The Hunter

by Gennita Low

  “Hi, Brad.” Amber Hutchens’s voice was smooth and low.

  “I’m thinking of dropping by earlier, if that’s all right with you,” he said.

  “No problem. Hungry?”

  “I haven’t eaten,” he confessed.

  She laughed. “Sometimes I think you just come here for the free meals,” she teased.

  “And the company,” Brad said with a smile. “There’s no lovelier lady in town.”

  “Ah, a compliment. Definitely looking for a big meal.”

  That was what was attractive about Amber Hutchens. She could put anyone at ease with a few teasing words. He’d seen her doing it with the peacekeepers who went to her café for her home cooking. Most of them were men who led stressful lives, trying to be policemen when they were soldiers, tiptoeing the gray line between law and lawlessness, and the small café right in the middle of town was like a haven, giving them a quick break while its owner cajoled them back into good humor.

  “Do you need me to bring anything?” he asked.

  There was a slight pause. “Flowers would be nice.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “The café was busy today, so I can afford a free meal.”

  She was also a very smart woman, Brad mused. No other café was more fiercely guarded by the foreigners here. The local gangsters knew if they messed with Amber Hutchens, they would have several dozen peacekeepers messing with their illegal businesses that had been previously overlooked. Thus, the safest place to hide in town was a coffeehouse appropriately named The Last Resort.

  “I’ll be there soon,” he said, “with flowers.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Picking up fresh flowers at this late hour wasn’t an easy task and he had a feeling that Amber knew this. He wondered what she was actually doing when he called. The woman wasn’t always cooking; that was just a façade. Amber’s thing was information—hot, up-to-the-minute information—that she used to finance her side business.

  Brad rubbed the back of his neck. Gray line between law and lawlessness—he straddled it himself. He was aware that he was a source of information for Amber, that her easy questions were more than general interest in his job. His answers were carefully crafted, but he also knew that he had given her many clues, sometimes unwittingly. Her skill had raised his suspicion. He had checked with some of his sources and had found out she was a CIA contractor. A CIA contractor in Macedonia in the guise of a café owner, to be exact. For four years.

  He had only been at his job as department head for barely a year. He knew he had quite a bit to learn, even though he was given a big file to study by both his predecessor and the UN source. But the file never mentioned Amber Hutchens or the operation she was running. He had only found out because he followed his own instincts, and when he had confronted her with it a few months ago, much to his surprise, she hadn’t denied it. And now that he knew what she did, he approved. He sighed. Sort of.

  Which brought up the subject of Llallana Noretski. Of which he didn’t approve. The woman was trouble, what with her criminal record and…the way he always responded to her whenever she was present. She was Amber’s close friend and partner-in-crime. From what he could gather, she did all the dirty work while Amber got together the information and packaged the jobs.

  The woman didn’t trust him. From the first moment they had been introduced, she had been alternately rude, sarcastic, and aloof. He understood the reason—she was a criminal and he was the law. They would always be on the opposite sides.

  Brad released another frustrated sigh. This was Velesta, damn it. Opposite sides were a joke. Everything merged into a grayness that bothered his belief in what was right and wrong. That was why it was essential to step up and do something with the rampant drugs and prostitution going on. He was determined to draw a line somewhere. His jaw set at the memory of some of the kafenas he had raided. Girls under sixteen enslaved by drugs and force. He wasn’t going to let fucking red tape stop him from saving those kids.

  He swung into the parking spot in front of the florist, taking a moment before getting out of the car. Every time he thought of the scenes he had witnessed at those darkened kafenas, a raging anger took over that made him want to bash someone’s face in. Especially anyone working under that scum Dragan Dilaver.

  With limited help from his own department, Brad needed all the allies and help he could get. That’s where Amber and Llallana came in. They might be playing both sides of the legal line, but they both detested Dilaver, providing Brad with needed information to get the man where it hurt him most—his bank account.

  The cold air outside calmed him down somewhat. Flowers. He’d take his time choosing a nice bouquet and let Amber finish whatever she was doing. Maybe she would have some valuable information about the next Dilaver truckload of kidnapped victims coming in. It would make his week to squeeze the bastard just a little harder.

  Hawk replaced the back panel of his cell phone. One thing he had learned from Jed about wireless connections—how to convert a laptop into a hacking device of those tapping into the same airwaves. Someone had hacked into his phone line, stealing his directory. They were still connected through that tiny device planted in his cell, so all he needed were a few adjustments. He wasn’t a computer nerd, but he’d learned a thing or two from Jed’s people. His laptop, unremarkable-looking, was no standard notebook. He punched in the code and password to access the shadow hard drive, the one with the programs he needed for his task. It was going to take some time and he didn’t want any interruptions.

  He locked the door to his bedroom, then picked up the old black telephone next to his bed. It was one of those rotary-dial ones from another era, the numbers on its face faded from use.

  “This is Hawk. Where’s Dilaver?” His lips quirked. “Furniture-shopping? How long will he be gone? Let me know when he’s back, please. I’ll be working out.”

  That should make them think he was doing his usual exercises. He had been very careful about explaining his tip-top shape, citing an interest in weight-lifting and body-training. He had exercised in different ways every week to get them used to his unusual program.

  “I’m a guide,” he had told Dilaver with a shrug. “Being in shape comes with the job.”

  “Don’t smoke, don’t have sex, what a boring fucker you are,” Dilaver had said. “What do you do for fun—pose naked in front of a mirror and admire yourself?”

  Hawk had nodded gravely. “Yes.”

  That had given Hawk the distraction he needed as the conversation moved on to more lewd topics.

  Hawk remote-connected his cell phone to his laptop, making it easier to type text. Then he carefully screened off all the other programs behind a firewall. He unfolded the note from last night and read it again. It was written in English.

  Looking for something?

  Three words with a wealth of meaning. One, he needed all the locations where Dilaver hid his weapons. Two, he had to find out the latest delivered cache. Three, he had to find a specific weapon in the collection. And yeah, four, he was looking for the person who hung this note on his dick—the CIA tracker Jed had told him about.

  It was just like Jed not to mention the sex of the CIA contractor working undercover. All he had said was that the contact would be in Velesta and that Hawk was not to make a move until Dilaver went there. Not that working with a woman bothered Hawk. Some of the women he admired had been very capable covert agents. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wondered whether this woman was another GEM operative.

  His eyes narrowed. But of course. Hell, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? The American woman who ran a café. Jed had told him the password between him and the contractor was ambrosia. Amber Hutchens…ambrosia.

  His instincts told him he had just hit the right conclusion. All he had to do was prove it to himself. He got up and picked up the black telephone again.

  “What’s the phone number to The Last Resort?” he asked.

  Amber stared at h
er computer screen. Sending Brad to pick flowers at this hour should buy her some time. She needed it. Someone had called on her business phone just before he had reached her on the private line.

  “Ambrosia,” a masculine voice had said over the phone. “Check your computer.”

  He had hung up before she had recovered from her shock. That had to be—and Brad had interrupted with his call about dinner. She was dying to get back to her laptop and when Brad gave her an opening for some time, she had quickly thought of a way to delay him. She knew he would get the hint.

  Brad and she had a very pleasant relationship, and their dinner dates were like a public stance and a private friendship both at the same time. She had cultivated this from the start and had been surprised by his silent agreement, even when he had found out what she was. They had an understanding—he didn’t ask her how she got her information, and in return she would give him some data that he might find useful.

  Right now, though, it was another new person in town on her mind. He had found her in record time, way faster than any of the previous agents sent here.

  She sat back at her desk and considered briefly, then shrugged. Why not? If he was that good, she would reward him. She reached out and turned her laptop on. Her tracer beeped, indicating that one of her tapped lines was active. She didn’t have to check to know it was Hawk McMillan’s cell phone. He had just called his online service. That meant he was using his computer with his phone.

  Oh, trying to trace her, was he? She smiled. It wasn’t that easy to bypass her firewalls. Intrigued, she typed a few commands, bringing up a window to show what he was doing. From the size, he appeared to be downloading a rather large file over the net back to his laptop. Whatever it was, she could get it, since he was using his cell phone as connection. Since he already knew she was watching, she suspected that he wanted her to zap it.

  Her finger hovered over the command to pull the file. She had ample protection and safeguards from hackers who might try to infect her system. But he wasn’t hacking into her system; he was luring her into his. That was just too much for her to resist. She clicked on the command key, then sat back to watch as her computer pulled in the program he was using.

  Amber laughed in disbelief.

  The man had connected with some sort of instant messenger and was…typing a note to himself—okay, really, to her, if she cared to reply, now that she had loaded the damn program into her network.

  Hi Ambrosia. Found your note. Found you.

  Oh, this was just too hard to resist. Good to know you checked yourself. You couldn’t have possibly missed my note, Mr. McMillan.

  I’ll have to return the favor sometime, Miss Hutchens.

  A shiver ran through her. She had a feeling Hawk McMillan hadn’t liked being the victim last night. You were careless. I was merely pointing out the dangers of being caught off guard. You want my help, you’d better be a lot more alert.

  Was I not alert enough for you last night?

  Amber rested her chin on her hand. Not only smart, but a smart-ass. Of course he knew she felt his…She shook her head. He was doing that on purpose, putting that image back in her head. Listen, hot stuff, I don’t have time to play.

  Pity.

  She admired his typing speed. You get the coordinates and maybe we’ll talk.

  Our first meeting won’t be about talking. It’ll be about making a point.

  Threats won’t make me cooperative. Remember you need my help, Mr. McMillan.

  You tried to compromise me today. That’s not help.

  It would have been nice if she had succeeded. That kind of information would be very valuable, especially if she had found out what Jed and his team wanted so badly from Dilaver. Or even to find out where Jed was…now, wouldn’t that be a coup?

  Jed McNeil would understand it’s my job to test you. It was a half-truth. She needed to know how good this new man was before she would jeopardize her operation again.

  My turn next. Signing out.

  Wait! What do you mean?

  Better not walk around naked at night, Miss Hutchens. Hot Stuff may bump into you. Signing out.

  The window closed automatically on its own. Amber cursed out loud. For the second time in half an hour, the man had left her hanging, more intrigued than ever. Hot Stuff indeed. He had used her own code word to refer back to himself. Hawk McMillan had a big head. And was one very smart operative. He had cleverly gotten her to talk to him without even wasting any time trying to find open port holes in her system. All he had needed was her cooperation—to go into his system to see what he was doing and to reply to his baiting. It was a long enough conversation for him to trace her if he wanted to, but he already knew who she was and her business phone, so what was he doing while he was distracting her?

  Damn it. She wished she had the evening off so she could play with this new program she had downloaded. But Brad was on the way and she had other business to attend to. She eyed the computer screen suspiciously, half expecting something else to happen, but the window didn’t reappear.

  She would have to tell Lily about this. It was clear she had underestimated this Hawk McMillan.

  Hawk snapped his laptop shut. That didn’t take long—Miss Amber Hutchens took the bait quickly enough. He had wondered whether she would, but evidently she was very confident about her computer firewalls.

  He gathered that she was somewhat of a gambler anyhow. Anyone who did what she had done last night, taking the risk of being caught by Dragan Dilaver’s men just to hang a message on him, had to have a wild side. Since he enjoyed living on the edge himself, he appreciated the woman’s daredevilry. However, he didn’t like knowing she had knocked him out with drugs, that it could have been something more serious.

  She had a point. His attention couldn’t slack. It could cost him his life.

  He was also intrigued by Amber Hutchens’s front. A café owner. Who would see her as some kind of tracker? And from what Dilaver had said, she sold information to get his protection. So whose side was she on?

  When she had answered the phone earlier, her voice had had the oddest effect on him. Smooth and soft, it slid against his skin like silk. So this was the voice belonging to the woman who’d touched him. He had hated not having an image for a target. Now he had a voice. And he wondered whether she looked as delicious as she sounded.

  Hawk made an impatient sound. His mind was wandering into territory that had gotten him into trouble again. Fuck! The curse brought a reluctant wry smile on his lips. Exactly. Months of clogged sperm. He was going to get himself killed if even a sexy voice was making him horny.

  She was probably big as a house. Nope, he had fought with her last night. Okay, now he had a voice and a body. He closed his eyes, going through the events of last night, bringing up the fight in slow motion, from the moment his mystery assailant had attacked him till the last point of consciousness when he had tried to snap her neck.

  Details came flooding back. She wasn’t very tall; he had towered over her. She had a very strong grip and, remembering the way she held the needle, she was right-handed. He smiled again. And yeah, she had very strong thighs, too. He suddenly recalled, just before falling over, he’d thought the “man” wiry and…his hand had gone for the neck…brushing up against…Hawk sat up. He had touched her breast during that struggle and she had squirmed. That was when she’d decided to use that damn hypodermic needle, because she’d realized that he would discover the truth.

  A fierce satisfaction came over him. She had been in trouble herself. Good. He hadn’t liked thinking about how in control she had been, with this plan of tying that note in such an insulting way. That meditation training was damn good—his mind was pulling sensory details out of his unconscious that he didn’t even know he had.

  Hawk was definitely looking forward to exacting some kind of revenge now. It would be interesting to see how good an operative Miss Amber Hutchens was.

  He spent the next few minutes removing the tracking de
vices from his cell phone. Then he called Jed’s number again, going through the coded conversation with the woman on the other side. This time there was no sudden disconnection.

  “This is Jed.”

  The Asians called Jed McNeil Ghost Lightning, a weather phenomena that the superstitious feared. Hawk had heard of other monikers given to the man who had trained him on and off the last half a year.

  His current undercover assignment started in Asia a few months ago. He had to leave his SEAL team to work for “Stefan.” Even though the other man never brought it up, Hawk suspected Jed had picked that name as a private joke in reference to Hawk’s family’s odd penchant to give all the sons the same name. Every one of Hawk’s male relatives, including his father, was Steve, or Steven, or Stephan, or one of the other derivatives. He had learned quickly that there wasn’t much Jed McNeil didn’t know about those around him.

  His commander, Admiral Madison, had sent him to Jed’s outfit when he’d found out Hawk could speak Asian languages. He could work side by side with the elusive man and observe him.

  “I want to know more about those COS commandos,” he’d told Hawk, referring to Jed’s shadowy unit. “This next mission’s a good way to find out.”

  So far Hawk hadn’t found out too much. The COS commandos weren’t exactly a group of guys one saw together often.

  “Sorry about the last call,” Hawk said.

  “We expected it, hence the safeguards.”

  “I know who it is now,” Hawk said. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “You have to draw your own conclusions about the person with whom you’re going to work, Hawk. How did you like her methods?”

  Sneaky. Unpredictable. “Are you saying I can’t trust her?”

  There was a pause. “You can never trust an operative who’s been out there for that length of time,” Jed said, “although Amber Hutchens has been a very useful asset to the CIA.”