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

by Vicki Hinze

  Gaston stood on the sidewalk just outside the shimmering rim of light from the street lamp, staring up at the bathroom window. Definitely watching.

  She turned the bathroom light off, again in front of the window, took off her robe, then turned off the bedside lamp and waited.

  Still dressed in concealing black, she pulled on her shoes, then snagged the scarf and shielded her hair and face. Ready to go, she checked the window. Gaston had gotten comfortable on the ground under the tree.

  Leaving once again through the bathroom window, she made her way back to the golf course, then to the safe zone at the seventh hole.

  Mark stood waiting for her. “We only have about fifteen minutes before they come through to do a bed check.” He shifted from one foot to another. “Have you done reconnaissance and developed a plan yet?”

  “Not yet. Kunz kept me pretty guarded most of the day,” she said, inhaling Mark’s familiar scent. It steadied her and she wondered why. She’d faced formidable odds a million times on her own. Why did his scent have this soothing effect on her? Why did he?

  She’d like to believe it was merely hormonal; a physical reaction to a virile man with a compassionate heart was acceptable. But the truth, like it or not, was that irrational intimate bond intrigued and lured her. It was new and different and odd and terrifying and wonderful and coveted and hated all at once. She should just set her mind to hating it, keep a healthy fear of it, and shove it off. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. It tugged at her. As something significant she’d longed for as a child and had never had, and only now, with him, did she realize the true worth of what she’d been missing. That, plainly put, was irresistible.

  “I’ll take care of it once you go back for the bed check,” Amanda continued. “Joan will relay the plan to you and any specifics I think will be of help. I’ll check out the best means of retrieving Simon.”

  “And if I spot any gaps or loose ends, I’ll relay them back to you through Joan,” Mark agreed.

  Amanda nodded. “Have you seen a guy named Harry?”

  “He approached me earlier today, wanting to know if I’d seen you.”

  Relief washed through Amanda. “I thought he might be dead. His replacement said he’d been shot down over Iraq.” A thought confused her. “Mark, if he’s dead in his identity with the CIA, then why is Kunz keeping the real Harry alive?”

  “He’s an instructor pilot and a CIA operative. Training doubles?”

  That made sense. “Okay. Can you still fly helicopters?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take care of jamming the surveillance, too. Joan says that Simon’s located the master control room. It’s just off the fairway near the second hole. He’s created a loop feed of film to play through the surveillance system so our actions are concealed from the monitors as long as possible. That’ll give us a little cover, trying to get out of here.” Worry scudded across Mark’s face. “Provided the guards don’t immediately recognize they’re looking at film and not at live shots. I have no idea of the quality of Simon’s work.”

  “Considering his family’s lives are on the line, I’d be willing to bet it’s the best work of his life.”

  “Your mouth to God’s ears.”

  She disclosed the location of the choppers and then added, “I’ll liberate Simon and Harry and whomever else possible. We can fit eight in the chopper. Any others will have to make a run off the compound and hunker down until we can get help back for them.”

  “You hate leaving anyone.”

  God did she. “It could be us, Mark.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t flinch. “But this is national security, and that’s every American. Considering we feed half the world, it’s even more.”

  “I know, but still...”

  He thumbed her chin, looked her straight in the eye. “We have no choice.”

  Blinking hard, she pulled in a steadying breath. “I know. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “Neither do I. We just have to do it.”

  “Sometimes I really hate my job.”

  “Sometimes you’re supposed to hate it.”

  She nodded, a hole spearing into her stomach at having to choose who stayed and who went. “You know those left behind will probably be dead before Rescue can get here.” Again, Mark held her gaze and didn’t flinch. But his voice dropped rough and ragged. “Yes, I know.”

  They shared a look of painful resignation, and that bond strengthened yet again. Amanda stepped back and cleared her throat. “You be ready to jam that surveillance, run the loop feed and snag the chopper.”

  “Check. Don’t worry. I’ll be prepared. Joan’s covering, giving me time to do some reconnaissance.” He started to turn away and stopped, his eyes narrowed, worried. “Amanda?”

  “Yes?”

  “You have a double. From what Simon and Joan have said, it’s virtually impossible to tell the real thing from the double. How do I know I’m really dealing with you?”

  She pretended not to feel a little stab of personal pain that their connection didn’t make it evident. But the truth was, men were historically less intuitive than women and he had a reasonable point. She thought a moment, then said, “Use standard operating procedure.” That’s why they had a code phrase. He knew that.

  “Of course.” Mark stroked her face, but he didn’t whisper the phrase.

  She paused. “You could have a double, too.”

  “I could,” he confessed. “But I haven’t seen or heard anything about one.”

  His three-month absence had occurred long before hers. Joan had only been here six months—nearly six months after Mark had been released—but she was going to start working with him now to get the information from him that Kunz and Reese needed to train a double. If they already had a double in place, they would have the information. “Maybe you don’t have one—at least, not yet.” But why wouldn’t he? There would have to be a reason. Maybe faking his security level being lowered and his no longer being a member of Delta Force had quashed Kunz’s interest in doubling Mark. Maybe he had no use for a lead investigator. Or—the phones in Mark’s office were being bugged—maybe Kunz already had one. Both possible and, unfortunately, probable.

  He brushed her cheek with a light kiss. “When do we meet here again?”

  She inhaled deeply, savoring his scent to carry with her. “Let’s touch base here at 10:00 p.m. and finalize any details, then take it from there.” The plan would have to develop and process faster than she would like, but they just couldn’t risk taking more time. As it was, she was going to have to delay Kunz beyond his twenty-four-hour deadline.

  Nodding, Mark backed away from her. “I’ll look for you in plain sight.”

  Amanda looked back at him; saw her worry and fear reflected in his eyes. “In plain sight.”

  As he moved away from her, her thoughts turned horrific. This mission contained too many variables and too few iron-clad answers. Doubles could be inserted all over the place—including Joan or even Jeremy. Kunz wouldn’t refuse to use him just because he was a kid.

  He’d stolen all of their lives. And that he had succeeded was chilling.

  Mark’s scent lingered on Amanda’s skin. It reminded her of the stakes and helped her focus, which half irritated and half relieved her, but she couldn’t honestly say which emotion she felt strongest or appreciated most. The idea of needing someone else had her bristling and edgy. That it was Mark, and that her head kept telling her she hadn’t known him long enough to feel so strongly about him, had her irked. But her heart didn’t seem to care what she thought about logic or intellect. It seemed it didn’t care about her aversion to needing anyone else, either. It didn’t even seem to care about anything she’d lived and breathed and believed inviolate for decades.

  And that rattled her to the bone.

  Maybe—she cut through a copse of mesquite trees hugging the edge of the course and left it near the second fairway—needing wasn’t the right word. Want. Yes, wanting h
im fit better. She could deal with want. If the way he presented himself was real and not some act put on to sucker her in.

  Two guards walked the perimeter of the cabins. She ducked down near one of the spiny bushes that smelled sour and watched the guards move through their routine. They crossed paths at the end of the row of cabins and worked from row to row. There were three rows of seven cabins in this area. She’d passed two other areas, though both had appeared to be deserted.

  Mark had been right. They couldn’t rescue everyone at once.

  A third guard stepped out of the door of the last cabin on the row, sweeping the area with his flashlight. Amanda felt the light on her face and froze. Oh, no!

  He pulled out his gun, walked over and stopped out of her reach. “Come out, Amanda. Now.”

  She darted her gaze to the other two guards, her heart pumping hard and fast against her ribs. Both were four rows over, continuing their grid walk. When they crossed at the end of the fourth row, made the corner then took off down the fifth row, she scooted out from under the bush, pulled herself to her feet and stumbled into the guard, knocking him off balance. “Sorry.” She shouldered his ribs, pushed his gun away from her, barrel up, skyward. With a flick of her wrist, she knocked the gun from his hand and turned. He caught her with a left hook on the jaw that set her ears to ringing. She kicked, slammed her foot into his stomach, twisted, captured him in a headlock and snapped his neck.

  He slid to the ground.

  Adrenaline shoved through her veins and her chest heaved. She dragged him into the trees, checked the sky. Another hour or so and it would be dawn. She had to find somewhere to stash his body. Somewhere he wouldn’t be noticed for a day or so.

  An idea formed.

  Struggling under his weight, she hauled him back to the cabin she’d seen him leave. Fortunately, no one else was inside. Half dragging, half pushing, she got him in and onto his single bed. After stripping off his clothes, she covered him up with a sheet and thin blanket, fluffed his pillow, and then backed off.

  To anyone who looked, he appeared to be sleeping.

  Now, she thought. How to keep anyone from getting close enough to realize he wasn’t going to wake up...?

  “Got it.”

  She rummaged through the kitchen drawers, found a white cloth and a pen and, in the living room, a piece of paper. On it, she wrote the words guaranteed to keep a man from coming in. Few women here would bother.

  DO NOT DISTURB.

  Maybe QUARANTINE would be better. She tilted her head, stared at the sign. No, some macho jerk would think he was too strong to get whatever it was and come in anyway. If for no other reason than to bring food. And someone would likely send for a doctor to make sure no one else was at risk. An amorous rendezvous was her best bet. A man who deliberately interrupted another guy engaging in one had better be ready to fight.

  She pulled the curtains and shutters closed, dug around more and found some tape, then left the cabin. After draping the white cloth over the doorknob, she taped the sign to the outside of the door.

  Not seeing the other guards, she cautiously made her way back to the golf course, and then back to her apartment. When she closed the bathroom window, she swallowed a large glass of water, and heard the doorbell ring.

  She peeked out and saw Beefy standing on the porch. “Just a minute.”

  Running upstairs, she ripped off her clothes and slung on her robe, then ran back downstairs to the door. She mussed her hair, cracked the door open and scowled. “What could you possibly want in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s morning,” he said, obviously before thinking.

  She hiked her chin, glowered at him. “Not to me.”

  “Just letting you know we’re changing shifts out here.”

  “Whatever.” She stepped back, slammed the door and went up to bed. Beefy had been verifying she was actually in the house. Why?

  She was just rolling into bed, when she heard Beefy’s voice carry up through the window from outside. “Gaston, what is this?”

  “I must have done it,” he said.

  Amanda slid out of bed, walked to the window and looked down. The shrubs outside the bathroom window. She’d done some damage going over them.

  “When?” Beefy asked Gaston. “Why?”

  “She got up to go to the bathroom a couple of hours ago,” Gaston said. “I wanted to make sure she wasn’t slipping out through the back, so I checked the window. I guess I screwed up the shrubs then.”

  “You’re sure you did it?”

  Amanda looked down from above, saw her own shoe print in the dirt below her. How could Beefy miss that?

  Gaston saw it, ground his shoe in the print. “I’m sure. I checked it and then came back a second time just to double-check. I did it.”

  He was covering for her. Surprise rippled through Amanda.

  No, he was covering for himself. If he admitted she’d gotten past him, Kunz would kill him. According to Joan, he had a zero-tolerance policy on errors.

  Whatever his reasons, Gaston had covered for her. Amanda walked back to bed, totally exhausted and ready for a long sleep.

  She pulled the covers up over her and caught a whiff of Mark’s scent, lifted her inner forearm to her nose, breathed deeply. Later today, she could die. But for now, she would hold the moment. She would sleep, and she would hope Mark really was Mark because, like it or not, he’d gotten to her. Bad.

  Just after ten, Paul Reese, Beefy and two other guards stormed into the apartment. Amanda heard them enter downstairs, jumped out of bed and took to the stairs to see what in the world was happening. Reese met her halfway down, and she stopped on the steps.

  He let his angry gaze roll over her gray tank top and shorts. “You killed him, Amanda, and I know it. I only have one question. How did you get there to do it?” The white bandage protecting the wound where she’d bitten him and the failed reconstructive surgery to repair it that had gotten Joan raped in the presence of her family covered half his face. Its edges crinkled, fighting the tape with his every word. “I want an answer right now, or I’ll beat you to death. I swear it.”

  He would. When they’d first met, he’d described himself to her as a white knight to women in distress. She’d soon come to learn that he was a sleazy, opportunistic manipulator who preyed on women’s desires and fantasies of love. But she’d assisted that facade in shattering, and now he saw himself through her eyes, and all that was left in him was hostility, animosity and hatred that consumed. Evil had battled for him and won.

  She’d seen it happen before, and dealing with the remnants never had been less than sheer torture. Reese had no limits on what he would do. Not anymore. And that made him an incredibly formidable enemy. “What are you talking about, Paul?”

  “Don’t play games with me.” He took a step up, then stopped.

  She didn’t dare back up. Didn’t dare. If she did, he’d know she was afraid. He’d own her. “I’m not playing games. You’re the one raging. I have no idea why you’re here or what you want.”

  “Rafe Batten. The GRID guard at the cabin. You killed him.”

  “Who’s Rafe Batten? What cabin?” she asked, feigning puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

  “You killed him!” Paul screamed.

  Stay calm. Stay calm and cool and unruffled. That’s your advantage. Control. Go on the offensive. She took a step down toward him and launched her attack. “Listen up, Paul Reese. If you can’t keep your guards alive, don’t blame me. I’ve been under lock and key and constant surveillance since I’ve been in this devil’s armpit of a desert. If you screwed up, you take the hit.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I take my hits because I deserve them. But I sure won’t take yours to get Kunz off your back because you’re lousy at your job.”

  Paul’s temper got the best of him. He raised a hand to hit her.

  She didn’t flinch or back up. “If you do it, you’d better kill me.” She dropped her voice, calm and cold, and forg
ed every word with resolve. “Because if you don’t, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  He hesitated. Clearly furious, and convinced she would carry through on her threat, he stilled with his arm midair and clenched his jaw.

  Amanda held her ground. Glared into his angry eyes and dared him to try her, warned him he’d be a fool to do it. His throat was totally exposed and with one move, she could seize the advantage and he would lie dead on the steps.

  Apparently, he realized it. He slowly lowered his arm, his pulse thrumming in his neck. “I hate you, Amanda West.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it.” She peeled her lips back from her teeth in the coldest smile of her life. “If you didn’t, I would hate me, and frankly, Paul, you’re not worth it.”

  A muscle under his eye ticked and his red face paled. “I’m not through with you. But I’ll choose when and where and how you die. Watch for me, Amanda. All the time.”

  “I look forward to it. Anytime.” She hiked her eyebrows, inviting him to carry through on his threat. “In fact, I’ll make it easy for you. I’m going to accept Thomas’s offer. I’m staying, Paul.”

  “You’re staying, all right.” He backed down the stairs, afraid to turn his back on her. “Toes up in a coffin.”

  “Get out of my apartment.” She started down the stairs. “Out!”

  Motioning, Paul left, and his men quickly followed him out the door.

  Trembling, Amanda followed, jammed the heel of her fisted hand against it and slammed home the bolt lock. “Sick freak.”

  She took a steadying breath, ordered herself to calm down, then stumbled to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. They’d found the body so quickly...

  Not a single break. Not one. “Bless it.” Couldn’t they have waited just a little longer before finding the body? Just a few lousy hours?

  Now every guard in the compound would be on high alert during their escape attempt.