Covert Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  Copyright © 2015 Rachel Grant

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 0989301087

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9893010-8-4

  Cover art and design by Naomi Ruth Raine

  Copyediting by Linda Ingmanson

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Covert Evidence

  Falling in love was never part of his mission…

  With visions of professional glory, underwater archaeologist Cressida Porter embarks on a research trip deep into the heart of Eastern Turkey. Her dreams turn into nightmares when she becomes the unwitting courier for a terrorist network. Stranded and unable to speak the language, she turns to a handsome and enigmatic security specialist for help, even while fearing he may be behind a violent assault that leaves her vulnerable.

  CIA Case Officer Ian Boyd’s mission is clear: follow the courier, identify the terrorist leader, and intercept the microchip before it falls into enemy hands. For Ian, cozying up to the alluring archaeologist to find out where her loyalties lie isn’t exactly hardship duty. But spending time with her proves dangerous when she awakens a longing for a life he can never have.

  Attraction wars with distrust as Cressida and Ian are forced on the run. When violence erupts in the already unstable region, Cressida discovers everything she knows about Ian is false. With all secrets revealed, Cressida must decide if she can trust the spy with her life, while Ian faces his own impossible choice: Cressida or his mission.

  Bonus content for Covert Evidence and my other books is posted on my website, where you can also sign up for my new release mailing list.

  This one is for Cael,

  Because he goes to karate even when he’s tired, has endured many character-building seasons in Little League, and is an excellent bow-hunter of gelatin-filled chocolate bunnies. Plus, he takes great care of Rikki Tikki Tabby.

  Chapter One

  Antalya, Turkey

  August

  Music pulsed from the nightclub speakers several decibels above comfortable. Cressida stayed on the dance floor only because she’d promised her friend Suzanne she’d cut loose and have fun on her last night in Antalya before leaving the university-sponsored underwater excavation and heading east on a solo research trip. But her feet hurt along with her ears, and she had to leave for the airport in six short hours, making her regret her promise.

  Suzanne was oblivious to Cressida’s discomfort as she danced with three men at once. The locals really had a thing for leggy American blondes, and Suzanne had a matching appreciation for Turkish men.

  Bumped into from behind, Cressida pitched forward, regaining her balance when a hand caught her shoulder before she slammed into another dancer. She turned to thank her rescuer, a smile on her face, but her stomach dropped when she met the familiar gaze.

  Her reaction was instinctive. Her hand curled into a fist, and she swung out, slamming her knuckles into Todd Ganem’s jaw with all the force she could muster from her five-foot-six frame. Caught by surprise, he stumbled back as his head snapped sideways.

  The people around her froze as Todd teetered, then fell. She stepped over him, leaving the dance floor and gawking dancers. Her body flushed with adrenaline, or maybe she was going into shock.

  What the hell is Todd Ganem doing in Turkey?

  She made a beeline for the table where her group—graduate students from the underwater archaeology program at Florida State—sat, all with jaws agape and eyes wide. She came to a dead stop as she met the gaze of Dr. Patrick Hill. Shit. Dr. Hill, the head of the MacLeod-Hill Exploration Institute and the man she was counting on to fund her grant, had just seen her deck Todd. Could this get any worse?

  She turned sharply, spotting an empty table far from Dr. Hill and the others. She needed a few minutes to regroup before facing them. She’d leave the bar and head to her overpriced hotel room right now if she could, but the translator had said he’d meet her here tonight, and she needed the translation for her trip into Eastern Anatolia.

  She dropped into an empty chair, relieved to see Suzanne had followed her. She needed a friend right now. Decking Todd in front of Dr. Hill could well have just crushed her grant proposal—and she hadn’t even written it yet. On the eve of embarking on the most important research trip of her academic career, the run-in with Todd could undermine everything she’d been working toward.

  The sweltering night air seemed to rise another five degrees. She grabbed the bar menu from the table and fanned herself with it, taking a deep breath as she did so, willing herself to maintain a serene façade. She couldn’t fall apart here, not in front of Dr. Hill. As soon as she had the translation, she’d go straight to her hotel room and indulge in a nice, private freak-out.

  She and Todd had been together for ten months. Her souvenirs from their relationship included a blight on her academic record, the knowledge her advisor still didn’t believe she was innocent, and a mug shot.

  Ian wished he could claim he saw the fist coming, but he didn’t. He was as shocked by the punch as the man who received it. But then again, like the man who’d been hit, Ian had been distracted by the woman’s cleavage and hadn’t been paying attention to her hands.

  She’d stepped over the man while cradling her fist, appearing somewhat dazed by the whole encounter, yet unapologetic and unafraid. If he were prone to hyperbole, he’d declare himself in love. As it was, he’d admit to being intrigued. Okay, and maybe in lust.

  Medium height with long, straight, dark hair, a curvy build, and a deep summer tan, she was pretty enough, but until she’d taken the swing, her looks had been overshadowed by her tall blonde friend who now followed her to a table at the edge of the dance floor.

  There was something hot about watching a woman unrepentantly deck a man and walk away without so much as a backward glance. She dropped into a chair and fanned herself with a menu, her skin glistening in the sweltering heat.

  Sadly, he wasn’t here to watch the woman. No. His job was never that enticing. He was waiting for the Kurdish rebel to show up, and he was getting damned impatient.

  His partner on the op, Zack Barrow, was positioned closer to the dance floor and spoke to him through a hidden earpiece. “Fucking hot how she decked that guy and walked away. I think I’m in love.”

  Zack didn’t have a problem with hyperbole. Typical rookie.

  Ian lifted his drink to hide his barely moving lips and murmured, “She’s a distraction we don’t need.” To everyone else in the bar, Ian was the bearded, hardened loner in the corner, drinking the night away in seclusion.

  “It’s not like anything else is happening here. Where the fuck is Hejan?”

  “He swore to his God he’d make the drop tonight. He’ll show.”

  “I don’t trust him. He was a poor choice to turn—too much of a wild card.”

  Zack wasn’t wrong—Hejan had always been high risk and never would have been Ian’s first choice to double—but the Kurd was well connected and had something to atone for. Both traits made him an ideal spy. Hejan had come to him, which was always suspicious, but then, everything in Ian’s line of work was suspicious. “He knows the game and the stakes. He’ll show up.”

  The stunning blonde said something, and
the brunette with the mean right hook offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her large, wide eyes. In Ian’s ear, Zack let out a low whistle. “Both women are hot.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you want a threesome. We’re not here to watch women.” He said the words to Zack, but they were a reminder to himself as well.

  “Hejan is wasting our time. Face it, Ian, he played you. He’s probably making the drop somewhere else.”

  If Zack’s statement were true, then months of careful work would come to nothing. This wasn’t an acceptable outcome. Besides, Ian knew Hejan. “I’ve never been this far wrong about an informant before.”

  Zack chuckled. “The great Ian Boyd finally crashes and burns. I’m glad I’m here to see it.”

  “Fuck you,” Ian said without heat.

  “I bet Hejan can’t lead us to the courier any more than I could.”

  There Zack was definitely wrong, but Hejan was Ian’s asset, and Zack was only here tonight as backup. He knew minimum details.

  “Keep your panties on. The night is young.” But silently Ian acknowledged he was worried, and not just for the op. The Kurdish rebel carried a microchip several factions would kill for, and his tardiness was a very bad sign.

  “How the hell did Todd even know I’d be at this nightclub?” Cressida asked.

  Suzanne patted her hand. “Everyone on the excavation knew we were coming here tonight. Maybe Todd spoke to one of them. How did he leave the US, though? I thought they seized his passport when he was arraigned. Do you think it means he was acquitted?”

  Cressida grimaced. “God, I hope not.”

  “Maybe you should have asked him before you took that swing,” Suzanne said dryly.

  “When I saw him, I didn’t think. I just…reacted.” She dropped her head in her hands. So much for appearing serene.

  Suzanne stood and waved to the cocktail waitress. “We need a round of Tic Tac shooters. Stat.”

  “I’m not drinking,” Cressida said. “I need to keep my guard up with Todd here. Shit. When Dr. Brenner finds out Todd is here, he’s going to freak. He still doesn’t believe I’m innocent.” She’d have changed advisors if she could, but none of the other professors had wanted her either. Dr. Hill wasn’t part of the department, though, and she knew him personally thanks to her internship with Naval History and Heritage Command the previous summer, making him her ace in the hole.

  Until now.

  “Everyone on the crew saw you deck Todd. It’s obvious you aren’t exactly chummy with him. You’ll be fine.”

  Cressida massaged her temples. “Dr. Hill, who will have the ultimate say on my grant proposal, witnessed me decking my felonious ex-boyfriend in a Turkish nightclub while I’m visiting on a student visa sponsored by the university and the MacLeod-Hill Exploration Institute.” She flopped backward in her chair. “I’m totally screwed.”

  “Chill, Cress. You punched Todd. So what? We all wanted to deck him after the crap he pulled. So it happened in Antalya and not Tallahassee, no big deal. It was dumb of Todd to come here.” She paused, and her brow furrowed. “Why the hell did he come here?”

  Cressida leaned back in her chair, tilting her gaze to the ceiling. She’d give anything to be anywhere but in this nightclub right now.

  This summer in Turkey should have been the perfect escape from the ugly events of spring. The project was ideal: excavation of an Iron Age shipwreck in the Mediterranean. Run by Dr. Brenner, her graduate advisor, it was her chance to win back his trust and that of the other students from her program. Best of all, Dr. Patrick Hill—the oceanographic explorer whose institute was the primary source of funding for the Iron Age shipwreck excavation—was here for a few weeks, giving her an opportunity to impress him before her proposal even landed on his desk.

  Bottom line, Todd should be in jail for grand larceny right now, not in a nightclub in Antalya, Turkey, ruining her send-off as she left the project for a week to gather data for her grant proposal.

  This research would form the foundation of her dissertation. It could make her reputation. Make her career. For a scholarship student who craved respect—and who’d nearly lost both thanks to Todd—this was her one chance to prove herself. Her one chance to be somebody.

  But the rat bastard was here, ruining everything. Again. She curled her fingers into a fist, ignoring the pain the movement triggered in her sore hand.

  The waitress arrived with their shots. “Your drinks were paid for by a guy at the bar.”

  “By the guy she punched?” Suzanne asked with a frown.

  The waitress shook her head. “Not him.” She nodded toward a cluster of people at the bar. “He’s American. Green shirt, toward the end.”

  Cressida studied the group, surprised to see Dr. Hill had moved to the bar and fit the description. Suzanne’s eyes widened. “The one in the tan slacks? Tall, handsome, early forties?”

  The waitress nodded.

  A drink sent by the bigwig was unprecedented. But why? Was it a joke? A kiss-off because Cressida’s chances of receiving the desperately needed grant were now nil?

  Suzanne, clearly not freaking out about the situation in solidarity with Cressida, nodded to Dr. Hill and raised her glass in thanks. Dr. Hill’s mouth curved in a slow smile. He raised his own glass in silent toast.

  In that instant, Cressida’s fears about Dr. Hill evaporated. “Suz, Dr. Hill just gave you the look.”

  Suzanne downed the shot in a single gulp, then met Cressida’s gaze. “Yes. He did. I’m going for it.”

  “No way.”

  “Why not? His divorce went through months ago. I don’t have a grant proposal under evaluation. I’ll be defending next spring, and Dr. Hill and his foundation have nothing to do with my dissertation or research. Plus he’s hot, and I’ve had a thing for him for years.”

  This was true, Suzanne had been unabashedly jealous when Cressida met him during her internship. “He’s a bit older,” she pointed out.

  “Too old for you, sure. But I’m on the other side of thirty. Hill is only a year or two older than my ex.”

  Cressida gave Dr. Hill her own nod of thanks, then took a sip of her shooter. He tipped his head in acknowledgment, but his smile was entirely different from the one he’d given Suzanne. Good. Not just good. Perfect. She might survive this horrible evening after all. If only the translator would show up, she could head to her hotel room and get a few hours sleep before her early flight.

  Suzanne stood. “I’m going to go talk to Patrick.”

  Cressida laughed. “He’s Patrick now?”

  “Well, if I’m considering having sex with him, I really shouldn’t think of him as ‘Dr. Hill’ anymore.”

  Cressida smiled and shooed her with a wave. “Go. Hit on the world’s foremost oceanographic explorer. Leave me all alone after what I’ve just been through.”

  “If he’s upset you punched Todd, I might be able to convince him not to tank your grant.”

  “Well, in that case, give him a blowjob, and tell him I suggested it.”

  Suzanne winked at her. “The things I do for friendship.” She crossed the bar with the confidence of a woman who always got what she wanted, and Cressida admired her self-assurance.

  Alone at the table, she glanced around the noisy nightclub. It was a beautiful, sultry night in a hot, beguiling place. It was a shame that in this moment, it was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

  She pulled out her cell phone. They were seven hours ahead of DC, meaning it was around three in the afternoon there. She tapped out a quick text to her friend Trina, telling her Todd was in Turkey and asking if she could find out if he’d been acquitted.

  As she waited for a reply, she watched Suzanne and Dr. Hill—Patrick—on the dance floor. With Suzanne’s entertainment for the night set, she would happily leave, but she still needed the translations.

  “My uncle pulled strings to get me out of the US before the trial.”

  Cressida jerked her gaze up to see Todd on the o
ther side of the table. She again curled her fingers into a fist. “I don’t give a damn.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here because I have unfinished business. With you.”

  She jumped to her feet and planted both fists on the table. She enunciated each word carefully. “You do not have unfinished business with me. Our business ended the day you stole from the department.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Porter? Is this man bothering you?”

  She turned to see Hejan, the translator. The wiry Kurd stood in a broad, menacing stance. Todd was bigger, but somehow Hejan managed to look meaner.

  She smiled, grateful he’d arrived. He was late, but still his timing was perfect. Her conversation with Todd was decidedly over.

  Todd let out an angry roar and slammed the table into her hip. Knocked sideways, she fell, landing hard on her side on the foul nightclub floor. Stunned by Todd’s sudden violence, she was even more shocked when she twisted around to see he held her translator by the throat.

  What the hell?

  Todd was many rotten things, but he’d never been violent. In decking him, she’d been the one to cross that line. She surged to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hip, determined to intervene before Todd hurt Hejan. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, stopping her. “Let me go!” She struggled against the person who held her.

  “Never get in the middle of a dog fight,” the man said in a low tone that didn’t disguise his American accent.

  It was over in a flash. One moment, Todd’s hands were wrapped around Hejan’s neck, the next, Todd was being shoved toward the entrance by Hejan, who held a knife to his throat. Hejan ejected Todd from the club, then turned to face the packed room of frozen onlookers. The sharp tip caught the light as Hejan sheathed the blade in a practiced, unconscious motion. The shiny surface was clean and bloodless.