by Jaime Rush
“What’s up?” she asked. A small diamond glittered at her nose.
“Meeting in Darkwell’s office.”
“Be right there.”
Olivia headed past Nicholas’s suite to Jerryl’s. He took the longest to answer. She told him about the meeting, then knocked on Robbins’s door. No answer. Knocked again. A minute later she opened the door. It was dark.
She returned to Gerard’s office. “Robbins isn’t here.”
“I know. He never came in.”
“Should we call someone?”
“I sent someone to check his house. Car’s gone, drawers are half-emptied. He’s been acting strange. I have a feeling he’s gone AWOL.”
Her throat tightened. “Monday he was all worried, said he’d given you the wrong folder. He didn’t want to anger you and asked if I’d let him in your office so he could replace it with the right folder. But I didn’t leave him alone in here.”
Oddly, he didn’t seem upset. Her father could be quite paranoid. “I’m sure it was nothing. But never let anyone into my office if I’m not there.”
Speaking of odd…“I saw Harry Peterson at Langley. He acted as though we’d never worked together. It was the strangest thing.”
“Nothing strange about it. He was told to pretend his work here had never happened. Obviously, he’s doing a good job of it.”
“But he acted…different. Like he hardly knew me.”
“He’s a good actor. A good officer.”
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Why didn’t he come back?”
“It was time for him to move on.”
The answers didn’t satisfy her. Now she knew why Nicholas was so frustrated. “I saw the director today. He asked about the two projects we’re working on. He wants a report.”
Irritation passed over her father’s face. “I don’t have time to deal with programs that aren’t producing results. Talk to the two people heading them up.”
She stepped closer to his desk. “Why can’t the director know about DARK MATTER?”
“Because he would frown on my hiring outside help.”
Nicholas knocked on the nearly closed door and stepped in. Gerard waved for him to take a seat, and she swore he looked happy that they’d been interrupted. Nicholas’s hair was now combed, though she’d never seen it neat. Something about the choppy, thick locks was charming. He was charming in a quiet, understated way. But it was more than that. He treated her like a woman and not a girl. He saw something in her that no one, not even she, had seen. He was intriguing, daring, and sensitive. Just when she’d expected tension between them, he’d given her a cheese sandwich.
Fonda popped in next. “Are we in trouble or something?” She didn’t look particularly worried, but she did look ready to defend herself. She had the gait of a cat as she slunk across the room and curled up in a chair.
Jerryl strode in as though the office was his. Olivia remained at the door, curious about the meeting but not part of it. She hoped Gerard wouldn’t ask her to leave.
“I’m pleased to announce we have another victory. As you know, Jerryl found the terrorist cell. Recently, Nicholas found a contractor who had been taken hostage. He was rescued yesterday and is on his way home as we speak.” He held up a photograph of a middle-aged man posed with his family during happier times. “He’s tired, bruised, but otherwise in good shape. Nice work, Nicholas. This is what we can accomplish, people: saving lives, bringing hostages home. You can all take tremendous pride in your part of it. We won’t get public credit, but sometimes doing the right thing is reward enough. That’s all for now.”
Olivia joined in the applause, still finding it hard to believe that anyone could find a hostage thousands of miles away. Wondering how Nicholas had done it. She’d seen maps, sketches the three of them had done, but what did they do in those mission rooms? Nicholas’s questions had made her curious. If she gave him a copy of his father’s file, she would insist on knowing more. But did she really want to know what her father was up to?
Fonda bent her knee and propped her chin on it. “When do I get a mission?”
“When you’re ready. You’ve been practicing, getting better. I’ll be giving you a new exercise tonight.”
“Cool.” She gave him a salute and hopped out of her chair. In a flash, she was out the door.
Gerard looked at Jerryl. “We’ll begin our next mission in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerryl gave him a sharp nod and left.
Nicholas got to his feet but halted when Gerard said, “Nicholas, you had some questions…maybe some doubts earlier this week. I hope we’ve laid those to rest.”
He hesitated, his mouth tightening. When she thought he might voice those doubts, he said, “Everything’s fine, sir.” He left, his eyes on hers as he passed.
Olivia shut the door behind him, walking over to her father’s desk. “You look tired. You’re overdoing it, getting up early and working here, going to Langley, then coming back and working more. It’s taking a toll on you.”
“Right now DARK MATTER is more important than rest and recreation.”
She couldn’t remember her father ever taking part in any recreation, having fun, or laughing. Had her mother’s abandonment sapped his joy? Or had he been born like that?
She lowered her voice. “Look what happened to Uncle Leon. A heart attack in his fifties, and he overworked himself, too.” The thought of losing her father…fear wrapped around her heart and stole her breath away. “Are you getting enough whole grains? Taking your vitamins?”
“Yes and yes.” He opened one of his desk drawers and withdrew a syringe. “Give me my injection.”
Her throat closed. “It’s two days early.”
“Give me the injection.”
She hated this. Her father had been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, and a vitamin B deficiency that sometimes contributed to the condition. And he, tough man of the CIA, was squeamish about giving himself a shot. So Olivia, who was also squeamish about giving shots, had to buck up and inject him twice a week.
She couldn’t even look away as the needle went into his skin. She discarded the needle in the sanitary container. “If that’s all…”
“I’ve seen the way you and Braden look at each other.”
How could an observant man like him miss it? She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve always respected the rules. Your rules, CIA’s rules. Our family’s rules. But I don’t agree with the rule prohibiting me from socializing with the people in the program.” Certainly she should score some points for being assertive, honest, and straightforward, all Darkwell traits. Instead of being patted on the head for exuding feminine qualities, for being obedient.
His mouth flattened into a hard line. “You mean Nicholas Braden. Why can’t you accept that marriage isn’t all those silly, useless feelings but a strategic partnership? I’ve introduced you to several handsome men with lineages and honors to stir any sensible woman’s loins.”
Hearing her father talking about a woman’s loins…ew. “Boring, not-my-type men.” She hated the feeling she’d disappointed him by not finding his choices appealing.
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “What is your type of man, Olivia?”
“Someone who’s not always a follower.” Like she was. “Someone who goes deeper, isn’t into the material aspects of life, like awards, medals, and possessions. Someone who treats me with respect even though I see attraction in his eyes.”
“Again, Nicholas Braden.”
Take a deep breath. And say it. “I want to see him. Socially. And whatever else comes of it, if anything.” If she could convince him she could handle it. At least that would be one secret she wouldn’t have to keep. She hated keeping secrets. “I need a life outside this place.” She gestured to include the estate. Pride swelled in her chest. She was standing up for herself. “I understand if you need to transfer me out of the program.”
“
You’re not getting transferred. You’re the only person I completely trust.”
That both warmed her and dumped a burden on her.
Despite his declaration, his expression was sober. “There’s something you should know about Braden.”
“He’s leaving. The way he says it, sounds like a dangerous mission he could die on. Are you sending him overseas?”
“It’s very likely he’s a traitor.”
The word punched her in the gut. “No. You’re just saying that—”
“I wish I were.”
“Who is he betraying?”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Us. The program. Our country. You know he’s been asking questions. Doubting me. I think he had something to do with Robbins’s going missing. It’s why he looks so haggard. I didn’t want to alarm you, but I think the Rogues have Robbins. Which means he’s probably dead. And I have reason to believe Nicholas helped them find him. I can’t get into details, but this you must understand: You cannot see Nicholas Braden socially. He’s the potential enemy, and if he finds out you’re my daughter, you will be vulnerable.”
Olivia’s hand went to her mouth. “I can’t believe that. Not that I think you’re lying,” she added quickly. She’d heard this before, his insistence that her relationship to him could put her in jeopardy, particularly if she worked for the National Clandestine Service.
His expression softened to pity. “I’m sorry to say this, but his interest in you may well be only for what you can give him. And I mean information.”
No. Maybe she was naïve when it came to things of a sexual nature. After what had happened with Liam…the pain was fresh again after reliving it for Nicholas. She’d lost the desire to date someone she knew her father wouldn’t approve. Until now. But could she be that warped in her judgment? Nicholas had been snooping, though he hadn’t been lying about its being his father’s folder. She couldn’t tell her father about that now. He’d be furious that she hadn’t told him earlier.
“He said his father worked with you in a classified program twenty-four years ago but you hadn’t disclosed your relationship. That’s why he was asking questions.”
“The reason he was asking questions was that somehow the Rogues got to him. But how?” He looked genuinely puzzled but hadn’t addressed her comment.
“Did his father work with you?”
He stood. “I’ve got to meet with Jerryl. We’ll talk about this later.” Which usually meant they wouldn’t. “But for now, I insist you not speak with Braden at all. Don’t let him use you. Not only will he make a fool out of you, but he could cause some deadly problems. For now I want him unaware of our suspicions. Understand?”
She nodded and left, still unable to believe Nicholas might have allied with the Rogues. But he was suffering guilt over something…
She put her hand on Sam’s office door, her chest hurting from the thought of his being dead. He was jumpy but considerate and pleasant. Now he was gone. Two other officers had disappeared. Now she feared the worst for them, too.
She’d seen the aftermath the Rogues had left behind at the asylum: five men shot, one beaten. None had died, her father had assured her. She believed him, but she hadn’t seen any of them since, except for Harry, and that encounter had been plain odd.
She looked up to see Nicholas coming around the corner, a frosty glass of one of those funky protein shakes in his hand. He saw where she was standing, and guilt shadowed his eyes.
She turned before her expression could give away her fears, doubts, and what she suspected was a terrible truth: He had been part of Sam’s disappearance.
CHAPTER 10
Saturday morning, Nicholas woke with a start, roused from a nightmare about Robbins’s death. He blinked. Standing by his desk was Fonda. And yet…not quite Fonda. Maybe he wasn’t awake or it was the early-morning light, but it looked like her ghost. Her body was translucent and shimmered with her movement. She turned, saw him, and disappeared.
He rubbed his eyes. His imagination. Still, given their abilities, maybe it was her.
Nicholas had asked once if, when they were remote-viewing, a person in the vicinity could see them. The answer was no. Their presence could be sensed by someone sensitive to such things, but not visually.
He pulled himself out of bed, an uneasy feeling pressing down on him. He had to be careful about Jerryl remote-viewing him. Darkwell had taught him to block an intrusion, but he wasn’t sure how good he was at it.
Nicholas took a long, hot shower and emerged in time to hear his phone ringing. Olivia’s voice wasn’t sweet and cheerful as it usually was. “It’s Olivia. Darkwell would like to see you in his office in twenty minutes.”
The cool politeness matched the look she’d given him last night in the hallway. Granted, he was probably paranoid, but he’d seen accusation as she’d stood in front of Robbins’s door. Something had changed. She had said she was going to give him a copy of his dad’s folder, but her demeanor had changed since then.
“Thanks, Livvie.” What to say? “I—”
She hung up during his pause, probably thinking that was the end of the call. He knew she was the epitome of politeness. She’d never hang up on anyone midsentence. Well, it was for the best. He should be relieved there was now a wall between them. Problem was, he wasn’t.
Nicholas had already decided that, no matter what, he couldn’t continue in the program, not with the doubts he harbored. Oddly enough, the thought of not seeing Olivia again was what sent a sharp pang through his chest. He’d never let himself get close to a woman before, other than physically. Yet, he’d only kissed Olivia, and she’d touched him in a deeper place than any other woman. Hell, he had become emotionally involved.
Which meant leaving was a good idea.
Twenty minutes later, Nicholas paused in front of Darkwell’s door. Maybe Darkwell was going to fire him. Nicholas wasn’t ready for that yet. Before he left, he had to get hold of that folder. This time, not even Olivia would stop him.
He knocked. Darkwell called for him to come in, and he stepped inside, lingering by the door.
“Close the door and sit.”
Uh-oh. Nicholas took a seat in front of Darkwell’s imposing desk. The man had a pleasant expression on his face, not a you’re-fired kind of look.
“Nicholas, you did a fine job with your first hostage.” That was one good thing about Darkwell. He complimented his subordinates on their work.
“Thank you, sir. It was nice to finally help someone.”
“You helped that man and his family, your country, and DARK MATTER.” He held up a folder. “I’ve got another person for you to find. He’s being targeted by the Rogues. We don’t know where he is, not a clue. He’s been living off the grid for over twenty years. His name is Richard Wallace.” He set a picture of a man, perhaps in his thirties, on the table. “This is the last known picture of him. If you succeed, there will be a bonus.”
Darkwell was making it harder to leave. On purpose? Did he suspect Nicholas was thinking of leaving? Probably. The man was intelligent and cunning. Even now he was studying Nicholas.
“I’ll do my best.” He stood.
“I’ll see you in the mission room in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” He left.
Jerryl was out in the hallway. If Darkwell was suspicious of Nicholas, he hid it well. Jerryl did not. Nicholas shifted his gaze away from him, a knot tangling inside him. The flames from his nightmare licked at the edges of his mind. Time was running out.
Late Monday night Nicholas went down to the kitchen to see what he could scrounge up. He’d forgotten about dinner. Classical music drifted from the back, mostly unused portion of the kitchen, and the whole place smelled of baking cake and sugar. Olivia. Which brought to mind memories of their kiss, when she’d broken the rules, when he’d gotten a glimpse of the hunger inside her.
He stepped quietly, spotting her sitting on a stool at a long counter. The cake looked like a tower.
Damn, she was beautiful, her long hair tied back with one of those white twist ties. Flour dusted her cheek and several strands of hair not captured in the ponytail. Her length of creamy neck pulled at him, physically pulled him, so he had to regain his balance to remain where he was.
She worked in such a state of concentration, she didn’t even know he was there. He hoped she wasn’t making that cake for him. No, no reason to do that. The dark blue shirt she wore was a little too large, slipping to the side and revealing a bare shoulder. The long, tight white pants she wore made her legs look long and slender. A gold anklet glinted in the light as she moved. She was worrying her lower lip, making it red and puffy. He could think of better ways to make her mouth look like that.
As he watched, though, he realized she wasn’t enjoying the process. She made a window, then a face, then used yellow icing to make long tresses of hair falling to the base: Rapunzel. Her delicate features were tensed, her movements rigid, a furrow between her eyebrows. She grabbed a pastry bag, jabbing black lines to denote bricks.
She picked up something that looked like a hammer, held it over her head, and slammed it sideways into her creation. Pieces of cake and icing flew everywhere. She pounded it over and over, grunting in exertion.
Shock stuck his feet to their position. Finally, she stopped, staring at the rubble. Her chest rose and fell with her deep breathing, but the tension had left her features.
“Maybe you should call your bakery ‘Angry Cakes.’”
She spun to face him, her hand to her heart, shooting out the words, “What are you doing in here?”
“I came to get something to eat, but this is much more interesting.”
She scraped the mess into the garbage can sitting next to the counter. He walked over and saw the remnants of at least two other cakes in the can.
