reality.
The large portrait of her resembled a warrior angel. With long curly blond hair and vivid blue eyes, her pale skin revealed a bruised cheek. Some kind of weapon lay on the floor beside her.
The second painting, just as large, was at the back of a transport plane. The same angel stood ready, her hair blowing into a tangled web of beauty as she drew to her side a soldier ready to jump into the abyss for some unknown mission. They stared into each other’s eyes with a secret that only they shared. One hand rested around his waist while the other touched his chiseled cheek. Although most of the soldier’s face was hidden, Tessa recognized the stance of Chase Hunter.
“This cannot be good.” Even as a whisper, her voice carried throughout the gallery.
A hand touched her elbow. She spun around and staggered two steps back, startled at the man dressed in black leather.
“It has been too long.” His voice carried an East European accent.
After staggering away from Zoric, Tessa stood almost frozen at his approach. In one swoop, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her feet off the floor. Tessa heard the docent clear her throat. A nervous chuckle escaped her lips as Zoric sat her feet back down. He kissed both cheeks then took her hands in his grip.
“Ah. We meet again. Do you like it?” He waved at the paintings.
“What on earth were you thinking?” Tessa shook her head and laughed. “It’s embarrassing.”
He was a wiry five foot ten inches tall. His long, oily hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. The close set eyes were a little bloodshot above a long narrow nose. Below his thin mustache he began to reveal a smoker’s yellow smile. “At least you aren’t naked.”
“Well thanks for that, Zoric. Holy cow. This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” He looked more like a vampire than an artist, she realized.
As a timid smile began to play at her lips, she flashed back to their first meeting. It had been in a Black Hawk helicopter. He’d tried to intimidate her and made no bones about his plans to entertain himself at her expense. The captain thumped that notion out of his head pretty quick. It took days before she trusted him. In spite of being a hired assassin, Zoric became someone she liked.
Tessa gazed at the paintings once more. “What were you thinking?”
Leaning in as close as he dared, he chuckled. “That if my wife was still alive I would be dealing with a jealous woman. You and Chase gave me a story to paint.” He shrugged. “So I painted.”
Without thinking, her eyes looked behind her then toward the door.
“He is not here, Tessa Scott.” Zoric grinned as his hands squeezed hers. Then like a gentle lover, he kissed her fingers.
“That’s a relief.” She smiled feeling a warmth surge inside her at seeing an old friend. She felt uncomfortable that Zoric knew she looked for the captain. “How is he? Annoying as ever, I expect.” The friendship forged between them was rocky at best. Yet Zoric captured something in his art.
The Serbian intimidated his way through life. He looked into her eyes, causing Tessa to stare at the floor. He pulled at her hand and locked her fingers through his as he tugged. Had the fear shown in her eyes? “I mean you no harm, Tessa Scott.” He developed the habit of saying both her names. “We have serious business to discuss.”
He didn’t look back or release Tessa’s hand until they were outside the museum when she dug in her heels and refused to budge. He looked around at her in confusion.
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what this is all about.” Jerking her hand free she tried to move the blond curls from her face, but the wind had taken control.
“I’m hurt, Tessa Scott.” Zoric’s smile took on a familiar satanic slant.
It was the same expression which frightened her a year ago. Could he be trusted? She’d never been alone with him.
“We both know if harm comes to you I will suffer at the hands of your protector. Now, come with me. I want coffee.”
Tessa nodded, hoping deep down he meant her no harm. The image of him slamming her up against bars of a jail before throwing her to the floor, as he’d done the day they met, gave her pause. In spite of those memories, she followed him to a nearby café. They sat in the corner where Zoric could look out the large windows for trouble.
His eyes drifted outside often, even when he spoke, as if waiting for something to happen. Ignoring the “no smoking” sign, Zoric lit a cigarette only to have a waitress ask him to obey the request. With a snarl, Zoric pinched off the lit end with his fingers and shoved the cigarette into the pocket of his black shirt.
“In Serbia this would be…” Zoric noticed Tessa’s smile as her eyes looked down into her skinny latte. “But we are in America where the government enjoys telling you everything from not to supersize your beverage to what kind of health insurance you should buy. They are like a Jewish mother, I think.” It wasn’t until he reached out and grabbed one of Tessa’s hands that she looked up in panic. Zoric massaged the tension in her fingers. “You are still fearful of me.”
Tessa withdrew her fingers and laid them on top of his scarred, leathery hand. “Surprised to see you is all. I thought you gave up painting.”
Zoric suddenly laughed; a strange sound coming from such a violent man. It felt strained, as if he weren’t used to doing it. Patting his hand, she smiled, waiting for him to fill in the missing pieces.
“Last year after we worked together…” He paused and pulled away from her touch. Taking a sip of his coffee, Zoric’s eyes again went to the street outside. “I wanted to start over, to see things as you see them.” His smile widened in a mischievous tease. “Anyone who can make Chase…” He stopped as if thinking better of what he wanted to say. Zoric gulped down the last of his coffee. “The two of you must someday come to terms with your complicated relationship.”
“Relationship? He nearly killed me.”
“He also saved your life as I remember.” Zoric surveyed the others sitting at nearby tables. “He had a job to do. We all did. Now,” he watched with amusement as Tessa’s shoulders pulled back and her chin lifted in anticipation. “Now it is time for you to do what you do best for us.” Tessa took a deep breath and pushed away from the table. Just as she started to stand Zoric reached across the table and grabbed her arm with such violence, she failed to see a masked man walk up outside the café. “Down!”
Tessa felt Zoric lunge forward, knocking her to the floor. Her breath burst from her lungs as he fell on top of her. Glass shattered inward as screams, mixed with the rapid fire of an automatic weapon, came from outside the café. The splitting of objects hit by gunfire sprayed cups of coffee like rain across the interior. The scent of cappuccino and gunpowder wafted over them.
Zoric managed to pull out his weapon before jumping up during a split second lull. He fired and missed, letting the shooter escape into traffic. Sirens were already drawing near when Zoric reached down for Tessa who cowered against an overturned table. His grip on the back of her collar was anything but gentle as he dragged her up and toward the door like a rag doll.
“We must leave. Are you hurt?” He poked his head out the door with caution then back at Tessa who had begun to tremble. Zoric’s eyes narrowed. “Just like old times, huh, Tessa Scott?”
Chapte
r 4
Congressman Gault looked up from his desk before cocking his head as his secretary entered the office. The room, lined with bookshelves, showed a burden of law books and biographies of great men like Lincoln, Kennedy and Roosevelt. Paintings of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson hung prominently on either side of the window. The oversized desk built from recently harvested planks of endangered rainforest mahogany, centered between the two presidents. It held this position to impress anyone who entered his office. The intent was to associate the congressman’s face between two great presidents. Heavy dark paneling, shined and polished, hinted at luxury for someone deserving power.
The red Oriental rug from India and the gold silk fabric on the camel backed sofa transformed a dark space into something regal. Blue vases from Russia, pottery from Poland and other mementoes, given to him from heads of states during his many visits abroad, adorned the shelves of his glass-fronted display cases on either side of the door. The display gave him excuses to gaze upon the gifts at his leisure and contemplate his many contributions to world politics. Now that he was Speaker of the House, he wallowed in his own importance.
The congressman watched his secretary, who was well into her forties, lay file folders down on the library table behind the sofa in order to pour him a cup of coffee. He needed it strong. The young flight attendant knew how to please. Too much wine and kinky sex, wore on a man his age. In spite of being fifty, the rich foods and expensive drinks, took a toll on his once trim figure. Graciously, the congressman accepted the coffee, then the files before watching the icy secretary move toward the door. Even now, after conquering the little whore the night before, he looked with admiration at the woman who’d served him for so many years. Classy, reserved and sexy as hell, he thought. Once more he wondered what it would be like to be with her. He’d not made a move. It was important that someone believe him to be pure of heart. When an occasional rumor surfaced about his escapades, it was his secretary who defended him. He sighed as the door closed. Even he must make an occasional sacrifice.
Winds of Deception (Enigma Series Book 2) Page 4
