by Dee Davis
“Yeah, I do. And that’s what scares me. I told you before I don’t want to need you. I don’t want to need anybody. But I…” She bit her lip, clearly struggling with the words. “… I can’t seem to help myself.” She smiled and shrugged, looking so uncomfortable and irresistible it was everything he could do not to pull her into his arms right then and there.
“Maybe you don’t need help,” Harrison said. “Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Scary?”
“No. Well, maybe.” It was his turn to smile. “Look, I said it before, this is all new to me. We’re in uncharted waters. And I’ll admit that can be a little frightening. Especially for people like us.”
“CIA operatives?”
“Well, I was actually thinking people with our kind of baggage, but you’ve got a point. I mean, we’ve spent our whole careers being told not to trust anything we can’t quantify.”
“So how are we supposed to know if what we feel is real?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’re just supposed to trust it. Take a leap of faith. Hell, I’m the last person to be advising you about this. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But I meant what I said before, I don’t want to walk away. I want you in my life.”
“Even if it turns out that we’re just supposed to be friends?” she asked.
“Are you saying that’s what you want?”
“No.” She shook her head so quickly that he felt a rush of relief. “I just want to know that if things don’t work out that we’ll still have—”
“—our computers?” he quipped.
“You know what I mean,” she said, her expression turning serious.
“I do. And as much as I want to promise you that nothing will change, I can’t. It already has, Hannah. So the only thing we can do is plow forward.”
“You make it sound so romantic.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve already established that I’m not always good with words. What I’m trying to say is that I know this is scary. And I have no idea how things will turn out. But I want to give this a chance. And I want you to give it a chance, too.”
“Okay,” she said, eyes wide as if she’d just taken a leap into the deep end. “It’s not as if I really have anything else to do anyway.”
He laughed and pulled her chair closer, planting a kiss on her lips—feeling as if he’d won the fucking lottery. For a moment it was just the two of them, and then a computer alarm sounded and reality came crashing back in.
He held her gaze for a moment and then turned his chair back to his console. Whatever the hell the future held for them, it wouldn’t be good as long as Walker was out there and Hannah was a target.
He glanced up at the screen, searching for the source of the insistent beeping, but there was nothing on any of his computers. “It’s not me,” he said, swiveling back to look at her. “Were you running something?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, staring down at the screen on her computer, shaking her head. “Walker’s voiceprint. From Jasmine’s mpeg. The computer found a match. And you’re never going to believe where it came from.”
“Okay, so what have you got?” Avery asked, striding into the war room followed by Drake and Simon.
“Something that’s going to blow your mind,” Harrison responded, exchanging a glance with Hannah.
“As you know,” Hannah began, enjoying the moment, even though the news she had to impart was indeed a bombshell, “Harrison tried to find a match for the voiceprint we took off the mpeg from Jasmine’s murder.”
“Yeah, and he came up with bubkes,” Simon said with a frown.
“Well, on the off chance of finding something, I took the print and ran it against wiretaps we had running on open investigations. I realize it was a long shot, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“And you got a hit,” Avery prompted.
“Three actually. All from the same source.” She waited a beat, all four of her team members waiting—the anticipation building. “Turns out we’ve got Walker on tape talking to Alain DuBois. Twice in his office and once on his cellphone. He was using another alias. But there’s no question it’s him. I ran additional tests for verification and got a conclusive match.”
“Son of a bitch,” Drake said. “So Walker works for the Consortium.”
“Looks that way. Or at least he has dealings with them,” Harrison said. “After Hannah showed me what she’d found, I ran a couple of checks, and I can put DuBois in England and Geneva at the times Walker was there. It’s not enough to tie DuBois into the bombing or the assassination attempt in Vienna, but it’s definitely a red flag for possible Consortium involvement.”
“What were the phone calls about?” Drake asked.
“On the surface, they were too vague to put any significance on,” Hannah said. “But when you put them in context with everything that’s happened here, they take on new meaning.”
“In the first conversation, dated a month ago, DuBois is talking to Walker about a problem they need cleaned up,” Harrison continued. “There’s no reference to what the problem is. But DuBois specifically says that it’s time to put an end to certain rivals. And when Walker asks how, DuBois says that he’s working on it, but that the solution needs to be creative because previous attempts to eliminate the problem have met with failure.”
“I’ll admit that under the circumstances, it’s pretty damn tempting to read something into that—like the attack on my wife and sister-in-law.” Drake shook his head, looking skeptical. “But there’s nothing there to corroborate the assumption.”
“Not in the first conversation, no,” Hannah said. “But listen to this.” She hit a key and DuBois’s voice filled the room.
“So I have a little proposition,” DuBois said. “And I think you’ll find it’s right up your alley. I’ve found an intersection between your problems and ours. In the process of researching personnel involved with the problem we discussed, I’ve uncovered a tragic incident I think we can use to our advantage. Tragedy always breeds fear. And fear has a way of undoing even the most strong-minded. Especially when it comes back to haunt you.”
“So how do I play into this tragedy?”
“You’re going to recreate it.”
There was a rustling sound and then Walker’s voice replaced DuBois’s. “You’re serious? What about collateral damage?”
“There’s a cost to everything. But what we stand to gain is far more important than a few casualties. And besides, I’ve known you a long time, my friend. And I’m more than aware of your particular talents as well as your predilections. I’m sure you won’t find the task too onerous. And besides, as I said, there’s a connection to you.”
Again the sound of shuffling paper filled the hidden microphone.
“You’re sure?” Walker asked.
“Positive. The proof is in the folder. This is your chance to even the score. For Timothy. So can I count on you?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
The tape stopped.
“It ends there.” Hannah said. “The last conversation was taken off DuBois’s cellphone. It’s a verification that the project is on track and that Walker is en route. The call originated from a throwaway cell about seventy-five miles from here. Five days ago.”
“Son of a bitch,” Drake said again, clearly at a loss for words.
“So who’s Timothy?” Avery asked. “And what connection does he have with us?”
“Not us,” Harrison corrected. “Me. Timothy Allen was a suspect in a rape case I worked my first year out of Quantico. There’d been a series of rapes occurring in New Jersey and New York, and they seemed to be tied together, so the FBI was called in. The primary suspect was a seventeen-year-old kid. The evidence was circumstantial, but pretty damning. So we went in to make the arrest.”
“In Kingston, I’m guessing,” Avery interjected, as usual one step ahead of the game.
“Yeah. Anyway, we rushed the house, and in the commotion the kid, Timothy,
tried to make a break for it. I cornered him and he drew a gun on me. I tried to talk him down, but he took a shot, and I was forced to take mine. He died in the hospital a few days later. He never admitted his guilt. But the rapes stopped.”
“It took a little digging,” Hannah added, her eyes on Harrison, “but it turns out that Timothy Allen was John Walker’s half-brother.”
“That’s why he jumped at the opportunity to recreate Harrison’s worst nightmare,” Simon said.
“He wanted revenge.” Hannah nodded. “But I’m guessing it was also about guilt. I read the rape reports, and there are some serious similarities to the murders here. The inability to perform leading to a stand-in for actual penetration. The cutting after the act. It’s all there. The victims were even college girls. The only real difference is that those women are still alive.”
“But if it was Walker, then why did the rapes stop?” Drake asked. “I thought these guys couldn’t control the urge.”
“Most of them can’t,” Harrison said. “But sometimes they find other outlets.”
“Like killing for hire.” Avery leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that there’s a similar power rush in instigating a terrorist attack.”
“And along the way, he’d have developed a taste for the kill,” Hannah added. “Then along comes DuBois with an offer Walker probably thought too good to be true. The perfect storm, as it were.”
“The ultimate target being to burn A-Tac,” Drake said.
“Exactly. And the easiest way to get us off their backs is to force us out from undercover.” Avery’s expression was grim.
“And attacking the campus is the perfect way to do it,” Hannah said, continuing the line of thought. “As the press coverage of the killings grows, there will be questions that could lead to an investigation into our role in all of this.”
“Ultimately leading to our being exposed as CIA,” Drake concluded, his anger barely contained. “Which puts an end not only to A-Tac, but to our careers as well.”
“And on a bigger scale,” Avery said, “our outing would throw the CIA into defensive mode as the political stratum starts to question the validity of using operatives to teach America’s best and brightest. It would jam Langley up for years.”
“A definite win/win for the Consortium. Turns out my idea wasn’t so far-fetched after all.” Drake leaned back, his gaze encompassing them all.
“Yeah, well, it’s my past that brought this down on our heads,” Harrison said.
“Nonsense.” Avery shook his head. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been one of us. We’ve all got serious shit in our backyards. You just happened to have something that they could use.”
“Yeah, but whatever’s going through Walker’s head, at least part of it is about avenging his brother. And there’s no denying the fact that I killed the kid.”
“You were defending yourself against a fleeing suspect,” Hannah stated, unable to keep herself from jumping to Harrison’s defense. “Any one of us would have done the same. This isn’t about anything except a psychopathic killer hired by an organization bent on the destruction of everything A-Tac stands for. Clearly, destroying A-Tac has become a full-time occupation for the Consortium.”
“Yeah well, this time it might just work,” Drake said, his fist clenched in anger. “With DuBois dead, there’s no one to rein this bastard in.”
“Except A-Tac,” Avery reminded them. “The one mistake the Consortium keeps making is to underestimate us.”
“So we prove them wrong again,” Simon said, determination coloring his voice. “We figure out where Walker has taken Tina Richards, and then we take him down.”
CHAPTER 23
Are you sure you’re all right?” Hannah asked, walking into the dining room to hand Harrison a beer.
He took a sip, standing at the window, watching the seemingly pastoral scene outside. It could be any neighborhood in America. Suburbia at its best. But instead, it housed a group of trained operatives. It was a life he’d chosen willingly. But sometimes, like today, he wondered about the cost.
“I’m fine.” He turned to face her, taking another sip of beer. In such a short time, she’d come to mean so much to him. Or maybe it had been that way from the beginning, and he just hadn’t been willing to admit as much. Either way, she had become an important part of his life.
And in return he’d put her in the middle of a nightmare.
“I meant what I said earlier,” she reminded him. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. You did what you had to all those years ago, and you couldn’t possibly have known that it would circle round like this. And even if you had, you couldn’t have stopped it because you wouldn’t have known when or where Walker was going to strike.”
“But if I hadn’t come here—”
“Then the Consortium would have found another way. And Walker would still be waiting for his opening with you. And sooner or later, he’d probably have found it. So it doesn’t do any good to go through the ‘what ifs.’ Although that doesn’t mean it’s easy to stop either.” She reached up to brush her hand against his cheek. “When Jason was killed, I kept thinking of all the things I could have done that might have kept him out of his study that day. Things that would have kept him alive. But no matter how many times I pictured things playing out differently—Jason was still dead.”
“So how did you get past it?” he asked.
“Lara.” Her smile was bittersweet. “She’d been blaming herself, too. And together we realized that it wasn’t doing anyone any good. And it certainly wasn’t honoring Jason’s memory. The hard truth was that neither of us could change what happened. We just had to accept it for what it was and try to move on.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” he asked.
“Good days and bad days,” she said with a shrug, her smile twisting ruefully. “At least I know that Lara’s happy. She’s found her calling, I think, working at the clinic in South America. And she’s got Rafe now.”
“And what about you?” he asked, his heart feeling lighter. Being around Hannah seemed to have that effect on him. “Have you found someone?”
“I don’t know,” she teased, her blue eyes alight behind the tortoiseshell frames of her glasses. “The jury is still out on that one.”
“So maybe I need to give them something to think about,” he said, putting his bottle on the windowsill before pulling her close, his mouth slanting over hers as he bent to kiss her. Her scent surrounded him as he took possession of her lips. What had started as an affirmation quickly shifted to passion, desire supplanting all conscious thought.
Heat rocketed through him with the power of fission. What was it about Hannah? He touched her, and everything else disintegrated in the path of his overwhelming desire for her.
He trailed kisses along the line of her jaw and the soft skin of her neck. She trembled at the touch, and he smiled, his fingers caressing her breast through her shirt. She moaned, and he swallowed the sound, drinking her in. She tasted like beer and toothpaste. And he wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to get enough.
She pressed closer, the friction of their bodies moving together, ratcheting up both his need and his pleasure. Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, moving in circles against his back, his body tensing in anticipation as she pressed even closer.
Harrison marveled at the emotions rocketing through him. There was desire, certainly, more than he’d ever known, but there was so much more than that. There was a fierce possessiveness, a protective urge that he’d never felt before. And even more surprising, there was tenderness, the need to cherish and revere, his need almost unmanning him. He knew in that instant that he would give anything—do anything—if it would make her happy.
She arched against him, offering herself, and he moved lower, his tongue circling one taut nipple beneath the thin material of her shirt, pulling it into his mouth and sucking, wanting nothing more than to take her here and now—thrusting deep into her
heat.
Twining her fingers through his hair, she pulled his mouth back to hers, plunging her tongue deep inside. The motion both sensual and carnal. Then her hands slid lower and lower still, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans, his stomach muscles contracting as she brushed against the swollen length of his penis.
Urgency built within him, the physical pull between them so strong now it had become essential. Like breathing. God, he wanted this woman. With desire shimmering between them, he framed her face, pulling back to look at her—eyes heavy with passion, lips swollen from his kisses.
“I want you, Hannah,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with need.
“I want you, too,” she answered, her breath caressing his cheek.
With a groan, he reached for her again, but somewhere in the kitchen behind them, something crashed to the floor.
In an instant, passion fled, and he grabbed the gun he’d laid on the dining room table, pushing her behind him, his only thought now to keep her safe. But Hannah, being Hannah, grabbed her own gun and was right behind him as he moved toward the kitchen door and the source of the noise.
He flanked the door, straining into the silence, listening for something to identify the source of the crash they’d heard. But the room was quiet, the only sound the hum of the computer array on the dining room table.
With a nod to Hannah, he swung into the kitchen. It was still swathed in shadows, the light from the dining room spilling out across the floor. He moved into the room, turning in a slow arc as he searched for something amiss.
Just as he started to relax, believing the coast to be clear, something launched itself at him, smashing against his shoulders, something sharp digging into his neck. He swung, connecting with whatever was attacking. Swearing, he pushed it away, all the while trying to align his gun for a shot, his neck stinging like crazy.
“Harrison, no,” Hannah called, her voice breaking through his crescendoing adrenaline. “It’s only the cat.”
