by C. J. Snyder
He did open his eyes long enough to wonder where they were going when she pulled out of the Wal-Mart parking lot not fifteen minutes after she’d pulled in. Three minutes later, she pulled into a do-it-yourself car wash bay.
“Wait until I’ve sudsed the windows,” she ordered, and slammed the door behind her. Smart girl. Blood tended to create a stir, made people remember things you didn’t want them remembering. With Decoy waving her sweet little ass around outside the car, he doubted he needed to wait until he was shielded behind a window of suds. He did wait though, because he enjoyed the sight as much as anyone. She stuffed one hand in the top pocket of her tiny skirt, pulled out a handful of change, then bent to pick up a dropped coin. Sweet indeed.
Long fingers rolled quarters into the dispenser and he remembered her hand on his arm. Wanted those fingers elsewhere on his body. Water trickled out of the spray wand. She sought him out through the window before advancing. He opened the glove compartment to confirm what he already knew. Rental car. He was sure the credit card she’d used would be disposable and the name a fake. With a sigh, he grabbed the Wal-Mart bag she’d tossed on the back seat, then sat motionless, caught in her snare again.
With one hand splayed on the window by his head, she went up on tiptoe to spray the top of the car. The hem of her little red tank top played peek-a-boo with the smooth, tanned skin of her waist. A belly-button ring scratched against the glass, taunting him, while her round, firm breasts hovered just at eye level, not four inches away.
Ghost cleared his throat and opened the bag while he still had enough brain cells to complete the task. He shook his head at the array of goods inside–Cheetos, perfume, a bikini complete with cover-up, hydrogen peroxide, a cheap Vegas t-shirt—size XXL, tape, alcohol, antibiotic ointment, a needle and thread, two boxes of gauze squares. And a box of condoms. The store employees might remember she’d been there, especially the male clerks, but they wouldn’t remember what she’d come to buy, with the exception of the bikini, of course.
Very smart girl. He squirted a layer of ointment over two squares of gauze, daubed another with alcohol and started in. The pain helped to dispel the floating thought that wandered through his brain: Why did she buy condoms?
Outside, soapy water flushed clear the second he’d finished applying tape. What he needed to know was her agenda. Time for business. Fantasies would have to wait.
“Where to?” She reached for the keys. “Assuming you don’t want to go back to Dallas Station and kick some ass.” “Not this afternoon.” He didn’t try to keep his grim thoughts out of his voice. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to sabotage their little rendezvous. Only two team members knew where he was, who he was to meet. One of them awaited orders in Tahoe. The other, his best friend, had died on paper last year, the same day Ghost was promoted. Calla, the Unit Secretary, knew but the idea of not trusting her was ridiculous. The only other person on the planet who’d known where he would be was in the car with him.
“We could talk here.” She peered through the window at the bay-sized strip of deserted asphalt. “It’s as safe as anywhere, I guess.”
“I could really use a computer.”
She tapped two fingers against her lips. Tapered, natural nails, glossed with a clear polish. So why did the word ‘elegant’ come to mind? Finally, she shrugged. “I might know a place.”
“I’m open.”
“It’ll take about an hour. And we’ll have to stop for food. It’s pretty barren.”
***
Pretty and barren, she thought as they drove west into the sun, picturing her cabin with fresh eyes. Nestled at the eastern face of the Sierra Nevada mountains, the cabin reflected the same shades of red and tan that were the desert. Even the road was barely more than a track.
The only concession she’d truly made so far was to return the rental car for her truck. No way her Mule spent the night in the city. She gave her companion a quick glance. So far, he hadn’t said two words on the trip out, just watched the scenery turn from city to sparse. Which gave her plenty of time to worry about her decision to let someone from Black Fire this close. No way to take him home and hide the fact that it was, or had been, home. She needed time, though, safe time, with him, without having to worry about further sabotage. Through the sudsy window at the carwash, she’d seen enough to know he needed a little time, too. No place like home for time. No place like home for information extraction. She couldn’t seduce him in the tiny car, or even inside her Mule. She needed room. They’d arrive in half an hour. Thirty minutes to plan....
And thirty minutes to wonder about his eyes. World-weary eyes, for all their whiskey highlights. Eyes hiding a horrible pain.
Eyes a lot like her own. Ghost paid little attention to the desert scenery. Only one question had to be answered immediately: Could he trust her? No way Tron or Ice had turned. He no longer trusted everyone in his unit as completely as he had before Viper’s breakdown, but he’d bet his life on those two. Unfortunately, no one else knew about the schedule for the rendezvous.
Irritation rode him like a blanket of nettles. Two years ago, the thought of not trusting a team member was ludicrous. Viper’s psychotic episode had turned the unit into a train wreck. Over the course of the last year he’d put most of the pieces back together. Most of the pieces, not all. Some things weren’t coming back, no matter what he did.
Not Tron, not Max, and certainly not the Unit Secretary. That left only one option. “Did you tell anyone we were meeting?”
She snorted, but the sound wasn’t necessary. The derision in her flashing eyes shouted her answer loud and crystal clear. Her tires billowed dust and he braced his left hand on the dash as she jerked the wheel to the right, yanked the stick shift out of gear and slammed on the brakes. “You’re gonna blame that on me? You picked the hotel. You got there early. You got stabbed and you want to blame me? Seriously?”
He lifted his hands to shield himself from the maelstrom building in her eyes. “I had to ask.” That fast, the fire was gone. A shield dropped, masking any emotion at all and suddenly, he really was sorry. He couldn’t read her now, hadn’t a clue what she thought or felt. She faced him, leaned back against her door. “No. I didn’t tell anyone. Did you?” If he wasn’t so wary, he might have winced. “Two. One’s on my team, one used to be.” “So start there.”
Ghost shook his head, gaze firmly forward. He wasn’t going there– wouldn’t go there. Max had nothing to do with this. Neither did Tron. Which meant... “Someone breached the network,” he whispered.
He almost missed her reaction, turned back in time to see the color in her cheeks drain to pearl white. Just as fast, the rosy hue was back. Interesting. The cat knew more than she let on. “What network?” She kept her voice very level, but with what he’d just seen, he could read her so much more clearly now. It’s what he did. He ignored her question in favor of one of his own.
“I shouldn’t have been caught off-guard, but I didn’t expect a hit and run in the lobby.” Her eyes were clear again. You should have.
She was right. He’d been out of field ops too long.
“How did you travel?” She didn’t give him long for recriminations.
“Flew myself. Landed at Ackerman Field. Drove into Vegas.”
“Drove how?”
He closed his eyes. Lead number one. “I arranged for a car.” It was an admission of defeat somehow, and he was truly grateful when she didn’t gloat, merely pulled the truck back onto the highway.
“Were you followed?”
“No.” He hadn’t been out of the field that long.
“Then how did they know to wait at Dallas Station?”
How indeed?
“Did you sweep the vehicle?” On point and sharp, her questions came rapid-fire.
How the hell did she know so much about what they did? How they did it? “Interior.” Which didn’t preclude a tracking device. But how would she know that? “So, I got what I deserved?”
�
�No.”
For a moment, he was heartened by her seeming defense. The euphoria didn’t last.
“It was either a warning…” Just what the note said. So, maybe she was responsible. “Or you were damn lucky.” Her gaze met his for a brief second and her lips twitched, a quick, seductive flash of a grin. “Feel lucky, Greg?”
His body’s response was immediate and way too strong. Damn. She gave him one more glance, her tongue darted out to swipe at the corner of her mouth. He closed his eyes. The little witch was trying to seduce him, catch him off guard. If only that look had been pure desire, an invitation not built around lies and games he was so very tired of playing. “Not particularly.”
Stop with the fantasies, Lassiter. Keep your eyes to yourself and your mouth closed and you might, just might, escape this cat-battle with your job-hardened-mouse-skin intact. Ghost had been trained for many things. None of that training had prepared him for her.
North of Las Vegas, Joshua trees studded the otherwise barren hillsides while signs told him the winding highway would lead them to Mt. Charleston. As the miles slipped away beneath them, the hills tumbled down the mountainside to meet the road, undulated in ever-larger swells. Dirt roads speared the highway and were quickly swallowed by sudden hordes of scrub brush covered hills and more of the prickly trees, their spines stood as stubby sentinels to the sparse shacks and hidden mansions he glimpsed here and there. What other secrets were hidden in these hills?
Twenty minutes later, Decoy slowed the truck, eyes darting from the windshield to the rear view mirror, where she surveyed the empty ribbon of highway. With a jerk sudden enough to throw him against his door, she twisted the wheel. The truck fishtailed onto a dirt road. Decoy reached for a remote tucked into the console between them and punched in a series of numbers before accelerating. A gate slid open as they approached, and she kept thumbing numbers as the gate closed behind them. Cameras sat at both top and bottom of the gateposts, to check the inside and the underside of any vehicle that might pass by.
What the hell was this place? She stopped the truck in front of a shack that looked to be one windstorm shy of firewood. Without a word to him, she jumped down from the seat and strode inside, fingers still busy on the remote, leaving him to carry in their supplies.
He snagged the grocery bags, ignored the protest from his shoulder, then eyed the tiny building. It nestled into a large hill, gave the illusion she grew desert brush on the back half of her roof. Interesting. Some sort of safe house, but one as mysterious as the woman who’d brought him here. Who was she? Who did she work for?
Inside, she ignored him in favor of an elaborate security panel. One by one, screens came to life, detailing the exterior of the shack, the road in, and the highway they’d left minutes before. Only one screen stayed dark. Decoy didn’t bother to look at him, just waved toward a windowless corner of the room.
“Kitchen’s that way.”
He tore his eyes away from the sophisticated set-up long enough to cart the five plastic bags in the direction she’d pointed. Nothing about the exterior prepared him for the inside. Cool tile floors encompassed a surprisingly large room. The back half of the cabin was built right into the mountain-sized hill. She literally did have sagebrush growing on her roof. Just as she’d told him, the kitchen was recessed in the far right corner. The refrigerator was enormous and dwarfed a small gas stove. A microwave sat atop a bare granite counter the color of aged pennies. A tiny table, barely more than the size of a TV tray, partitioned the kitchen from the rest of the room. One lonely wooden chair was tucked in on the kitchen side of the table. He hoisted the bags to the table and turned around.
A wood stove stood in the far corner of the main room, graced by a large braided rug and a single rocking chair. The chair was positioned so she could see the fire and what little view there was through the room’s single side window. Crisp white curtains framed the desert outside, provided a homey touch to the scene.
No television, but a computer sat on a compact desk in the corner between the door and the security console. “I’m going to start the generator. Bathroom’s through there.” She headed outside after pointing toward the room’s only other door, behind the rocker. Curious, Greg opened the door, revealed a tiny bedroom and bath. A small rug, twin to the one in the main quarters, lay next to an even smaller bed. This was her home and he could suddenly see her…everywhere. In the kitchen, whipping up an omelet, in the rocking chair while her favorite music played. In bed, with her hair spread out on a soft pillow. The thought had his pants tight before he could stop it.. He slammed the bedroom door and went to study the security console.
Solar powered. It would run whether the generator was on or not. Not a specific unit, rather pieces and parts that had been hand-selected. He’d never seen anything like it. He watched a car fly by the digital camera out on the highway and shook his head when the license plate information flashed in the bottom corner of the screen and disappeared into a list which detailed when that car had last been logged into her system. The car’s registration information followed a moment later. Security, sure, but to this extent? Who was this woman?
Decoy returned, closed the front door behind her, and flicked on a light switch. He turned in time to see the look of satisfaction on her face. “Paranoid?” he wondered, stating the obvious.
Her eyes went cold. “You bet your ass.”
He felt as if she’d struck him, so powerful were the emotions flying from her, despite her stony, expressionless features. He’d crossed a line, hurt her somehow, and she dared him to continue.
Not for a million bucks. He took an involuntary step toward her. “You’re allowed.” “I know.” Her eyes bored into his for a moment longer, then, like she’d turned on some huge internal vortex, the intensity was gone. “Welcome to mi casa, Ghost.” He blinked, but her smile was all warm and gracious charm.
“Stitches first or shall we eat?”
Quicksilver. She was fascinating and moving far more quickly than he. The best he could hope for was that she’d leave crumbs as a trail for him to follow. “Food. The bleeding’s stopped.”
She was already in the kitchen, emptying the contents of the bags onto the bare granite counter top. The refrigerator was equally empty–not even what he considered the essentials of eggs and peppers. Interesting.
“Lived here long?” As if she’d known him forever, mayonnaise and his favorite brand of mustard appeared on the table between them. Deli turkey followed, along with a bag of sourdough bread and alpine swiss cheese.
She flashed him a friendly smile. “Hope this is okay. I should have checked what you like.” “You’re doing fine so far.” Except she hadn’t answered his question.
Her long, elegant fingers dazzled in their efficiency. “Mayo or mustard?”
“Both, please.”
Her eyebrows questioned his choice but seconds later she handed him a sandwich. He waited until she’d taken a bite of her own–just mayo–before he repeated himself. “How long have you lived here?”
Her gaze met his, cool, without a hint of deceit. “A while. I work alone. When I leave, I don’t leave supplies behind. There’s always the chance I won’t be back.” That explained the bare cupboards, but didn’t answer his question. “Why wouldn’t you come back?” In his gut, he already knew the answer, but he had to hear it from her lips to satisfy the protest turning his stomach into a mess of churning acid.
“You know why.” Death. Capture. Any number of horrible possibilities floated in the pain behind her eyes. “Who do you work for?”
“Myself.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“It’s safe.”
“It certainly is.” Was that relief in her eyes? Ghost checked his communicator. No service. It was satellite operated, but apparently this little kitten had something around here designed to disrupt the signal. Figured. “Okay if I use the computer?”
“Sure.” Her voice was light, but there was a moment of hesitatio
n. She wanted to get on with the rendezvous. He wasn’t stupid, knew she wanted something from him. But he had to notify Tron about the hit at the casino, have him get the tapes and get working on the identity of the men there. Once Tron was apprised, then, well then it would be her turn to squirm. Her turn to answer his questions. Ghost bit back a smile. This was why he was here, his favorite part of the game. Facts and figures were easy to gather. The key to a successful mission lay in the personalities and you couldn’t get that by reading a file. The game was on. Decoy…friend or foe? Enemy or…?
Damn. He wanted to kiss her again.
“I assume there’s a reason you didn’t want to meet closer to my home.”
She didn’t even blink. “I don’t do the East coast.” Then her warm smile flashed again. “I prefer my own turf, whenever possible.” Even without the skills he’d seen her portray, he could still hire her. An arm charm, a decoy just like her name. Targets, especially male targets, often let down their guard around women, felt less exposed in the presence of a female. Maybe he could find a way to keep an eye on her, and keep her close.
Decoy moved to the front door. “I need to move my truck. When you’re finished with the computer we can start.” “Start?”
“Our meeting? The official part.”
Again he hid the smile that wanted out. “That works.” Surprising. Despite her mercurial turnabouts, she hadn’t realized the meeting was well underway. Mykael closed the front door behind her and let the hot, dry air cool her cheeks. Ghost was harder to read than ancient Aramaic. The problem was his eyes. Too many secrets, too much pain. Only one thing was clear, she’d have to stay on her toes while she fed him just enough information. Too much and she’d lose her edge. Too little and she’d never get to her own agenda.
She opened the truck bed cover and hoisted out her meager possessions. The cabin’s only window faced north, but the security cameras would offer him a full view of her activities. No choice but to cart everything in and sort out what she didn’t want him to find in the privacy of her bedroom. She eyed the rolled sleeping bag. If she brought it in, it would give him a reason not to share her bed. Better to leave it in the truck. Even though she didn’t want to, she thought of him, in her bed, over her, under her, in her. She closed her eyes and sucked in a long, deep breath. Damn the man! And damn her if she lost sight of what was important.
