by Lucy Monroe
“What the hell—”
“Don’t mess with my case, sir. I won’t take it lying down.”
“I can reassign you with a few strokes to my keyboard.”
“You can try.”
“Damn it, I am your boss.”
“You hired me to do a job. Let me do it.”
Whitmore made a disgusted sound. “I thought some of my other agents were bad.”
“I’m a pain in the ass. Ask anyone I’ve ever worked for, but I’ve never been fired. Think about it.” Talking to his superior like this was a calculated risk, but it was one Myk had to take.
No one messed with him on an assignment.
“I refuse to consider Smith as a potential suspect. He’s capable of pissing me off and I don’t like how much he knows about my agency’s activities, but he would never betray the people who work for him, or his country.”
“You don’t have to see him as a suspect, sir. That’s my job. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut when it comes to my case.”
“He is not in league with scumbags like the Vega Cartel.”
“I hope not, sir, but that’s something I’ll need empirical evidence to support, not your feelings.”
“You trust your gut, I trust mine.”
“Fair enough, but you still don’t have leave to discuss my case with one of my suspects.”
“Fine.”
“You agree, sir?”
“I didn’t get where I am by stepping on my agents’ toes. You’re lead on this case, I defer to your judgment. Even if I don’t agree with it.”
“Noted.”
“I’ll be looking forward to your report.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I trust it will be complete.”
“I believe you will keep your word, sir.”
“Good enough.”
The call ended. Myk put his phone down onto the table as he clicked open the e-mail from Alan Hyatt. Virtuoso might be an understatement. Not only had Hyatt discovered that Anibal Vega and his lieutenant were currently visiting one of Vega’s offices of operation in northwest Mexico, but he had also found a disturbing but illuminating connection.
Anibal Vega’s wife had a very interesting brother-in-law. Ahmet Musa, a Turkish zealot, was known for his support of violent actions against his perceived enemies. And the list of the man’s enemies was a long one, headed by the usual suspects, including every major Western political power.
This was so not good.
Not that Lana’s enzymes could be used for warfare, unless Vega and Musa planned to stink their enemies to death. The news increased the scope of Myk’s investigation by double. It was also information that was bound to upset Lana.
Myk didn’t like that.
He considered holding it back from her. Did she need to hear about something that was only going to succeed in making her feel even less safe than she already did? It wasn’t as if her knowing about the Vega-Musa connection was necessary to Myk’s case. But damn it, she deserved to know that she was at risk from more than one direction.
The truth was, Vega could use anyone to bring Lana and/or her enzymes in. Which meant that she couldn’t ignore the potential threat from a Midwestern American in a three-piece suit. So, again, there was no overt benefit in telling her.
Holding it back didn’t feel right, though. Which was beyond ridiculous. Myk had never practiced full disclosure with civilians.
Wasn’t that the root of Myk’s latest beef with Whitmore? The fact that the other man wanted to tell Mr. Smith, a civilian and possible suspect, everything related to the case.
“Mr. Smith is a good man. He would never sell out ETRD.” Lana’s voice from right behind him shocked Myk.
He should have heard her approach.
He quickly closed the e-mail he had been reading and turned in his chair to face her. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 10
“I know I am.” Lana bit her lip, looking adorably sleep tousled. “Why would you suspect ETRD’s benefactor?”
“I don’t.” Not that Myk didn’t wish he could think of one really solid reason to believe the mysterious Mr. Smith was involved.
However, Smith lacked discernable motive. And more to the point, Myk had a hard time believing that if Smith were involved in some way, anyone would have ever found out about the Vega Cartel’s interest in Lana’s enzyme. No matter how accidentally.
Her brow furrowed. “You told that person on the phone that Mr. Smith was a suspect.”
“He is.”
“That means you suspect him.”
“No, it means I’m not ruling him out.” A good agent was thorough. Smith just pissed him off on principle.
She finger combed her strawberry-blond hair, making an abortive move to contain it in another ponytail. She didn’t have a scrunchy. “What about me, are you ruling me out?”
He didn’t laugh, but the urge was there. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, if you were feeding the Vega Cartel information on your project, they would know it didn’t really transform metals.”
“We don’t know for sure they’re interested in a literal interpretation of my note. Doubling their drug crops would be almost as good as turning lead into gold.”
“True, but even if that were the case, if you’d told them about the project, they would know you didn’t have enzymes developed for their crops, either.”
“I could be working on their enzymes on the side. In secret.” She looked so sincere, he just wanted to kiss her.
He refrained. For the moment. “You aren’t.”
“I know. What I don’t understand is how you can be so sure.”
He scooted his chair back and then grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward him. She settled onto his lap with a minimum of fuss, but her expression was wary.
He kissed the furrows on her forehead and they smoothed away. “If you were involved, the cartel would have no reason to target Elle, would they?”
“Perhaps.”
“Listen. In the field, you can’t always get proof of what your gut is telling you, so you have to go with your instincts. Mine tell me that you are one of the world’s true idealists.”
“You trust me. Implicitly.” She looked horrified by that possibility.
“That bothers you. A lot.”
“I’m worried you’re going to believe in the wrong person.”
He stared at her and then shook his head. For a woman who had such an unjustified optimistic view of the world, she had major trust issues. “You’re worried I won’t do my job right.”
“You’re awfully trusting.”
He laughed, the sound harsh even to his own ears. “I’m not.”
“Well, no, you’re right. I mean you seem to have this really cynical view of people. Even Mr. Smith is a suspect, but you trust me.”
Why did she find that so hard to believe?
“Lana, you have been through hell and yet you maintain a view of the world that is staggeringly positive. You cried for the men who died when you broke out of the prison they put you in, even after they had tortured you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Are you saying you didn’t?”
She frowned and looked down at her lap. “No.”
“You still love your family though they don’t accept you and didn’t stand by when you needed them the most. I saw the pictures you have of them on the mantel of your fireplace, the birthday cards they sent you still sitting upright on display on top of your neatly dusted dresser even though your birthday was months ago.” He listed his evidence before she had a chance to question his knowledge again. “You never turned your ex-boyfriend in for his collusion in your kidnapping. No way in hell would you ever willingly work with a drug cartel.”
“You sound like you think all of those things are good.”
“I so do.”
“You don’t think I’m a wimp?”
“You are stronger than any
other woman I’ve ever known.” How could she not see that? Lana had survived hell and not only lived to tell the tale, but lived—didn’t just exist.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What about Elle?”
“My sister is fantastic, but, sweetheart, you? Are amazing.”
Lana shook her head.
Myk kissed her. It was a biological imperative he wasn’t about to ignore. Her lips were sweet and soft and he was ready to take it deeper when his computer chimed the alarm to alert him he had a new e-mail from someone on his case list.
She lifted her head. “What was that?”
“I’ve got mail.” He’d misquoted a romantic comedy his baba had thought was sweet and tried to get him to watch.
Lana grinned and winked, showing she got the small joke. “From a sexy woman interested in you?”
“The only sexy woman I’m interested in right now is sitting on my lap.”
“Seriously?”
He cupped her cheek and looked into her hazel eyes, understanding how she could doubt. He was no player, but she wouldn’t know that. “Seriously. I’m not a good candidate for long term, but I don’t cheat. I won’t be touching another woman as long as I’m sharing your bed. And I expect the same in return.”
“One, I don’t touch other women. I only swing one way.”
He shook his head and found himself smiling again. It was becoming a habit. He wasn’t sure he liked that. But her sense of humor got him every time. And her grin was too sweet not to enjoy.
She ticked a second finger. “Two, we aren’t sharing a bed.”
“Yet.”
“Arrogant.”
“Certain.”
“Fine.”
“Fine, you’ll share my bed?”
“Fine, I won’t be touching other men while we are touching each other.” She sighed. “Not that you would have to worry about that anyway.”
“There aren’t a lot of bad boys working at ETRD, are there?”
“You remember what I said yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. But I took a look around your apartment while you were sleeping, too.”
“I figured, you seeing my old birthday cards and all.”
“I like your bedroom.”
She examined her cuticles as if they were of incredible interest. “I do, too.”
“You’ve got a serious thing for James Dean.”
“He was a very sexy man.”
“Should I get myself a leather coat?”
She met his gaze at that and gave him a wry smile. “I’m sure you already have one.”
“Caught me.”
“I like your leather pants even better than his jeans.”
He liked her honesty. It was refreshing and it turned him on. “I like the way they breathe. They also give me a range of motion my jeans don’t afford.”
“Justify it however you like; you’ve got a definite bad-boy streak.”
“And you find that sexy.”
“Yes.”
“To hell with e-mail.”
Still holding her, he went to stand, but the alarm chimed again. He sighed. “I’ve just got to check this.”
He was on a case. He couldn’t let that get lost in the slaking of his libido.
“Of course.” She made a move to get off his lap, but he held on with an arm across her hips. “I should get something started for dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“Maybe, a little.”
“You could have gone and gotten yourself something while I slept.”
“I wanted to wait for you.”
“That was sweet.”
“That’s not a word usually associated with me.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You sure about that?”
“Very.”
She made another aborted move to get off his lap. “Dinner?”
“In just a minute.” He tightened his arm around her.
He opened the first e-mail from Alan Hyatt with a click. It was a list of names. Some of them were a little odd, most of them were women, but he didn’t understand their significance. The next e-mail was even shorter. One word. Curious? And a phone number.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
Hyatt picked up on the first ring. “So, you were curious.”
“Of course. Why not just send the explanation with the list of names?”
“Wanted to talk to the newest TGP agent. We haven’t met, but I heard from the Old Man that you think I’m a virtuoso.”
Whitmore must have called Alan as soon as he hung up with Myk.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
A bark of laughter sounded. “You are every bit as testy as Whit said you would be.”
“I’m not as charming as my sister.”
“Elle is like to bite a man’s head off in certain moods.”
“Like I said, I’m not as friendly as she is.”
The laughter came again.
“You going to explain this list of women, or what?”
“It’s not a list of women.”
“What then?” He thought for a second. “Boats?”
“Barges, to be exact.”
“Why did you send me a list of barges?”
“They’ve all gone missing in the last six months.” Alan gave a second to let that sink in. “They were hauling scrap metal—stuff like pot metal, lead, and rusted iron. No precious metals. The barges were taken in international waters off the coast of China.”
“The crews?”
“Considered missing at sea.”
“Well, shit.”
“My sentiments exactly. Ask me how many people have gone missing with the barges.”
Myk’s gut sank. “How many?”
“Thirty-three. Barges run with a skeletal crew, but that’s thirty-three people that are most likely dead.”
“Upizdysh.”
“Now that’s a word I’ve never heard Elle use.”
“You aren’t likely to, either.”
“What does it mean?”
“Something I won’t say in mixed company.”
“So, you are getting friendly with the scientist. Is she there?”
“What the hell? Did you and Whit gossip like a couple of teenage girls?”
“He’s an unrepentant matchmaker. Sent me on the case where I met Jillian because he thought we’d be good for each other. I think the fact that I was the best agent for the job was just a side benefit.”
“You’re joking.”
“No way. He sent Elle out to ETRD on purpose, too.”
“You’re screwing with my mind.”
“Not. I’m from Texas originally. We don’t lie to our friends.”
“You and I are friends?”
“I’m hoping we will be.”
“Elle has had a lot of good to say about you.”
“She was a damn fine agent.”
“She’s still the best at what she does.”
“Yep, and what she’s doing now suits her better. She’d gotten too entrenched in the job.”
“It’s easy to do.”
“Especially when you’re hiding from feeling regular emotions.”
“You do know her well.”
“Better than the other agents, not as well as her fiancé.”
“Beau will be glad to know that.”
“No reason for him to suspect anything else.”
“You coming down for the wedding?”
“As a matter of fact, Jillian and I will be in town the day after tomorrow.”
“I look forward to meeting you.”
“Same.”
“You got anything else for me?”
“Not right now, no. You got my other e-mail?”
“The one about Musa?”
“That’s the one. I’m chasing the paper trail right now, trying to determine if Vega has been funding Musa’s activities.”
“If he has been, it could put a whole different complexion on this case.”
“You got that right. Though something serious is going down. They killed thirty-three people in the last six months.”
“People are expendable to men like Anibal Vega.”
“Yeah. You keep a close eye on that lady scientist.”
“I plan to.”
“See you in a couple of days.”
“Right.”
They ended the call.
Lana was looking at Myk with a saddened expression. “You said people are expendable to Vega.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “They’ve killed people because of their interest in my enzymes, haven’t they?”
“Over the last six months, barges of scrap metal have been disappearing. Along with their crews.”
“What do you mean disappearing? Why hasn’t there been anything on the news about it?”
“They were scrap metal barges, manned by skeleton crews.”
“Not newsworthy.”
“Even if they had been, the news may have been suppressed.”
“What? Why?”
“They were taken in international waters near China. Initial investigations would have been under international news radar because that’s the way a lot of governments work, but particularly that one.”
“So the disappearances got ignored?”
“No, just not reported internationally. China has done preliminary investigations, but the metals aren’t showing up anywhere, which is their best chance of finding the culprits.”
“Because they’re being stockpiled somewhere.”
“Yes.”
“Anibal Vega really is hoping to turn lead into platinum.”
“Looks like it. Unless you can think of another reason to hijack barges filled with the world’s discarded junk.”
“The crews for the barges were never recovered? None of them?”
“No.”
“But why? Couldn’t they just drop them in another port?”
“And alert someone to what was going on?”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Mr. Smith would never be party to that.”
They were back to Mr. Smith again. “I don’t trust him.”
“Why?”
“Other than the fact that he’s a secretive freak who has never once met the president of his own company in person?”
Lana shifted. “So, he’s eccentric. That doesn’t make him dishonest. I’ve met him. Once.”
“He didn’t tell Frank you’d been kidnapped by Kurdish rebels and forced to work on options for chemical warfare.”
