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Operation Sheba

Page 7

by Evans, Misty


  Conrad cleared his throat. “And some of it came from a source on the inside who’s been helping us.”

  She drilled him a look. “You already have someone inside Langley helping you?” She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. “Then why do you need me?”

  Her ex-partner’s gaze was back on the coffee table. “Because you’re the one sleeping with Michael Stone.”

  Silence hung between the three friends with crushing weight. So now she had the truth. Julia swallowed the lump tightening her throat and persisted. “Who’s your source on the inside?”

  Smitty smiled at her as if reasoning with an irritable toddler. “Julia, you’ll be more effective to us if that person remains anonymous to you. Think about it. If you’d known about our operation, known that Con was alive, you wouldn’t have penetrated the Agency as well as you have.”

  Penetrated the Agency. Julia stared at a spot on the far wall. What a polite way to say shagging the boss. She crossed her arms over her chest and put a hand over her mouth. There she was not a minute ago thinking about kissing Conrad and completely forgetting about Michael. What was wrong with her?

  It was getting harder and harder to keep things straight. Once again, she reached for the safety of logic. “Why not take the information you have and give it to the DCI?”

  Titus Xavier Allen had been the charismatic Director of Central Intelligence for a brief five years. A former spy once in love with the clandestine side of the CIA, he was now the sixty-five-year-old DCI in love with the Hollywood side of government. Tailored suits, dinner parties and vacations in the Keys held more seduction these days than running agents.

  “Not until we have absolute proof about who’s in charge of the rogue operation.” Conrad vacated the futon and went to sit in front of the computer. His fingers poked awkwardly at the keys. “We have incriminating evidence, but if we take it to Allen right now, he’ll sweep it under the rug. The last thing the DCI wants is to face a congressional committee or the Justice Department over improper conduct by the agency that has made him into the man he is. Plus, his buddy, the president, might get a little miffed if anything further damages his popularity poll ratings. Titus is one of the prez’s favorite cronies.”

  A nearby HP laser printer began to hum. “Once we get the last bit of proof we need, we’ll give it to the DCI, along with the president, the Inspector General, and, of course, the press.” Conrad paused and looked at her. “We’re going to burn this bastard’s ass and everyone helping him.”

  Fear, like an icy finger, ran across the back of her neck. Conrad already knew who had put her life on the line, she was sure of it. “Who do you think the bastard is?”

  He picked up the paper the printer had spit out and sat looking at it. She could see him struggle with the impending disclosure. “Is it that bad?”

  “Just remember, you wanted the facts, Jules.” He refused to meet her eyes. “Here’s the facts, in black and white, just the way you asked for them.” He pushed the paper he was holding across the table to her.

  Unable to resist the magnetic draw of the answer, Julia grabbed it. Thirty or more CIA employee names were listed with their corresponding code names. There, in amongst the benign, was the identical code name on the e-mail that had changed the course of her life.

  Director of Operations, Michael J. Stone. Her knees buckled.

  Chapter Nine

  “Would it help,” Conrad said quietly from behind her, “if I said I was sorry? Again?” His silhouette reflected in the glass as lightning ripped through the black sky. The wind chimes outside the patio doors clanged gustily in the wind. Julia sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her bent legs, watching the wind blow sheets of rain across the cracked concrete patio.

  She had sought solace in her apartment, locking the door behind her and leaving the lights off. An attempt, Flynn knew, to keep him out so she could hang her head and lose the control she had been fighting so hard to keep after learning of Michael Stone’s betrayal.

  “No. It wouldn’t help.” Her voice sounded steady and yet still smart with emotion. “You’d be lying. You’re not sorry it’s Michael.”

  “But I am sorry the asshole did a number on you.”

  Julia’s eyebrows rose as she calmly accused him. “The pot calling the kettle black.”

  Conrad clenched his jaw to fight back a response that would only get him in deeper shit. He couldn’t win this argument. No sense trying.

  Julia, sensing his refusal to argue, shook her head mildly and ignored him again. A crack of lightning, the follow-up roll of thunder a few seconds later. Long minutes of silence.

  Conrad shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Damn this sucked. He wanted her to lash out at him, yell, slam a door, cry in his arms again—like that hadn’t freaked him out a little, she never cried, but even that was preferable to this sudden silence—do something to blow off her anger and hurt. Then he could help her. But this…this withdrawal wasn’t healthy. The emotions would detonate inside her.

  Maybe he should get in her face, argue with her until she broke. Tell her why he wasn’t like Stone. She would break, he knew that, and he damn sure would be there to pick up the pieces this time. “You have to talk to me, Jules.”

  “No, actually, I don’t. Leave me alone. I need some time to think.”

  “I have more information, more proof, if you want to see it.”

  Julia cut her gaze to him as the rain continued to pelt the concrete. “I’ve seen and heard enough. The less I know, the more…how did Smitty put it? Effective? Yes that’s the word. The less I know the more effective I’ll be in your little sting operation.”

  “So you’re going to help us?”

  She snorted. “Do I have a choice?”

  No, he wanted to say, his need for her help almost as bad as his need for her forgiveness. At the same time he felt compelled after what he’d put her through to give her an out. “You always have a choice. I can’t force you to do this, to work with me.”

  Her body tensed and he knew he’d said the wrong thing, although he wasn’t sure why it was wrong. Her help was critical to the success of the operation, but he didn’t want to push her into a corner. It would only backfire on him.

  Her attention went back to the night outside the door. “What if,” she said, her voice controlled, deliberate, “the roles had been reversed seventeen months ago? What if you thought I was dead, Con, and it was your fault?”

  Taking a step back, he let his back slide down the wall on the west side of the patio doors. He let himself think about it for a moment, but a moment was all it took. “I’d have gone crazy.”

  Her response was just as quick. “But you’d have survived, just like I did.” And accurate.

  Lightning flickered, illuminating Julia’s body with a blinking, strobe-like effect. The green eyes were black, her lips set in a grim line. Behind her set face, he knew she was coming to grips with Stone’s betrayal. With her current situation. With his request for her help. He watched as she continued to stare out at the night. She was right, they were survivors. Whatever the outcome of this operation, they would both survive.

  He waited for her to tell him that. To assert that she would be fine. But silence was all he got.

  That’s all right, he thought. Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never leaving you again…

  She was gone.

  Cursing himself, Conrad bolted upright and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus in the deeply shadowed kitchen. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but Christ, his body needed more than the five hours he’d had over the last two days.

  Skirting the table still clogged with dishes from the evening’s dinner, he made his way down the hall toward her bedroom. His heart was thumping, adrenaline lifting the sleep-induced stupor that fogged his half-dead senses.

  Thunder echoed in the distance.

  Please, God, don’t let her be gone.

  The bedroom door wa
s ajar. Slipping his fingers around it, he held his breath and edged it open. Like the kitchen, the bedroom was nearly black but he found her form shrouded on the bed under the sheets. She was sleeping. He silently exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.

  Life with Julia had never been easy, but then he had never opted for easy in his life. To him, nothing easy was worth having. Challenge was what made his blood flow, his pulse pound.

  Conrad Flynn had a superior operational mind and the balls to put his ideas into action. Intelligence mixed with cool logic and hyperawareness made him excel at everything from running agents to troubleshooting tickets for a sold-out game. Always ready for the next opportunity, he was an artful and cunning risk-taker. He loved the game and he loved to win.

  In the 007 version of the Intelligence world, Flynn was an outstandingly good spy.

  The problem was he had fallen in love with Julia Torrison, his opposite in ways the Myers-Briggs assessment test couldn’t begin to measure. And although her scope of assignments had been more limited than his, she was operationally his equal. That had caused just a few problems.

  Being a good spook was the antithesis of being a normal person. Those who excelled at flirting with terrorists, assassins, drug dealers and the rest of the Earth’s scum usually sucked in the everyday departments of spouse, parent or friend.

  When Julia had arrived at the Farm for case officer training, Conrad felt a pull toward her like a primitive force driving him to distraction even when she was out of his sight. He tried to convince himself his obsession with her was nothing more than physical attraction, but over the six months she was a student in his care, she became more than just a wicked form of Venus seducing him nightly in his dreams. She thrived on risk, stared down the impossible with confidence. Even through the paramilitary training he wrongly believed would break her, she was charismatic and fearless. Tough as nails.

  A combination he found unable to resist.

  The seduction was mutual, and when the moment finally came, Conrad found that possession of Julia’s sweet body had nearly made him weep. The smell of her hair. The taste of her skin. The curve of her hip. The feel of her heart pounding in rhythm with his. Every piece of her took him to his own version of heaven.

  Sex momentarily satisfied his physical need for her, but he realized immediately after the act was done that making love to her body wasn’t enough. He wanted to tease and caress her mind as well. For the first time in his life, he’d found a woman he liked talking to. A woman he liked listening to. He couldn’t get enough of her.

  They’d both finished with what the Farm offered and Julia was graduating the next day to begin her career as a CIA case officer. Conrad was returning to Europe to deep cover. “I’m leaving for Paris in two days,” he told her as they’d walked the footpath along the river. He’d stopped her forward motion with a hand and when she’d looked at him, he’d been struck again by the strength he saw in her eyes.

  “There’s an opening at the Embassy for someone with your skills.” He hesitated, searching her face, for what he wasn’t sure. “What do you say? Do you want to come with me?” After the question was out, he was afraid to breathe, afraid her answer would destroy him. She took her time, her gaze raking over his face as though she was memorizing every detail and choosing her words carefully.

  As she’d leaned in close, her smile was full of smug satisfaction. “I’m already packed.” She’d pulled his head down and kissed him.

  Conrad rubbed the kink in his neck. No, life with Julia had never been easy, but life without her was like filling his lungs with water instead of oxygen. Drowning in the murky depths of the ocean, while watching the life preserver float just out of his reach.

  He wanted, needed, to breathe her brand of oxygen again. It didn’t matter that his gut, his mind and his best friend told him he had to eliminate the rogue leader of the CIA. He needed his ex-partner to tell him. Needed her to confirm what he was doing was right.

  Her voice floated quietly across the dark divide between them. “Do you know what Hell is like?”

  He stood motionless, considering the question, unable to come up with a suitable answer. What he knew about Hell was SEAL training, BUD/S to be exact. Followed by the Agency’s Special Activities Service. Further down the road and the worst hell of all, was Julia sobbing from the exact spot she occupied now, grieving over him while he sat listening, unable to console her, two doors away…

  The shrouded figure moved, shifted into a sitting position. “Sister Marjorie—she was my Sunday school teacher—she told us Hell was hot, that it would burn our skin and our souls for eternity. But she was wrong. Hell isn’t hot. It’s cold. Absolutely, mind-numbingly cold.”

  God, he couldn’t stand not touching her. He took a chance and moved toward the bed. When she didn’t tell him to stop and didn’t bolt away from him, he squatted down next to her.

  “I know you’re hurting, Julia, and I know it’s partly my fault.” He reached out and ran two fingers across her cheek. Silently praying for a second chance, he let his hand sweep under her ear and into her hair, enjoying the soft feel of the dark tendrils. The round of her skull fit like a puzzle piece into his cupped hand. God, it had been too long. “I’m sorry I screwed things up between us, but I swear, if you’ll let me, this asshole will do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll swear to it on a hundred Bibles.”

  Julia stared at him in the dark for several heartbeats. “Technically, swearing on a hundred Bibles is no different than swearing on one.”

  Conrad dropped his hand. “Why do you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “I’m pouring my heart out here—which I’d rather cut off my left nut than do—but I owe you big time, so I’m trying to be…”—he fought his brain for the right word—“sensitive.” A shiver ran through him. Jesus, this woman could unman him faster than Dr. Phil. “And you completely blow it off to point out some philosophical technicality that makes me look like a dumb ass.”

  He saw the flash of her teeth in the dark. She was laughing at him. “You’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

  Cute? Cute? “Julia.”

  “Shut up and kiss me, you sensitive dumb ass.”

  That stopped him. But only for a microsecond. His lips found hers like a heat-seeking missile. She was pulling him to her and he sat on the bed, his hands on either side of her bracing them both up. Her hands were under his T-shirt the next second, and, Jesus, the feel of those soft, slender, cool hands combined with her wet, hot tongue in his mouth after all these months…bam, flashpoint. He wanted her—needed her—now.

  Hugging her to him, he started to press her down on the bed, but she pulled back, lips, hands, everything. He tried to follow her lips with his, but she stopped him with her hands on his chest. Pushed him back.

  “That was…” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Nice.”

  Nice? Conrad sat up and tried to get his brain back on track. Nice? “What’s wrong?”

  “I need some sleep. You need some sleep.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Conrad sat farther back and eyed her with suspicion. He didn’t understand what had just happened. One minute she was sucking his lungs out and the next she’s telling him his kiss was nice—nice? there was absolutely nothing nice about that kiss—and then she came up with she needed some sleep? Conrad rubbed his face with a hand and tried to slow his pulse. Julia was dicking with him. Pulling his chain. Jesus, he was a dumb ass. First-class.

  Okay, score one for Julia. He could deal. No problem. “Sleep’s good,” he muttered, setting his hands on his thighs so he wouldn’t grab her and kiss her again.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” She sounded a little too cheerful.

  He sat there for a minute, purposely slowing his breathing. Julia would be going back to work tomorrow. Back to Stone. He turned his face to look at her again. “You do forgive me though, right?”

  She sighed, with unusual
dramatic flair. But then she leaned forward and pointedly stared at his mouth. He moved in, ready for the kiss that was coming…

  Her breath fell lightly on his face. “I’ll think about it.”

  She flashed him a grin and he knew he was had. She sat back, tugged at the covers and practically tossed him off the bed as she slipped down into it. “Now get out, Flynn. Go do good somewhere else, and let me get some sleep.”

  He could hear her giggling into her pillow as he walked out of the bedroom.

  Chapter Ten

  Alexandria Susan Richmond pushed her lover’s arm off her stomach and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed. Her head was pounding. She needed some Motrin and she needed it now.

  The red digital letters of the bedside clock glowed 5:13 a.m. White sheers blew out elegantly from the bedroom window as she wrapped her silk robe around her and rubbed her head. The storm had brought rain and left behind cool air and a blinding headache.

  In the bathroom she downed three pills with water from her cupped hand, relieved her bladder and started back toward the bedroom.

  I wonder how Julia’s doing. The thought caught her mid-stride and she stopped, her eyes fixed on nothing but empty hall space.

  Abigail. She’s Abigail Quinn now, remember? You have to stop thinking about her as Julia. You could blow everything.

  Oh no. She would not blow it this late in the game.

  Turning on her heel, she strode down the hall and made her way into the study. Her worn leather desk chair squeaked as she eased into it, and she gritted her teeth. Forcing herself to ignore the throbbing in her head, Susan mentally reviewed her game plan again.

  The carefully thought-out strategy had taken years to put into action. She had handpicked each of the players, coached them to their full potential, and occasionally carried the ball for them when things got dicey. It was working. One day at a time, one play at a time, everything was coming together quite nicely.

 

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