He smiled, a gentle smile of understanding. "For the last year I've pretty much done nothing but work. For the first couple of months after you left Miami I spent most of my time trying to hunt down Jonas. The CIA took over when he surfaced in Berzhaan."
Despite the fact that Lynn had participated in a sting operation that involved her luring her godfather to Nick's cottage where a dozen FBI agents awaited to arrest him, he'd managed to evade capture. Actually, he'd used Lynn as a hostage to get away. Eventually he'd been killed overseas in the Middle Eastern country of Berzhaan, where he'd been dealing arms with insurgents. Lynn had thought it poetic justice when an Athena Academy grad, FBI legal Selena Shaw Jones, had played a big part in foiling the attempted coup that led to Jonas's death.
"As for my family, you know that my father passed away. My mother is doing well. She moved to a retirement village in New Mexico and I think that for the first time in many years she's enjoying life. My sister got married and seems happy, as well. Without my father's influence, my brother, Tony, is trying to walk the straight and narrow." His eyes flashed darkly.
"What? Tell me?"
"That's what they used as a threat to get me to talk to you."
"Your brother?" Lynn frowned, wanting to understand.
He nodded. "You know my old man walked outside the law, and while he was alive Tony walked there with him. Tony was too weak to buck the powerful Joey Barnes. He's getting his life together now, working a legitimate job, but they told me they had enough information on him to put him in prison if I didn't cooperate with them."
"They have no heart," she said, indignant on his behalf.
Nick shrugged. "They do what they need to do to get a job done. And as far as that seafood place, I haven't been back to Smokey's since the night I took you there and we danced together."
Memories flooded through her mind. His strong arms around her as he guided her across the dance floor with ease and grace. She'd fallen more than a little bit in love with him that night.
"What about your family?" he asked. "It must be great for you to have sisters."
Lynn smiled, the gesture turning into a wince as her cheek ached. "It's wonderful. They're amazing women, Nick. Faith works with the police department in New Orleans and is dating a detective there. Since the hurricane they're mostly involved in the cleanup work and getting the city back on its feet. Dawn does a lot of traveling, and she thinks maybe she recently got married to Captain Des Asher."
Nick raised a dark brow. "She thinks maybe she got married? She doesn't know for sure?"
"Des works for the British Special Air Services. The wedding ceremony was an elaborate scheme to smoke out an assassin. But, Dawn thinks Des hired a real minister instead of a fake one, and they had a marriage license as part of their cover. Which might make their marriage real instead of pretend."
"Is she upset about it?"
Lynn couldn't help the smile that once again took possession of her lips. "She says she is, but I think she secretly admires Des and his deviousness. From what she's told me about him, they make a good pair." Her smile fell away. "Personally, I wouldn't be so forgiving. After spending most of my life with Jonas, I don't tolerate liars in my life anymore."
She sat up straighter. "Did I tell you I met my father? I can't remember if I e-mailed you about him or not."
He shook his head. "You didn't."
"His name is Tom King. He's a Navy SEAL commander and he was the donor whose sperm Lab 33 stole and used to fertilize my mother's eggs. But more important he's a nice man. He's married to a wonderful woman named Ellen and they have a fifteen-year-old son."
"It must have been strange to meet him after all this time," he said.
"It was, but strange in a nice kind of way." She couldn't help but smile as she thought of Tom. "We're still working on building a relationship. He didn't even know the three of us existed. But we have his eyes. He has the same green-gold eyes as me and my sisters."
Her gaze fell on the clock on the end table. Ten after three. "And now you've got to get out of here." How she wished he could stay. How she wished they could talk all night.
"Yeah, I do." There was a touch of reluctance in his voice. He stood. She walked with him to the door and once there he touched her cheek lightly. "You'd better get some more ice on that. It's swelling a bit."
She reached up and captured his hand once again with her own. "Don't look so worried. I'm going to survive this just fine. I'm a lot tougher than anything these streets or this assignment can throw my way."
"I hope you're right. God, I hope you're right."
Neither of them moved and she thought he might kiss her. He leaned closer to her, his dark eyes radiating with intent.
She held her breath, wanting him to crush his mouth to hers, needing him to momentarily take her away from this place and this time with the magic of his kiss.
But, instead of kissing her, he pulled his hand from hers and stepped out the door. "Until tomorrow," he said, then disappeared down the dim hallway.
Lynn closed her door and slammed home the dead bolt. Damn the man anyway. With the single touch of his hand against her face, he lit a fire in her. He was the only man she'd ever met who made her think of rumpled sheets and mind-shattering climaxes.
She stalked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a tray of ice cubes. She didn't know if she should apply one to her injured cheek or dump a dozen ice cube trays in the bottom of the shower and swim in it in an effort to douse the flames he stirred in her.
A year ago Nick had been ordered by his superiors to seduce her in an effort to give him an in into Jonas's operation of illegal activities.
Lynn stuck an ice cube against her cheek and frowned thoughtfully. Maybe it was time for a bit of "turnabout is fair play." Maybe a little seduction was in order on her part, not because anyone had ordered it, but because she wanted it.
One thing Lynn had learned from the Athena women was that if you wanted something you'd better go after it; nobody was going to hand you anything on a silver platter. Not anything that truly mattered, anyway.
She walked over to the window and stared down on the empty streets. The ice melted quickly, releasing cold water that ran down her cheek.
When the cube was no bigger than her thumb, she tossed it into the sink and returned to the window. These were mean streets, not fit for people. She touched her cheek and winced.
She wasn't mad at Stella. The woman was protecting what little she had against a perceived threat. In truth, Lynn felt sorry for the woman.
Eventually Lynn would leave here, but people like Stella would remain, fighting for what little life gave to them. With a sigh, she turned and went into the small bathroom to change into her nightclothes.
"WOW," Lynn muttered aloud as she stared at the list of names that appeared on the computer screen in front of her. She'd been working the Spider files since dawn, running first one program, then another in an effort to break whatever code had been used. An adjustment to one of her programs had finally been rewarded with a breakthrough.
A burst of euphoria electrified her. Although the adjusted program hadn't decoded much, it had given up a new list of names. And quite a list it was, too.
She leaned back in her chair and frowned thoughtfully as she gazed at the names she'd uncovered. Jeffrey Carson. Malcom Gerrer. Scott Hafford. Thomas Ridgewater.
She recognized all of the names. Carson was a Federal Judge. Gerrer was a senator from the state of
Missouri. She thought Hafford was some kind of military contractor and Ridgewater was a well-known, high-profile attorney who was often in the news.
Why would these people's names be in a file that had come from Lab 33? Had they helped to fund the unholy lab? Running a finger across her lower lip she frowned thoughtfully. What did it mean? Unfortunately the list was all that particular program had managed to decode.
She had just finished e-mailing the list to Delphi when someone rapped on her door. She looked at the clo
ck in the lower right corner of her computer screen. Just after ten. Now what?
Before answering she closed the program she'd been running and pulled up her screen saver of dancing dolphins.
She cracked open the door to see Tiny. He seemed to fill all the spaces in the door frame. "Heard you had a little trouble last night." He held up a packaged cinnamon coffee cake. "I brought you a little sweet to take away the sting of the fight with Stella."
Lynn unchained the door and opened it to allow him inside, as always slightly put off by his huge size. "I'm a sucker for coffee cake." She gestured to the table. "Sit down and I'll make some coffee."
In truth she welcomed the break from work, from her thoughts, and from the isolation she felt cooped up inside the apartment. Despite the fact that she was excited about her success, she was ready for a break.
"How did you hear about my little tangle with Stella?" she asked.
"I make it my business to know what happens on these streets. Looks like Stella got in a good shot."
Lynn raised a hand to her cheek and smiled ruefully. "Only one. She sucker punched me. I never even saw it coming."
Tiny shook his head and opened the coffee cake container as Lynn got out a couple of plates and forks from the cabinet. "When she told me what she had done, I told her she was way out of line. Fists and such are never the way to solve an issue. Believe me, I know." He frowned darkly as if remembering a particularly bleak time in his life.
"She obviously felt threatened by my presence here. She was protecting her territory." Lynn turned to the counter and began to prepare the coffee. "I hope she gets it that I'm not looking to take over her business."
"So, what are you looking to do?"
She turned around to face him. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged his massive shoulders and his gaze held open speculation. "Just wondering what you're doing down here in this kind of neighborhood. That blouse you got on, I recognize the designer label. It cost more than a month's rent in this dive. And this computer—" he stabbed athumb in the direction of the laptop "—quite a pricey item for a girl down on her luck."
Her mind raced and her heart did the same. This was exactly what Blake had warned her about, getting close to a neighbor, inviting confidences that could be dangerous. It would be suspicious if she didn't come up with an answer. A mix of truth and fiction was in order, she quickly decided.
She turned back to the cabinet and withdrew two coffee mugs and set them on the table. "My father died several months ago. He was a very wealthy man."
She pulled the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured them each a cup of the fresh brew. "Cream or sugar?"
"Nah, this is good." He cupped his massive hands around the mug.
She joined him at the table, aware that he was waiting for some sort of story that would explain her presence here. "I had a great life while Dad was alive. I had the best of everything that money could buy. But, when he passed away I discovered all his money had been gotten illegally and the authorities moved in and took everything. All I managed to keep were some clothes and personal items."
It was easy to interject bitterness into her voice. She wasn't bitter about losing everything when Jonas had gone down, but there was still a trace of bitterness inside her over the fact that she didn't believe he'd ever really loved her, he'd only loved the skills she possessed to help him build his fortune.
"Tough break," Tiny said. "I think sometimes it's harder to have the world by the ass and lose it than to never have it at all." He cut them each a generous piece of the coffee cake.
"Thanks. Anyway, since Dad's death, I've been just knocking around, trying to figure out what I'm going to do. I never had a job and don't have any real skills except a bit of computer knowledge. I had just enough money left to rent this place for a couple of months." She pointed to the computer. "I'm hoping by that time I can get some business building Web sites for people."
"You know how to do all that computer stuff?" One of his thick dark brows rose upward.
She nodded. "I was taking computer classes when my father died. Unfortunately I had to drop out because I didn't have the money to continue, but I'm teaching myself everything I need to know. I'll never have what I had before, but I'm hoping I'll have better than this…no offense."
"None taken," he replied easily. "That's good, that you have a plan. The faster you get on your feet and out of here the better it will be for you. Stella, she's got no way out. She's third-generation hooker. It's the only kind of life she knows."
"Just let her know I'm not competition."
Tiny smiled, the gesture mitigating his badass aura. "That's the problem. Stella knows, if you work the streets, there is no competition. You're younger and new to the streets. She'd be out of work."
He leaned back in the chair, a thoughtful frown stretching across his broad forehead. "Stella, she does all right. She has her regulars, mostly dock-workers and for the most part they treat her real good. These streets are the only home she's known."
"She has nothing to worry about where I'm concerned," Lynn replied.
"So, what were you doing on the streets at three in the morning?" Although Tiny's tone was light and easy there was more than a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
She frantically searched her brain for a reasonable explanation. "I'm an insomniac," she replied. "I have trouble sleeping at night and the one thing that helps is if I run."
"Running around here at that time of the morning isn't exactly smart," he observed, then raised his mug to his mouth and took a sip.
"I'm pretty good when it comes to self-defense."
He lowered his mug and grinned. "That's what Stella said. She's as street tough as they come and she said you put her on her ass in five seconds flat."
"Because of my father's wealth, he believed I should be trained in all forms of self-defense." This much was true. Jonas had made sure that Lynn had the best training in all of the defense arts. "I can take care of myself."
He sipped his coffee, his gaze still on her over the rim of the mug. She had a feeling he didn't quite believe her stories.
"Your tattoo—didn't it hurt getting it there so close to your eye?" she asked, desperate to change the subject away from her.
He reached up and touched the teardrop tattoo. "Not really. At the time I got it done I was filled with such a rage that pain meant nothing to me." He dropped his hand but his eyes remained narrowed. "I was one badass dude before I went to prison and found God." He smiled. "But I'm a changed man now."
They were both silent for a few moments, each of them eating their coffee cake. She hoped he was a changed man. She hoped he'd bought the story she'd spun about what hard luck had brought her to the neighborhood. She also hoped he believed her insomnia tale.
She had a feeling that Tiny was a man who could either make her brief life here better or could seriously complicate everything for her.
Chapter 9
Nick stood against an inner wall inside the warehouse, watching the activity that took place around him. It was a workday for the drug dealers of Raymore and the air was rife with the acrid scent of chemicals.
Under normal circumstances Nick wouldn't be caught dead within a thousand yards of a meth lab. Practically every night of the week the news had at least one report of a meth lab blowing up.
The typical meth-maker either had no idea or didn't care about the dangers of the chemicals that were needed to make the drug. They had no idea how combustible those chemicals could be if not handled correctly.
The men working in the warehouse in Raymore weren't the normal, garden-variety dope dealers. The warehouse was outfitted with equipment to make it look more like a science laboratory than a den of iniquity.
Stainless steel sinks, glass beakers and shiny countertops had been installed to provide a clean environment and assure that the purest drug could be made without threat of contamination.
The chemicals were stored in separate rooms off the main lab, ass
uring no accidental mix that could prove deadly.
The operation took place about once a month, with both the powder and the coveted crystal form of the drug being made for distribution.
Like most of the men in the room, Nick was one of the mules. It was his job to move the product when it was ready. Even though he had nothing to do with the actual production, the man in charge insisted that all the men who worked for him be present on cooking day.
"Yo, Nicky."
Nick turned to see Jimmy Warren limping toward him. Jimmy grinned, looking far more boyish than his forty-three years. "Hey, Jimmy," Nick greeted him. "Leg bothering you tonight?"
Jimmy stood against the wall next to Nick and leaned over to rub down his right leg. "Damn thing always gives me more trouble than usual when there's rain in the forecast."
Jimmy was on social security disability due to an accident on the docks several years ago. His leg had been crushed, leaving him with a permanent limp. He supplemented his disability checks by being the number-two man in this operation.
"I was thinking maybe we'd get together a poker game tonight," Jimmy said as he straightened. "What do you say? Are you in?"
"I don't think so, Jimmy. I'm beat. I think when we're done here I'll just head home." The poker games rarely ended before midnight and Nick had another date to keep.
"Ah, come on, man. It will be fun. We'll drink some brews and play a little Texas Hold 'Em."
Nick shook his head. "Count me out. You know I've got no luck."
Jimmy laughed. "That ain't no shit. I've never seen anybody as unlucky as you and I'm not just talking about your poker playing."
Nick knew exactly what Jimmy was talking about. Nick had gone undercover on this job using his real name and his real background as the son of Joey Barnes, organized crime mobster.
Nick had let all these men know that he'd expected to take over his father's business when the old man had died, but his younger brother had frozen him out.
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