Black-Market Body Double (S.A.S.S. Book 1)

by Vicki Hinze

  She looked at him, saw the gleam in his eye, and couldn’t resist a little good-natured teasing. “Is this your date-six room?”

  He didn’t return her smile or her teasing tone. “Actually, you’re the first woman to ever stay in this room.”

  She’d gone too far. “Don’t get defensive. I was just teasing. You certainly don’t owe me any explanations.”

  He nodded but didn’t take the bait to elaborate, which was just as well. Too personal.

  “I’m sure you itch from rolling around in the grass out there,” he said. “Why don’t you grab a shower and then meet me on the deck for a snack.”

  He seemed to always know when her low-fuel light came on. “Are you hot-wired to my stomach, or what?”

  “No.” The look in his eyes turned serious. “I remember.”

  “Remember?” She deposited her case near a walk-in closet the size of her apartment in D.C.

  “For a few weeks after I returned, I was constantly starving. I couldn’t get enough food, or enough to drink.”

  “Same here.”

  “See you in a few.” He walked to the door.

  “Okay. I’ll be a few minutes longer, though. I need to report in to Colonel Drake.”

  “Use the house phone. It’s satellite secured at all times.”

  “Thank you.” She waited to really look around until Mark walked out and closed the door behind him. The room seemed cavernous without him in it, and not sure she liked that, she rounded the corner to the bath, which was sinfully gorgeous, with a garden tub large enough to swim in. “Well, Princess—” she toed off her shoes and sank deep into the plush carpet “—you’re definitely in a room fit for royalty.” The amazing thing was, it felt comfortable, too. Homey touches of peach-scented potpourri and candles and shells and stones sprinkled atop counters and ledges and in alcoves carved into the walls softened the formality and made the space welcoming.

  Back in the bedroom, she lifted the receiver of an ornate ivory phone and dialed the office. When Kate answered, Amanda plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Hi, it’s me. Is she available?”

  “Well, thank God. She’s been waiting all day for you to check in. What in the world is going on down there, Amanda? There’s been a steady stream of honchos going through here all day. She’s been on the phone with Secretary Reynolds at least three times, and General Shaw is calling hourly for updates.”

  General Shaw was Colonel Drake’s boss at the Pentagon. Secretary Reynolds was General Shaw’s boss. This was not good. Baffled at the cause for the heavy honcho traffic, Amanda swept straggling strands of hair back from her face. “What’s broken loose?”

  Kate hesitated. “I think that’s what she’s hoping you can tell her.”

  Surprise shot through Amanda. “Me?” She jerked down what was left of her panty hose, then sat down in a stuffed chair beside the bed and pulled them off her feet. Her knees were scraped and covered with grit, and a new bruise already purple covered half her right thigh. She frowned in disgust. There shouldn’t be a mark on her. The car was going less than ten miles an hour. Definitely a rookie rollout.

  “Yeah. You’ve been the topic of conversation all day.”

  Oh, crud. She swiped at the sand and dirt clinging to her shins. This sounded worse than bad. Colonel Drake had to be taking major heat for not yanking Amanda’s security clearance. What else could it be? “You’d better put me through.” Get the bad news over with sooner rather than later.

  “West?” Colonel Drake answered, sounding loaded for bear.

  Amanda cringed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What is wrong with you? I said, be discreet. Didn’t I say to be discreet?” She didn’t pause for an answer. “Do you have any idea what’s gone on here today?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve had my hands a little full.”

  “Yeah, I’d say so. So far, I’ve heard from the warden, who says you’re banned not only from Harding but from his entire facility, and General Shaw has been listening to complaints from base security about your discharging a firearm in a parking lot outside the vault—I don’t know if I’ve convinced him not to arrest you, but I’ve eaten enough dirt to get you a presidential pardon—”

  “That was self-defense, Colonel. Two men had drawn down on Captain Cross and me.”

  “So I hear. I also hear there is no sign—aside from your report, of course—any two men accessed the base.”

  “Then they need to review the security tapes at the gates. They’ll prove—”

  “They don’t. There was some kind of malfunction.”

  “Well, doesn’t that strike anyone as just a little odd, ma’am?”

  “Don’t get testy with me, Amanda. Right now, I’m maxed on patience and I’m ready to rip someone a new one. You’re a pretty good candidate for the privilege at the moment, so stop tempting me with sarcasm.”

  Amanda rolled her gaze ceiling-ward, softened her voice. “The civilian authorities found the car this afternoon at the docks.”

  “That doesn’t prove it was on the base,” Drake pointed out. “You’ve seriously offended an entire detail of base security, blowing out of the gate and ignoring the guards’ orders to stop. Base commanders are extremely touchy about perimeter violations—especially since nine-eleven. You know that.”

  Blowing past security at the gate? Amanda nearly choked. “I wasn’t even driving the car.” Mark had ignored the guards’ orders and blown past them, leaving the base to lose the Lexus would-be assassins.

  Colonel Drake’s sigh could have powered a sailboat across the bay. “Captain Cross is one of theirs. You’re an outsider. You know how this works.”

  Amanda was too tired for this. “Look, I’ve been here less than a day, and I’ve already—”

  “Blast it. Hold on a minute.”

  The line blanked out. Amanda waited, working to keep her temper down when she really just wanted to hang up, crawl into the tub filled with warm water and sink.

  “You blew up a Honda?” Colonel Drake returned with a mortified vengeance that had Amanda’s ears ringing.

  “Actually, I didn’t,” Amanda said. “Someone in a blue pickup truck ran me off the road. It was deliberate. I jumped out, but the car hit an oak. An impact bomb detonated. I didn’t plant it there.”

  “So you’ve got two guys in a stolen Lexus drawing down on you and someone in a blue pickup running you off the road and bombing your rental car?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what I’ve got.” That, and a hostile M.C. Harding holding out on her.

  The fire left Drake’s voice. “What are you into down there, Amanda?”

  Well, it was about time. Relaxing, she slumped back against the headboard and drew up her knees. “It appears GRID may be responsible for all four absences. The common bond among us all is high-level security clearances and access to classified intelligence resources. No one is more interested in that information than GRID.”

  “If you’re all in the same boat, then why is Harding screaming abuse and rights violations against you to everyone short of God?”

  “Because he doesn’t know we’re in the same boat. I’m not a hundred percent sure myself—not yet. But the evidence is pointing in that direction. The worst of it is that both Mark Cross and I have the feeling there could be others.”

  “That’s not good news.” Drake’s sigh sent static through the phone. “Kate ran a search on all Intel operatives, and there aren’t any other reports of absences filed.”

  “What does that tell us?”

  “That there aren’t any others?”

  Colonel Drake had obviously had a killer day. Otherwise, she’d be all over this. “Oh, so then you’ve filed a report on me and they’ve jerked my security clearance?”

  “No,” she grumbled. “People aren’t reporting the absences to avoid losing their clearances and their jobs. Point made.”

  “Noble intentions for not doing so, I’m sure.” Amanda rubbed her aching arch, then her instep. “But the lack
of reports is causing us a lot of challenges at the moment.”

  “Can we resolve them without shoving open those doors?”

  “I certainly intend to try, ma’am. I’m not eager to be unemployed. I like my job. I’m pretty sure that and not some nefarious plot is the reason the other cases have gone unreported. It’s the only thing that makes sense, because it would require superiors go along with the deception.”

  “You love your job and you’re good at it, which is why I’m going along with the deception.” Sally Drake knew her people, often better than they knew themselves. “I’m taking that as a sign on the other cases. I’ll back you on this, Amanda. But I’m under extreme pressure from General Shaw and Secretary Reynolds not to in any way undermine the credibility of our paramilitary and Intel forces. You know exactly what I mean here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Amanda closed her eyes. Their missions were difficult enough without a S.A.S.S. member creating doubts about their character. Trust in them was essential to their missions. “I don’t want to make life harder for anyone. But if Thomas Kunz is behind these absences, he has a reason for them. That reason is bad news for the U.S. and there’s no way around that. We have to know what his reasons are.”

  “Officially, I have to order you to back off, so I am. Back off, Amanda.”

  “But ma’am—”

  “Unofficially,” Drake interrupted, “I know you too well to think for a second you’re going to obey those orders. So be discreet, will you? If I can help you, I will, but keep in mind that the warden, General Shaw and Secretary Reynolds have already chewed me so much, I’ve lost two dress sizes. I don’t have a lot of grace left with any of them.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “And for God’s sake, don’t get yourself killed. The paperwork king, Colonel David Gray, runs Providence and the man hates me.”

  Why would the base commander hate her? Amanda shouldn’t ask. But of course, she would. It could, on a stretch, be considered essential to her success. Personal grudges could jeopardize resolutions. “Whatever for?”

  “We were both up for the S.A.S.S. command and I got it. He holds a good grudge.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, and if you have to kill the Lexus or pickup drivers, be sure to do it off base. I’d rather deal with civilians than with Gray.”

  “I’ll do my best not to inconvenience you, ma’am.”

  “Report often, and be discreet.”

  “Yes, Colonel.” Amanda hit the hook button, resentment churning in her stomach. Right now, the last thing she, Mark, Sloan, or Harding needed were political games. They were the victims. They deserved justice. And she intended to get it for them.

  Discreetly—she dropped the receiver into its cradle—if possible.

  “Obviously the report didn’t go well.”

  Showered and dressed in white slacks and a lemon top, Amanda smiled across the wide expanse of deck at Mark, who had stood up at a glass-topped, ironwork table. “Very observant, Captain.” She let her gaze slide past the table and thick-cushioned chairs and potted bursts of spring bouquets to the water. It had calmed down and was as smooth as a glass mirror, reflecting soft amber and warm pinks in the setting sun. “But you were right about this view. It’s very...”

  “Calming?”

  She smiled at him. “Yes.” He had showered and changed, too, into a pair of jeans and a sage shirt that clung to his body. The man was fit. Handsome and fit.

  “Come eat and tell me what’s going on.”

  She walked over, sat down at the table. On it, he’d placed several trays of food. Peeled shrimp and dip, crackers and cheese, fresh veggies and fruit. Her stomach growled.

  “Beer? Juice? Soda?” he suggested, then looked at her again. “Or do you need something a little stiffer.”

  “I’d love a martini but I’m too worn down to risk alcohol. I need to think straight. Better make it one of those Snapple’s. I like them all.”

  He passed a bottle and a tall slim glass filled with ice. “Who complained?”

  She ignored the glass, popped the top on the bottle, and then took a long drink. The chilled drink felt good sliding down her throat. “Who hasn’t?”

  Mark sat down, motioned for her to eat, and filled his glass with bottled water. “How high up the food chain?”

  She crunched down on a carrot, chewed, and then swallowed. “All the way to your Secretary Reynolds.”

  Mark swiped a broccoli floret through the veggie dip. “He’s worried about undermining the credibility of the covert operatives.”

  “Yup.” His crunching broccoli sounded so good, she had to have a bite. “And it seems your base commander is in a sore-loser retribution power struggle with my S.A.S.S. commander, so I can do no right here.”

  “Colonel Gray has his moments. He was pretty frosted about me blowing past the gate guards to ditch the Lexus. Fortunately for me, the guards typically only stop people from entering the base, not exiting it. But you work for Colonel Drake. Gray happens to be more ticked off at your boss than he is with me.”

  “Because she got the S.A.S.S. command, and he didn’t.”

  “You got it. Gray really wanted that command.” Mark looked out toward the water and watched a pelican pause atop a post on his boat dock. His voice dropped a notch. “What you’re telling me is that Gray and Drake have their noses out of joint and they’re ordering you to back off.”

  The broccoli tasted too great not to have another bite of it. “Now you’ve got it.” She guffawed.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  She let her gaze drift to the butterflies in the yard, on to the gulls cawing overhead, and took in a deep breath of tangy salt air. “Drink my drink, eat until I’m full, and then do exactly what I would have done anyway.”

  Mark went for a carrot. “You’re going ahead with the investigation, then?”

  “Of course.” A breezy gust blew her hair over her eyes. She shoved it back, behind her shoulder. “Look, my job is to carry out orders, but my duty is to protect the interests of the United States. If the colonels want to get bogged down in a battle of wills, fine. No problem. If the general and the secretary want to worry about operatives rather than the country, fine. No problem. They do what they believe is right, and I do what I believe is right. I’ve listened to their worries and concerns and even their orders, Mark, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do my duty.”

  “The oath?”

  To protect and defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic. “The oath,” she confirmed, then snatched one of the last two grapes off his plate. “We were victims. I think Sloan and Harding might have been victims, too. Until I know what happened and that there aren’t more victims with access to high-level classified information, I’m going to press on.”

  His jaw ticked, but he offered her the last grape. “Against orders.”

  She took it—it was too plump to refuse—popped it into her mouth, and then challenged him. “Doing my duty and honoring my oath to this country.”

  “If you push this, at some point it’s going to lead to you making accusations against someone for suppressing the truth.”

  “Undoubtedly, it will,” she admitted.

  “Yet you’re still going to do it?”

  “When and if the occasion arises.”

  “Okay.” Mark’s expression darkened and the look in his eyes went flat. “Then it’s my duty as lead investigator to forewarn you. You’re treading on dangerous ground, Amanda. You can’t accuse fellow operatives or military members of covering up the truth without serious personal consequences.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’m hiding the truth, too, remember?”

  “I was beginning to wonder if you remembered.”

  “I do. Go on,” she said, motioning with a fingertip. “But first, pass the water—and do you by chance have some peanuts? I don’t even like peanuts, but I’m craving them.”

  “You’re craving salt from all the water,”
he corrected her.

  “Okay, do you by chance have any salted peanuts?”

  “Sorry, but no. I’m allergic. Can’t be anywhere near peanuts.”

  She tilted her head. “What happens?”

  “My tongue swells up and I can’t breathe.” He frowned at the topic interruption, but passed over his water glass. “It’s also my duty to forewarn you that if you do make any accusations against anyone and you can’t indisputably prove them, you can be tried for crimes against those individuals, against the military, and against the government. And while it’s not my duty, I need to make sure you understand the consequences don’t start at the court-martial. You could find yourself ostracized by the other operatives, Amanda. If you get into a jam on a mission and need their support…well, that could be fatal.”

  She sipped his water, returned the chilled glass to him, then chomped down on a cheese cracker. When she’d swallowed it, she responded to his formality with her own. “I acknowledge your warnings, Captain Cross, and I appreciate your clarity on the potential fallout with the other operatives.” That part was personal and sincere and she was grateful for it. “I can’t speak for you and what you would do in this situation, but I owe it to all of Kunz’s victims and to the nation to find the truth.”

  “I want the truth as much as you do.”

  “Of course. That’s why you’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for the past year.” She shoved the bowl toward him. “Have some crackers, before I empty the entire bowl by myself. My arteries will love you for sparing them.”

  He refused. “Sorry, you’re on your own for restraint. I’m full.”

  “In that case, I’ll do my best to exercise discipline.” She looked at the bowl and her mouth watered. “Maybe I could just take them into the kitchen.”

  Mark laughed. “I’ll help.” He sprinkled the crackers on the lawn from the end of the deck and then rinsed off his hands in the water. “The squirrels will have a feast.”

  She liked him. She really liked him. He was gorgeous, thoughtful, and he hadn’t grown so cynical by the job that he’d lost his sense of humor or the ability to care about others. She didn’t like the intimacy or bond between them—it scared the fool out of her—but she did like the man.