by Debra Webb
His feet were nearly numb, but he felt the give of the first step and waited until he was sure it was just the creaking of old wood and not something more volatile.
“That one is broken,” Jo called from the car.
“Thanks for the warning.” He climbed the next two with equal caution, just as relieved when he didn’t become a bloody impersonation of the car at the airport.
“I’m telling you no one knows about this place,” she called out.
“Uh-huh,” he muttered.
He knew about it. She knew about it. Whoever had drilled a hole in the taillight might very well know about it.
He stepped toward the door and a loud pop had his heart lodging in his throat. He turned, watching as nothing more dangerous than a breaking branch fell to the ground with a rattle and whoosh.
Damn. He was getting edgier by the second.
Sliding the key into the lock, he murmured a prayer to stay alive just forty-eight more hours. Then the wedding would be over, his family secure and whoever wanted to take their shots could damn well try.
He unlocked the door and withdrew the key. When silence greeted him he thought nothing had sounded sweeter.
Jo came stamping up the stairs behind him, her purse over one arm and her duffel slung across her body. “Told you so.”
“You did,” he conceded, following her inside and only cringing a little as she flipped on the overhead light.
“Being spooked is understandable,” she said, tossing the car keys onto the kitchen counter.
“You do realize being so confident only makes me wonder if you orchestrated the bomb and the car chase along with the rest of this.”
“Not rehashing that again,” she said, hanging his overcoat on a peg by the door. “We both know you believe me.” She untied her shoes and lined them up with the corner of the couch.
He’d forgotten her preference for order in the little things.
“As a general concept maybe.”
“Good enough for now. Let’s get to work.”
“I’ll start a fire.” Before he couldn’t feel his feet at all. Kneeling, he reached in and pulled open the flue. Only a bit of snow fell in and it was soon steaming away as the kindling caught. Standing, he toed off his shoes and shrugged off his suit coat, letting the heat sink in.
“Go on back and get out of those wet clothes,” Jo suggested.
“In a minute.” He was still braced for the next attack and lounging around in a toga quilt wouldn’t leave him feeling empowered.
“Well, at least have a Scotch.”
He turned, smiling at the bottle and glass she held out to him. “You remembered.”
Five years ago they’d toasted the end of the Isely family in much the same manner after she’d patched him up in a swanky hotel in Austria.
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it was just in your file.” She took a slow sip of the two fingers she’d poured for herself and watched him over the rim of her glass.
It probably was in the file. He decided he didn’t care. The fire and the Scotch smoothed his ragged nerves and started drawing the tension out of his shoulders.
“I brought some basics for you,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “Jeans, a sweater and a couple of shirts.”
He raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she’d managed that or remembered his size.
“You’ll find a small overnight case back in the bedroom.”
“Just in case my luggage got blown up?”
Was she blushing or was it the alcohol putting that color in her cheeks?
“I’m embarrassed to say that scenario didn’t even occur to me.”
“The explosion?” He frowned at her quick nod. “You think it should have?”
“Maybe.” She hitched a slender shoulder as she stared into the golden liquid left in her glass. “Get changed. When you see the intel I was given, you can fill in the blanks and tell me if I misinterpreted something vital.”
Thinking on that minor revelation, he padded down the short hall toward the light glowing from an open doorway. If Jo had missed something, it would have been the first time.
Her instincts were an asset he’d used to the mission’s full advantage in the field. Gazing at the garment bag open on the bed, he realized he’d underestimated her breaking-and-entering skills. She hadn’t guessed about his size, it looked like she’d taken clothing straight out of his home. He was more than a little embarrassed he hadn’t noticed the missing items and perturbed that she’d found a way past his security system, but at the moment he could only be grateful she’d thought ahead.
Changing into dry clothes, with the Scotch warming him from the inside, improved his mood dramatically.
He returned to the front room to find Jo curled up in a chair by the fire, a quilt over her legs and a tablet in her hands. In the Air Force hoodie, the glow of the screen shining on her face, she looked almost too young to be an accomplished investigator. The fierce attraction he felt to her startled him more than a little. She’d always be beautiful, but wasn’t he supposed to be immune after all this time?
“Is there really a wi-fi connection out here?” he inquired.
“Not in this weather,” she said with a small frown. “But I have the file here, ready for your review.”
“Thanks.” He turned toward the kitchen and started poking through the grocery bags on the counter. The fridge was fully stocked, as well. She’d really gone above and beyond.
“What are you doing?”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Typically the last big meal of the day,” he reminded her. “We missed it.” He tapped his watch. “Since it seems you were right about us being safe here, I figured we should eat.”
“Okay.” She unfolded herself from the chair. “But you don’t have to cook.”
“Now who needs to extend a little trust? I know my way around a kitchen.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He pulled out a stockpot and saucepan. “May as well whip something up in case we lose power.” He filled the stockpot with water and set it on a burner to boil.
“Let me make the salad.”
“I’d rather you talked me through whatever it is you know.”
“You don’t want to read it first? Develop your own opinion?”
He finished pouring the jar of sauce into the smaller pan and set it to warm before turning to face her. “You wanted trust, Jo. I’m here in your cabin, prepping dinner, ignoring the fact that you managed to break into my home.” He plucked at the cable knit sweater he’d recently picked up to replace an old favorite.
“Wow.” Her eyes went wide with surprise. “If I didn’t know better I’d say being director for so long has mellowed you.”
“Tell me why you insisted on taking this case and why you think doing so protects me.”
“Fine.” She squeezed by him and opened the refrigerator, pulling out fresh greens for a salad. “Can you find a bowl, please?”
He opened cabinets until he came up with both a bowl and colander. “Nice place.”
“It is.”
He watched her work with those slender, deft fingers and tried to forget how they’d once felt on his skin. She would talk eventually, he just had to be patient while she organized her thoughts.
He remembered that about her, too. She wasn’t the sort to jump into anything—not a firefight nor a conversation—without thinking it through and weighing the options and potential fallout.
“I’d really like to see the files on the supply audit,” she muttered half to herself.
He could make that happen when they had access to the internet, but he kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt her. If she was making a connection there, she’d get to it.
He dumped pasta into the boiling water, added salt and stirred.
“There was an outbreak of a new flu virus two weeks ago in a remote village on the border between Pakistan and Iran.”
&nbs
p; An icy finger that had nothing to do with the weather system battering the cabin danced across his nape. He recognized the foreboding sense of dread and let it roll on through. Fighting grim emotions wasted energy and he’d long ago learned to channel his energy into appropriate outlets.
“How many dead?”
“Reports were conflicted,” she replied, mumbling as she struggled to slice a tomato with what appeared to be a dull knife.
“Does anyone have an eye on Isely Jr.?”
She paused, meeting his gaze from beneath her thick lashes. “I’d hoped you would.”
He had little more than a general direction. It had been five years since he’d infiltrated the notorious Isely crime family and botched their sale of a deadly new flu virus. Some had considered the move foolhardy considering his position as director but when he’d escaped the firefight with names, faces, fingerprints of the parties involved, along with the case of vials, he’d considered it a successful mission. Everyone had.
Johara had been his contact and part of his cover story as well as his ticket out of Germany. Riding the high of those few post-mission days, they’d become friends. But after the debriefing stateside, he hadn’t seen her again until she’d landed on the Initiative committee.
He’d expected it to stay that way...maybe he’d needed it to. But here they were.
“Those supply audits are starting to make more sense.” He’d known they’d been fishing for something. “Someone thinks I have the real virus.”
“Don’t you?”
“Absolutely not.” He tested the pasta, called it al dente and drained the water into the sink.
Conversation stopped until they were settled at the table with the pasta, salad and two bottles of water.
“It’s not the Four Seasons,” she said with a smile full of tension.
“Does it need to be?”
“No. I just...” Her voice trailed off and this time he knew she wouldn’t elaborate.
When they’d last worked together both of them had avoided any talk of feelings. They’d been riding the high of success and indulged the mutual attraction between them. He’d thought living in the moment and taking things one day at a time was best for keeping personal safety and mission integrity a top priority.
Sitting across from her now, as isolated as two people could be, he wondered if he’d been wrong to walk away from her.
Smart, Casey. Go down that path now of all times.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, before she returned to the topic of the investigation.
“From the beginning?” Her eyes were on her plate.
“If that’s easier for you,” he replied.
“You turned in the vials we brought out of Germany.”
“Yes.” He twirled another bite of pasta around his fork. “You saw exactly what I brought back. I still carry the receipt they gave me when I handed the case over to the lab.”
“Did you know it wasn’t a lethal strain?”
“Not until I saw the lab report months later.”
“What did you do about it?”
“Do? What could I do? I counted my blessings the chemist screwed up or exaggerated the accomplishment to make the sale to Isely.”
He watched her methodically select a bite of salad, but she didn’t eat it, just balanced it at the edge of her plate.
“Fair enough. What did you think about the chemist’s failure?”
“I thought if there really was a lethal strain then Isely had planned all along to double-cross the buyer and keep the real virus for his personal use or a better offer. Doesn’t the recent outbreak confirm that?”
“The recent outbreak, and a source who, based on the information, was at the original takedown in Germany, suggests you are the culprit. That you stole and sold the real virus.” She took a long drink of her water. “A ridiculous allegation.”
“And the Initiative believes that.” His stomach clenched. Of course the committee believed an anonymous source over a director with an impeccable record. He had to forcibly relax his jaw. It took him longer than it should have to be able to speak. “Who is the source?”
“There’s no name in the file.”
He pushed back from the table, unable to sit here and take this anymore. “It’s a setup.”
“I agree.”
“Who hates me that much?”
“After a few years with the committee I can say this sort of vitriol usually comes from an ex-spouse.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Fine.” He held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I don’t have a secret wife. You know I never married.” And days like this proved why he never should. “Who else even knows me that well?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. I took this case to help you prove your years of success as an agent and a director are legitimate.”
He spun back to face her. “You mean to tell me a few sick people in the Middle East and a conveniently anonymous source has the committee wanting to dig into all of our cases?”
She nodded. “Sadly, yes. If someone with your authority has sold a bio-weapon they have to consider what other sensitive data might have been compromised within your purview.”
“What exactly was your assignment?”
“Exactly?”
He saw her nervous swallow. “Yes.”
“Observe the sale of the virus. Then I could intercept you and produce proof of guilt.”
“That doesn’t sound very impartial.”
“Which is why I wanted to handle this case personally.”
“Handle me.”
“If that’s how you want to think of it.” Her chin rose in a show of defiance. “Citing my familiarity with the original mission, I told them what they wanted to hear and presented an appropriate plan of action. They gave me the green light.”
“To railroad me.”
She picked up their plates and moved back to the kitchen. “Someone is gunning for you, yes. I shouldn’t have to remind you we work in the gray area, Thomas. I said what needed to be said to position myself between you and the threat.”
“Why?” It seemed like a terrible risk personally and professionally. He couldn’t fathom her motive. “Why would you do that?”
She scraped the remnants of dinner from their plates into the garbage can. “Because if you’d sold a bio-weapon for personal gain I wanted to be the one to take you out.”
He chuckled. “You could try.”
“Fortunately we don’t need to test it, since you’re innocent.”
“You’re so sure?”
“Yes.”
Her unwavering conviction after all this time surprised him. His Specialists had done plenty in that gray area she mentioned. Grabbing a dish towel, he stepped up beside her to dry the dishes as she washed them.
“Then why bring the sedative?” It had been bothering him that she claimed to trust him, yet she’d been prepared to disable him.
She drew her full lower lip between her teeth. “That was just in case they were right.”
“A few minutes ago, right there at the table,” he jerked his chin in that direction, “you said you didn’t believe the allegations.”
“Think about it, Thomas. In my place would you have taken the chance?”
“No.” He had to let it go. Female agents were trained to take precautions when they were physically outmatched. She’d been honest with him so far, he shouldn’t push the issue. He folded the dish towel into smaller and smaller rectangles, opened it up, only to repeat the process. That distinct odor, just before the car blew up, haunted him. He would have been happy to never smell it again. It punctuated his one near failure during the Isely takedown.
“But?” She caught his hands with her smaller ones, stopping the nervous movement.
“But if you had so much confidence in me, were you expecting to need that sedative for someone else?”
Chapter Nine
Johara rolled her eyes and pushed away from the counter. “You still think I hired someone to blow up the car?”
“Didn’t you? It certainly forced me to go with you.”
“You were already going with me.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. “I need you alive. Mission Recovery—good grief, this entire country—needs you alive.”
“The entire country doesn’t know who I am.”
“But someone does know you, Thomas. Or they know what you’re capable of. The sooner we figure out who it is, the sooner you’ll get to the wedding.”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Finally. She wanted his eyes on the information rather than on her. Those blue eyes made her remember feelings that were best locked away in the corner of her mind. Especially right now. His life—both their lives—depended on finding the truth.
More to the point, he observed and analyzed every nuance, word and gesture. It was as if he were caressing her body with nothing more than that intent gaze. Her body quivered even now.
Focus, Jo. She retrieved her tablet, swiped the screen to pull up the folder and handed it to him. His fingers brushed hers and that heat that kept threatening to devour her fired through her senses yet again. If she survived this night with her head on straight it would be a miracle.
He sank onto the couch as he read, elbows braced on his knees, his eyes never leaving the screen.
In the field, she’d aspired to that same intense focus he gave to every minute of the mission. Not for the first time, she wondered about the men and women on his select team of Specialists. Did they admire him or resent him for being such a hard-ass? She’d only worked with him, not for him. His Specialists didn’t complain, but in their line of work everyone had secrets and vulnerabilities. Bottom line, whoever was setting up Thomas had accessed highly classified files with a justified clearance or a talented hacker. No breaches had been reported. To her, that all added up to an inside job.
No one ever wanted that to be the answer.
She might as well be reading over his shoulder; she had the file memorized. From the first memo reporting the odd outbreak, to the intel directly from the “source,” to her own notes as she tracked down the current locations of the people involved with the old mission in Germany. She’d cross-referenced the recent travel and connections of those involved five years ago, not coming up with anyone who had traveled to the Middle East. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d hit a brick wall and didn’t know how to move forward without Thomas.
