by Debra Webb
“Seems to me you’re holding up well enough. You eliminated that threat quickly enough.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and not as some insinuation that I staged a road rage incident.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a map. One of the first things she’d done after renting this car was disable the GPS so the rental agency couldn’t track her down. She wasn’t about to use a computerized navigation system that logged her progress turn by turn.
“Would you navigate please?” She handed the map to him. “I’d like to get off the main roads.”
“The side roads will be in worse condition.”
“I’m aware of that. But they’re less likely to be monitored. Our destination is circled in red.”
“Mmm-hmm. And you circled Glenstone Ski Lodge in blue. Why is that?”
“Good skiing.”
“You’re not making it any easier to trust you.”
“I’ve saved your life a couple times over in the last hour.”
“Or you’ve perfectly executed an intricate setup.”
“Hardly.” He wouldn’t say that if he’d known about the lingerie she’d added to her suitcase at the last minute...just in case they managed to find time to indulge in another sexy rendezvous. She was tempted to tell him about the sheer black lace just to test his reaction, but she kept her mouth shut because she didn’t trust her response. This torch she carried for him should have burned out by now and it bothered her knowing she couldn’t seem to get over him, though the lingering affection was clearly one-sided.
“Take this exit and turn left at the end of the ramp.”
She followed his instructions, wondering if he would mislead her and try to escape. Best to nix that now. “The fact of the matter is you have the gun and the sedative because I want you to have them.”
His doubt came through loud and clear and he didn’t have to say a word.
Her statement might not be entirely true as it applied to the sedative, but she refused to back down. “I need you to trust me, even if you don’t trust the committee.”
“You are synonymous with the committee.”
“Are you still bitter about that inquiry last year?”
Again, his silence was answer enough.
“That wasn’t my idea. It was a supply audit, for Pete’s sake. Nobody was going to reprimand you for having one too many sniper scopes.” His department had been the only one to show a balanced inventory sheet, but she wasn’t inclined to share that detail with him.
“Whose idea was it?”
“The audit?” She caught his affirmative nod out of the corner of her eye. “It’s random. The computer spits out a list periodically and we follow through.”
“Then there are fewer shadow agencies than I suspected.”
She wasn’t about to take that bait. “What do you mean?”
“That was our second supply audit in as many years. At the time I assumed your committee had lost something valuable and didn’t know where else to look.”
For the first time since she’d intercepted him at the airport, she felt like she’d made the right call. He was making her think about the situation from other angles.
“What ‘something valuable’ would the Initiative have to lose?” she ventured. Besides operatives. Burnout was a frequent problem for agents in her position. It wasn’t easy being the pariah of the intelligence community. Even when no one in the public sector knew you existed. Being known to and despised by your peers posed a definite challenge and very few people dealt with it well.
“You’d know that answer better than I would, Jo.”
She opted to explore a different theory. “Tell me how Mission Recovery handles discipline problems.”
“Why?”
“Humor me. We’ve got hours ahead of us at this pace.” The storm was playing havoc with her timeline. Snails could tour entire gardens in the time it took them to reach the next turnoff as they drove west toward the mountains.
“We select our agents specifically to avoid discipline problems.”
“That’s a nice party line, Director. I’m completely sold. Now tell me what you do when a good agent screws up.”
“You’re the oversight genius. You know the routine.”
“Actually, I don’t. There isn’t a single shred of information about how you handle problem children.”
“Because we haven’t had any,” he insisted. “If you’re after a specific person or case, just say so.”
“Fine.” She was after the needle in the haystack and hoping maybe a disgruntled candidate who’d been turned down for a spot on the elite team might be causing trouble for Thomas. “I’m fishing here, there’s no specific person I can point to and say ‘he or she started this.’”
“Which leaves a specific case.”
Naturally, Thomas would hear the details she’d left out.
“Possibly.” But her mind was turning over the audit wrinkle. Two supply-specific audits in the same number of years didn’t feel random. Annual reports were usually verified by an accountant and approved, unless there was a significant discrepancy. “Did the same person oversee both of your audits?”
“Don’t you know the answer to that?”
She didn’t want to admit only the most recent audit was on the system. Another reason she’d been surprised. “Contrary to popular belief, I have other things on my daily agenda beyond the shadowy workings of Mission Recovery.”
“I’m so relieved.”
She resisted the urge to snap at him. Keeping her voice light, she repeated her question about the auditors.
“Two different people, neither of whom I’ve seen before or since.”
And he would have been looking. She didn’t believe people who inconvenienced Thomas would ever be welcome in his offices and state-of-the-art training facility without his express permission. On the plus side, there weren’t that many people with the committee’s authority. It should be easy enough to track down those records and examine the personnel jackets of the auditors involved.
“I think we should stop soon,” Thomas said. “You’re nearly out of gas.”
She glanced down and frowned at the gauge. “The tank was full when I parked it at the airport.”
“Roll down your window,” he said, powering down his own.
The moment she did the strong smell of gas came in with the blowing snow and wind. “Damn it. A lucky bullet left them a trail.” She had a terrible action-movie image of someone tossing a match into the trickle of gas they were leaking and succeeding in blowing them up this time.
“In better conditions maybe,” he said. “I never thought I’d be thankful for nasty weather. The snow will blur our trail, but I don’t see how we’ll make it to wherever this is,” he said, tapping the red circle on the map.
“With a leaking gas tank I don’t see how we’ll make it much of anywhere,” she grumbled.
“Just roll into the next convenience store and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m fresh out of duct tape.” There were few things in life she hated more than looking incompetent. Looking incompetent in front of Thomas Casey was one of them. Spotting the faint glow of neon signs up ahead, she prayed for a way to salvage the situation.
“Good thing you’ve got me then,” he remarked without glancing her way. “Park over there.” He pointed to a spot away from the security camera aimed at the main door. “Got a flashlight?”
She shook her head. “I’ll go buy one.”
“Let me go in and ask. You stay with the car and sit tight.”
Tight was easy to manage with her current stress level. It made sense not to leave the vehicle unattended, despite the low risk of someone managing to track them through the storm, but she couldn’t sit here and do nothing. She got out of the car, wrapped in Thomas’s overcoat once more. Underneath the lingering acrid stench of the explosives, she caught the woodsy scent of his cologne. It was almost as good as being in his embrace.
Foolish
, but she took comfort in it anyway. When they’d worked in Germany, she’d been his contact and part of his cover. He’d been her rock, her anchor. At the time, she thought she’d done well enough to have been a steadying force for him, too. But the moment they’d returned to the States and debriefed the mission, he’d disappeared from her life.
She hadn’t seen him again until official business between the Initiative committee and his Mission Recovery division put them in the same small conference room deep inside the Pentagon one day. That had been more than two years ago and, fool that she was, she’d expected him to call.
Walking around the car, looking for damage, she pushed those sweet memories aside and searched for more pertinent details on the current predicament. Starting with his coat. She patted pockets inside and out, but came up empty. If he was here to sell a vial of a deadly virus, surely he’d keep it on him.
Whoever was tailing them had the skill and audacity to act quickly. It eroded her peace of mind, created a level of doubt that would swell into full-blown panic if she let it. As careful as she’d been, she’d only spotted Specialist Grant in the days preceding Thomas’s arrival in Denver.
Nothing in his personnel record indicated dissatisfaction to the point of blowing up the director, but she was fresh out of other theories. It was hard to imagine another team watching her closely enough to take that kind of action and yet hide so effectively that she missed them. And why wouldn’t a team targeting both of them wait a few more seconds until they were both in the car? And why didn’t the enemy just shoot them when the bomb missed?
There were no easy answers. There wouldn’t be until she could get Thomas to trust her enough to cooperate. This whole investigation had felt off since she first got wind of it back in D.C. As uncomfortable as it would be, as vulnerable as it would make her and the committee, it was time to tell Thomas everything. She didn’t see another way to determine which of them was the real target and which was convenient collateral damage.
As she came around the back end of the car, she shivered. Not from cold. From the realization someone had marked her rental. No way the small hole drilled into the taillight was a mistake or the result of her evasive maneuvers. Too clean for a bullet, the precise hole in the red plastic brake light made the SUV easy to spot from a distance.
Damn. She should have noticed this at the airport. She might have if her ears and the rest of her senses hadn’t been overloaded by the near-miss explosion and desperation to get to safety.
And the sounds and scents of having him so close.
Where the hell was he? The idea that he could be in there making a call...deciding he couldn’t trust her—
“You shouldn’t be out here in heels,” Thomas said, joining her. “You’ll break an ankle.”
She appreciated the concern, but the shoes were trashed anyway and the heels were the only thing keeping her feet out of the deepening snow. There must be two fresh inches on the ground already. “I’ll change in a minute.”
“Change?”
“I put a backup kit in both cars,” she admitted. She just didn’t feel inclined to tell him where the other car was.
He rolled his eyes and she knew he was thinking about what the authorities would find when they combed through the wreckage of the car bomb.
“But no snow boots?”
“Cut me some slack. The weathermen didn’t even see this coming. It’s October. Cold is one thing, a foot of snow is another.”
“I know, I know.” He waved the flashlight. “Let me see what this gas leak looks like.” He knelt down, peering under the car to examine the damaged gas tank.
She thought she should help him somehow, but her knowledge and experience were lacking when a problem was more involved than checking the oil or changing a tire. Give her any sort of weapon and she was good. Analyzing or repairing a vehicle, not so much. Still, she tried, scanning for damage on the body in the vicinity of the fuel tank.
“Not a bullet,” he reported, getting to his feet. “Must have been damaged by debris from the collision. I’ll find something to patch it up.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes,” he said blowing into his hands to warm them. “It’s our best option.”
She’d been debating and discarding other transportation options. It didn’t seem likely they would be able to get a cab to pick them up in these conditions.
“Wait in the car. We don’t need to add frostbite to our list of problems.”
“Yes, sir.” She wasn’t really offended by the way he snapped orders. This was Director Casey on the job. Any doubts she’d entertained about him lowering his guard or being more relaxed considering the purpose of his travel plans were gone.
From the driver’s seat she watched the minutes tick by on the dashboard clock, wondering what was taking him so long. Every moment they weren’t moving away from Denver was an opportunity for their enemy to gain ground. Apparently the director’s arrival wasn’t any more of a secret than his destination.
When he finally emerged, a plastic shopping bag in one hand and a red plastic gas can in the other, she hurried out to join him. “How can I help?” Anything to get them on the road faster.
“Go change your clothes,” he said with a scowl. “That uniform is too memorable.” He set the gas can and bag on the ground.
“Did you notice if they have any red cloth or tape?” She tapped the damaged light.
“So that’s how they picked us up so fast in the city.”
“It must be.”
Thomas rubbed her arms briskly then nudged her toward the car. “I’ll be finished here in a few minutes.”
“Then we keep moving.” Her emphatic nod lost a little something with her chattering teeth.
“Then we keep moving.” With a grim expression, he set the gas can and bag on the ground and crept under the car again.
While he dealt with the gasoline tank, Jo crawled into the backseat and reached over for the small duffel bag she’d left there.
In the near dark, with snow falling in bigger flakes against the window, she almost missed the flutter of paper. On her knees, she leaned over the seat and reached for the small square.
It was more than paper, it was money. Her fingers recognized the feel even as she unfolded it. She snapped on the dome light to get a better look. It was a fifty-euro note. The serial number on the note told her it was issued by Germany. But it was the other ten digits hand-printed on the short end that stirred her curiosity. She recognized the first three numbers as a Washington, D.C. area code, but the rest of what appeared to be a phone contact was unfamiliar to her. On reflex, she reached toward her purse for her cell, eager to see who picked up on the other end. If this actually was a phone number. Then she remembered Thomas had tossed her phone into the fiery remains of the SUV.
The blizzard seemed warm in comparison to the sudden chill seeping into her bones.
She pulled a change of clothing out of the duffel, but her mind was on the money and how anyone had slipped it into her car. She jumped when Thomas opened the driver’s door.
“I’m finished,” he said, that frown still tugging at his brow.
“That was quick,” she said with a smile that did nothing to ease his expression. The man was too observant for his own good.
“It was a relatively easy fix.” He held up the gas can. “I’ll go pump a couple of gallons into the container and we’ll see if it holds up. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she fibbed. “Just cold.”
“All right. It might be smart to turn off the light before you change clothes.”
He closed the door and she sagged against the seat. Her survival instincts warred with the decision to simply tell him everything, or hold back the more sensitive details. There was no better ally than Thomas Casey, but no worse enemy. She just couldn’t be sure how he’d react.
Continuing her mental debate, she shimmied out of her skirt and pulled her jeans on over her hose. More layers would be welcome in
this weather. Next, she swapped her blazer for a hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with the Air Force Academy logo. She was reaching for hiking boots when the door opened again.
“The repair looks good. I’m going to move the car and fill it up.”
“Great.” She told herself she’d feel better, steadier, when they reached the cabin.
“When was the last time you slept? You’re pale.”
Did the man have to comment on every little thing? “I got six straight hours last night. Anyone would be pale after our recent troubles.” Anyone but him, apparently.
He moved the car, braved the elements once more to pump the gas. Through the window, she watched him chafe his hands while the machine did the work. Tying her shoes, she grabbed his overcoat and slid out the opposite side of the car. She rounded the hood, brushed more snow off the headlights and handed him his overcoat.
“Put this on. I’m just running inside for a couple of things.”
“Hurry. Camera is at ten o’clock. Keep your head down.”
She gave him a mock salute and shuffled through the snow to the store. Grabbing a couple of soft drinks, a bag of chips, two pairs of gloves and two stocking caps, she waited for the gas pump to finish and paid cash for the total.
Wishing the clerk a safe evening, she opened the door only to find Thomas had moved the car so she wouldn’t have to traipse through the snow again.
“Thanks,” she said boosting herself into the passenger seat. She made quick work of the seat belt and, as he put the car in gear, she took the labels and price tags off of the gloves. “Put these on.”
“The heater’s going now.”
“So I’m late with the thoughtfulness. Can’t hurt.”
He tugged the gloves on one by one and continued the slow drive to the cabin she’d prepared.
“Do you need directions?”
“I memorized the route,” he replied.
Of course he did. And probably a backup route, too. “Are you worried they’ll pick us up again?”
