by Harper Allen
“And my sisters?” she’d reminded Ryan, her tone curt with worry. “Aldrich may not know about Lynn and Faith yet, but we can’t assume he won’t find out and try to take them.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kayla promised. Her tone softened. “And you take care of yourself, Dawn. I know this is how you wanted to handle the Lab 33 angle, but ever since the other Cassandras and I agreed to let you play this dangerous double game with Peters I’ve regretted our decision—more so since he sent you on this undercover assignment. You’re absolutely sure he doesn’t suspect you?”
“Not absolutely sure,” Dawn said. She sensed the other woman’s apprehension and tried to lighten it. “But like my Uncle Lee always said when I was worried, if it’s close enough for government work, why sweat it?”
She spoke unthinkingly. It wasn’t until Kayla didn’t respond to her that she realized what she’d said, and by then it was too late. She’d done it again, Dawn thought angrily. When was she going to stop remembering Lee Craig as if he had really loved her?
Before she could berate herself further, Kayla’s voice came over the line once more. From her tone it was clear that she wasn’t talking as a police lieutenant or a fellow Athena Academy student, but as a friend. “I told you once that Craig deliberately chose the dark side. I still believe that, Dawn. But I’ve also come to accept there was a part of him that he never relinquished to the dark. You were the part of him he kept separate.”
“Still trying to help me heal, Ryan?” Dawn gave a short laugh. “I appreciate the thought, but as I once demonstrated to you, it’s not necessary. If you really need to worry about me, worry about the damn SAS officer who’s been on my case since I showed up at London’s lab. Des Asher’s proving to be one major pain in the butt.”
“Really?” There’d been a smile in Kayla’s voice. “In my experience, that’s the only kind of man worth getting to know. After I deal with the current situation, I might just pull some strings and ask a contact of mine to fax me a photo of this Des Asher. I’d be interested to see what your major pain in the butt looks like, O’Shaughnessy.”
Well, for starters, Ryan, he doesn’t have pitch-black hair and a drop-dead gorgeous smile like Lover Boy, Dawn thought now as she slowly got to her feet. A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. As usual, when it came to her, Kayla had it all wrong. If she’d been looking for a little R and R—which I’m definitely not, Dawn firmly assured herself—Mr. SAS would be her last choice. The man whose motorcycle she’d returned was much more her type, even unconscious.
Although he seemed to be coming around by the time I dumped the Harley by him and left, she thought, keeping to the shadows as she silently headed toward the dark shape of the lab and living quarters building a few hundred feet away. That phone call to Kayla was vital, but it definitely shot my schedule all to hell. I’d planned to be safely tucked up in Dawn Swanson’s bed by now.
But the hard part was over. She’d breached the perimeter fence, had given her body several minutes to repair itself after taking the volts that had slammed through it, and now only had to cross the grounds that some obliging landscape architect had apparently designed with her needs in mind. Clumps of ornamental grasses were artfully dotted here and there like living fountains, massive boulder arrangements lent a solid contrast to the grasses, and desert-loving shrubs and cacti provided enough cover for a herd of elephants to sneak up undetected.
I bet Ash took one pissed-off look at this when he arrived to take command and promptly sent out a high-priority requisition to Washington to have the whole freakin’ area bulldozed, she thought. Too bad for him his requisition was obviously turned down. Getting out earlier this evening was a snap and getting back in is going to be just as—
“It ever occur to you that you’re letting this damned baby-sitting detail get to you, pal?” Dawn froze into position behind a boulder as the unfamiliar voice floated faintly through the darkness. Actually, it wasn’t unfamiliar, she thought a heartbeat later. She’d heard it once before, a couple of days ago. She pictured the speaker—the Ranger officer whose boyish features had been tight with strain as he’d held his weapon on both her and Des Asher and who’d later sheepishly admitted to making the mistake over her name. She tried to recall his, but just then it was given to her.
“Yeah, Keifer, it’s occurred to me.” Asher’s speech was different from his uncle’s: harsher, less precise, and with a mid-Atlantic intonation to some of his words that implied he’d spent enough time in the past liaising with the American military that his accent had blurred. She realized he and Keifer were approaching her boulder as his voice gained in volume. “And I decided I don’t give a flying—”
She heard his footsteps halt. Keifer’s lighter step stopped too. “What’s the matter? You hear something, Ash?” he asked in a low tone.
Dawn held her breath. She heard Asher’s footsteps start up again, and exhaled in noiseless relief.
“I didn’t hear anything.” Wonder of wonders, there was an edge of wry amusement in Mr. SAS’s voice, she noted. “But if you can believe it, I thought I smelled barbecue sauce for a minute. That’s what I get for working through lunch and dinner, I guess.”
Barbecue sauce! Her cupped hand flew to her mouth and she breathed into it. God, she did have barbecue breath, she thought, appalled. Just the slightest trace, but apparently the damn man had a nose like a bloodhound.
“Another example of letting this assignment get to you,” Keifer said. “As the senior American officer here, Asher, I gotta tell you I think you’re riding everyone too hard—yourself, the men…hell, even that poor dweeb of a lab tech you nearly blew away a couple of days ago. What were you thinking, man?”
“I was thinking that posing as a dweeb of a lab tech would be one smart way to infiltrate this place,” Asher said shortly. “I was thinking that seven years of self-defense classes wouldn’t teach her the kind of speed and ruthlessness she showed. I was also thinking that if you looked real close, she wasn’t a dweeb at all. She was doing a good job of disguising her looks, but when the two of us were at each other’s throats I couldn’t help but notice.”
“If you say so.” There was patent disbelief in Keifer’s tone, but Dawn wasn’t reassured. This was bad, she thought tensely. Back at Lab 33 she’d assured Carter that her deception wouldn’t depend on his efforts but through her own, and in the past that had always been true. Her knack for assuming an undercover persona had never let her down before now, but if Des Asher had seen through Dawn Swanson, then obviously that knack was one more skill she could no longer take for granted.
Aldrich Peters had said she’d made good progress so far. But it wasn’t good enough—not when she had no idea which of her degeneration symptoms would next reveal itself, or how. She’d gotten close to Sir William, but she needed to get a lot closer if she was to find out where the obsessively suspicious genius concealed his research notes.
“…still say this latest idea you’ve implemented is taking things way too far.” Keifer was speaking again, and she realized he and Asher were now directly in front of her boulder. Their footsteps stopped again. “You’ve got razor wire, an electrified fence, guards at the gate and doing perimeter spot-checks. Our people and the lab staff know they have to follow procedure if they want to leave the compound, and they also know that this area between the fence and the walkways is off-limits after dark. I don’t see why you think you need—” He broke off abruptly. Dawn heard him exhale sharply. “That’s them, isn’t it,” he said in resignation. “They’ve only just arrived and already you’re putting the poor sons of bitches to work. Since I haven’t been formally introduced yet, I think I’ll just hustle my butt back to the unrestricted area, if that’s okay with you.”
Mr. SAS had a sexy laugh, Dawn thought in faint surprise. Too bad it was part of a package deal that included his crappy personality. Keifer appeared to be his one friend here, and even he seemed to have problems with Asher’s tight-ass personality—a pr
ime example of which was his apparent insistence on increasing his guard roster without giving the newcomers a chance to settle in.
He’s going to have to walk them around the area, at least, she thought, sliding down into a more comfortable sitting position and crossing her arms over her chest in irritation. Even he can’t expect that all he has to do is snap his fingers and order them to get to work immediately. It’s a drag, but I guess I’ll just have to wait until he leaves with the poor—
“Slasher! Ripper! Come!”
Even before Dawn heard Asher snap his fingers and issue the abrupt order, her eyes had widened in appalled comprehension at the sound of eight running feet on the crushed-gravel path. Keifer’s description had been dead accurate, she thought hollowly as she peered far enough around the boulder to get a glimpse of the two black figures now sitting obediently at Asher’s feet. The new guards were sons of bitches…literally.
Sons of Doberman bitches.
“Good lads.” His back to her, Asher bent and scratched each dog briefly behind an ear. He straightened, and his voice took on an unmistakable air of command.
“Slasher! Ripper! Hunt!”
Chapter 6
Status: seventeen days and counting
Time: 0337 hours
The Dobermans leaped into action, torquing away from Asher’s side so quickly that gravel spurted up behind them. They made straight for the boulder, their fangs bared and menacing growls coming from their throats as they went for Dawn.
She glared at them.
As if they’d suddenly thudded into an invisible concrete wall, the two dogs fell backward into each other. They scrambled to their feet, took a few snarling steps toward her again and then stopped. Right on cue, both of them started shaking at once. Their growls were now fearful, their formerly pricked up ears flat to their heads and their stubs of tails plastered to their hindquarters. Very slowly, and without taking their eyes from hers, they began backing away.
Dogs didn’t just hate her, Dawn thought resignedly. They really, really hated her.
Even Peters didn’t have an explanation for her effect on them. Craig had given her a puppy for her fifth birthday and it had howled in despair for as long as she was in the room, only to revert to normal puppy behavior as soon as she was gone. The pup had been returned to the pet store, but the one that had replaced it had acted the same way, and so had the third. By then Aldrich’s scientific interest had been aroused, and he’d run test after test with dogs of all breeds and temperaments.
Even the pit bulls had crouched in fear at her five-year-old feet, Dawn remembered. Deciding that the dogs could sense something different about her, although he never did pinpoint what it was that alerted them, Peters had finally given up on the experiments and Lee Craig had brought her home a kitten.
“Fluffy liked me,” she muttered as she walked past the cringing Dobies and around the side of the boulder just as Des Asher came running toward it. He saw her and a look of alarm crossed his features.
“Slasher! Ripper! Stand down!”
“They already did,” she informed him. She fixed a Dawn Swanson scowl on her face. “I don’t see a bag in your hand. I suppose you thought if you walked your two mutts after dark you wouldn’t have to stoop and scoop after them. If I step in something the next time I can’t sleep and come out here to clear my mind, I’ll certainly know who to blame.”
Rule number one in bluffing, she reminded herself, was that no matter how outrageous the bluff, no matter how disbelieving the person you were trying to scam, you couldn’t falter. Even if they presented you with proof positive that you were lying, you had to keep to your story.
Works for politicians, she thought. No reason why it shouldn’t work for me. She began to walk past Asher’s solid bulk, but he sidestepped with the same instantaneous reaction he’d shown two days previously when he’d drawn his weapon. He faced her, his features hard.
“No.” His tone was flat. “We’re not playing it your way this time. Instead of spending the next half hour going round and round the mulberry bush, you’re going to cut the crap right now and tell me what the hell you’re doing in a restricted area at this hour of night.”
“What do you mean, a restricted area?” If there was one thing that pissed her off royally, Dawn thought in irritation, it was having to look up at a man. She was tall enough that the problem didn’t occur often and in heels she could go eye to eye with just about any male under basketball player height, but right now she was wearing Dawn Swanson’s scuffed runners and she was definitely having to tip her head back to talk to Asher. Six-five, she estimated. But a well-placed jump kick brings even the big ones down to size, buddy.
“You saw the signs. You would have had to walk right past them on your way here from the bughouse.” His frown deepened. “The lab and staff quarters building,” he corrected curtly.
She looked past him, ostensibly to search for the signs he’d mentioned but really to hide the fact that she’d nearly been startled into a grin. She’d overheard one of the guards using the term the day before, but hearing it come inadvertently from Asher was way better. She almost wished she didn’t have to use his slip-up against him.
Almost.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not wearing my glasses. I’m probably not the only one on staff who takes them off to give my eyes a rest when I’m not working, so I suggest that if you really want to keep this area to run your overgrown pets in, you edge it with a small ornamental fence or something.”
His jaw tightened. “They’re not pets, they’re trained—”
“One more thing you should bear in mind, Mr. Asher,” she cut in, deliberately omitting his rank. “You may not respect Sir William and the work he carries on here, but the rest of the world does, myself included. Despite the fruit flies we use in our genetic experiments and the somewhat eccentric behavior of some of the scientists working with your uncle, calling this place the ‘bughouse’ is offensive. If it happens again I’ll have to lodge a complaint.” She gave him a dismissive nod. “I’ll try to watch out for the signs next time. Good night, Mr. Asher.”
Just for a moment she thought her bluff was going to work. He’d lost ground with his bughouse remark—for someone like Asher who kept such a tight rein on everything and everyone under his command, being tripped up by his own tongue was galling, and being put on the defensive by her must have been even more so. Perfectly executed feint and attack on my part, she told herself with an inner smile. Anytime you feel like losing another mini Battle of New Orleans with this here American, Captain, go right ahead and bring it on.
She took two steps past him, heard whining behind her, and knew her perfectly executed plan had just been shot to hell.
“What did you do to them?” His hand clamped around her upper arm. She felt her biceps tighten in reflex and quickly relaxed it, hoping he hadn’t had time to wonder why a lab tech had muscles like iron. But Asher was preoccupied. “The dogs—what’s the matter with them?”
Reluctantly she turned to face the animals. They’d found the courage to slink out from behind the boulder and were huddled at Ash’s feet, their gleaming bodies trembling so badly they looked like two cans of midnight-black high-gloss being violently shaken in a paint-mixing machine. Twin pairs of canine eyes met hers. Slasher—or maybe Ripper—attempted a growl. It ended in a strangled whimper. The second Doberman just bared his teeth, lifted his muzzle and howled.
“If I find you poisoned them with something smuggled out of the lab, Swanson, I’ll have you in lockup so fast you won’t know what hit you,” Asher grated. “And this time neither Keifer nor my gullible uncle will be able to save you. What did you give those dogs?”
Rule number two in bluffing, Dawn thought wearily, was knowing when rule number one wasn’t working anymore. On the few occasions in the past when she’d reached an impasse like the one she currently found herself in, she’d had no compunction about resorting to a physical solution. Not that I have any compunctions
this time either, she told herself. But going mano a mano with Slasher and Ripper’s master is out of the question, unless I want to kiss off any chance of getting Sir William’s research back to Lab 33.
She would simply have to Dawn Swanson her way out of the situation yet again, she thought without enthusiasm. God, she was getting tired of this particular alter ego.
So go ahead and dump the Swanson chick, O’Shaughnessy. As soon as the reckless little voice inside her head offered the suggestion, it seemed overwhelmingly attractive. Not that she could abandon her cover persona, Dawn thought glumly. Going undercover meant staying undercover, not popping in and out of character on a whim. That’s the beauty part, though—it’s not a whim, it’s a double bluff! the little voice argued. And there’s no freakin’ rule against double bluffs, is there?
Maybe there was in Aldrich Peters’s book, but not in hers, she thought slowly. A spark of excitement flared in her. She was going to do it, dammit!
“I didn’t give the mutts anything,” she retorted with a shrug. “I’m just the dog bogeyman, for some reason. If you don’t believe me, watch this.”
She lunged at the Dobermans. In panic they backed into the boulder, and at that point they forgot the last shreds of their training. She turned to Asher as his canine line of defense ran off yipping into the darkness.
“They sense something wrong about me,” she said offhandedly. “Dogs and SAS officers are supposed to be smart that way, right?”
He was staring after the Dobermans in disbelief, but at her question he turned back to her, his eyes narrowing. “Are you admitting that both the bloody dogs’ instincts and mine are correct, Swanson?”
She scooped her hair back from her face with her hands, continuing the movement to lace her fingers behind her head. “Why not,” she said carelessly, her voice losing the pedantic tone she’d been assuming. She rolled her shoulders to relieve the strain. “You guessed my big secret, Ash. I’m not Dawn Swanson, lab nerd—I’m the original femme fatale. Last I heard, I was rated one of the top three international assassins in the world, but I figure I got rooked. As far as I’m concerned, I’m in the top two.” She drew her eyebrows together thoughtfully. “Except since the guy above me died last fall, I guess that leaves yours truly as number one with a gun.”
