by Debra Webb
When he set the tablet aside and stared into the crackling fire, her patience ran out. “Does it look like someone on the inside to you?”
He pushed a hand over his short-cropped hair and sighed. “You’re sure about the statuses on everyone who survived that mission?”
“Yes. Thanks to you there were survivors.”
Thomas pointed at the tablet. “Some thanks. Contrary to your opinion, it would seem my country wants me dead.” He pushed to his feet. “Okay. Let’s go through the paces. Who on our side of the pond has access to Whelan and why would they let him blow up the rental car if what they really want is for me to sell a bio-weapon?”
“He’s a mercenary,” she said. “He has no allegiance to anyone or any country. From the little I know about Whelan, with enough money and the right advertisement on a leading online classified ads website, he’d meet with anyone.”
“Meet him, sure, but we both know that’s not what happened. He’s been watching you, or getting intel from someone else, knowing when you’d be where.”
“The only tail I’ve seen is your man, Jason Grant.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She took two steps back from the deadly quiet tone and hard glare Thomas sent her way. “You didn’t know he was here in Denver?”
Thomas shook his head slowly.
“He was at the airport when your flight arrived.”
“That’s why you hurried us into the employee area.”
“Yes.”
“And why you asked me about Mission Recovery discipline policy.”
“Yes.” Before she could ask the next question, Thomas answered it.
“Grant’s an exemplary Specialist. I’ve never had to write up anything but praise for his missions. Holt and I are grooming him to move up when I retire and Holt becomes director.”
“I know.” At his skeptical look, she explained, “Initiative vetted and approved your choice.”
“I feel so affirmed,” he said with a small sneer.
She ignored the jab. “Any chance either Holt or Grant wants to hurry you out the door?”
“No. There’s no reason, nothing to gain for either of them.”
“Power and prestige can be enticing. A little raise in pay grade doesn’t hurt either.”
He waved her suggestion off like he was swatting a pesky fly. “Grant has a variety of skills, but he’s not that good with explosives. He’s more of the loner type.” She watched him think it through. “He did a stint with Interpol, but I don’t think he’s good enough to mimic Whelan’s signature. Besides, both he and Holt know the additional responsibility comes with additional baggage.
“Look at your own situation,” he added. “Moving up the food chain isn’t all perks.”
She bit back the retort. Arguing about how and why she’d landed the job with Initiative wouldn’t help them resolve his predicament and restore his reputation.
“The Initiative believes you’ve sold out to America’s enemies. They won’t let go of this bone without hard evidence to the contrary.”
“And we both know you can’t prove a negative.”
He was right. The same thought had been troubling her. “It’s a clever trap they’re closing on you.” She pulled her hair over her shoulder, absently twining it into a braid and unraveling it again.
“There’s always a way out. Always a loophole,” he said, staring at the fire. “Do you have a burner phone?”
“Not anymore. It was in the suitcase,” she explained. “Why?”
“Where’s that euro you found?”
“I knew you recognized the number on it.” She went to her purse and withdrew the banknote. “Who is it?”
He didn’t answer, just turned the euro back and forth then looked at his watch again.
She wanted to ask more questions, to insist he share the information she was sure he was holding back, but she had to be careful not to alienate his limited cooperation. “Are you thinking about Casey?” His niece and sister were here. They could end up targets in this trap, as well.
“No, Holt. We had check-in times scheduled.”
“Don’t you trust him to handle things while you’re away for the weekend?”
“Is that the Initiative asking or the woman stuck in a blizzard with her target?”
Her temper, usually slow to burn, surged like a rocket. She felt her cheeks flush with heat, but she refused to give him the further satisfaction of a verbal outburst. Flipping the braid behind her, she crossed her legs and studied him. She could only hope he’d lose his cool first. “For the last time, this is not an elaborate fishing expedition. What happens here, provided you don’t get dead or make contact with a terrorist, stays here.”
He stepped closer, doing his best to intimidate her with his size. It wasn’t completely ineffective, a fact that only irritated her further. He didn’t scare her, and though she didn’t think he intended to ignite the attraction she had never been able to shake, that was the result.
Ignite wasn’t the right word...he’d fanned the flames already blazing inside her.
With slow, deliberate movements, she uncrossed her legs and stood, her gaze locked with his. He didn’t give an inch, and her breasts brushed against his chest. Her nipples peaked with an aching need she couldn’t suppress.
Thomas was the one man she’d never been able to ignore. Worse than that, a few days had left her with a persistent desire that seemed would last her entire lifetime. Five years ago, she had dismissed her feelings, chalking up the intensity to a small case of hero worship. He’d been legend in the dark ops community.
But that rationale had only carried her so far. It had been too late when she’d finally understood her feelings went beyond professional respect, far deeper than a mutual attraction sparked by convenient proximity and intense circumstances.
“Do you have any insight that will help me help you?”
His shuttered gaze drifted over her face, landing as effectively as a lover’s sweet kiss on her lips. “With my case?”
Of course the case. “Yes,” she managed to answer through a suddenly dry throat. She didn’t want to hear his insights about her on a personal level.
“I don’t think you misinterpreted anything. It’s a very thorough report.”
She counted it a professional victory and a personal loss when he stepped back. While her pulse resumed a rhythm closer to normal, she tried to keep her focus on business. So not an easy task.
“Just the allegations and launching the inquiry is bad enough for me.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble shading his jaw. “Unless we find the bastard behind the plot, it’s career-ending.”
“Now you understand why I stepped up.”
His expression was more confounded than comprehending, but he shrugged. “But why go to all this trouble to build a trap if the goal is to kill me?”
“Depends on the real end goal, I guess.”
He picked up the tablet. “Or maybe two enemies are at odds about my future.”
“I’m on your side, Thomas.”
“And the committee?”
“I believe as a majority they want to be on your side. Can you say the same for Grant and Holt?”
“Without question,” he replied.
She wasn’t sure she agreed, since he said it without making eye contact, but to argue it without hard evidence wouldn’t do any good. He was looking at the information again, combing through for the smallest kernel of intel that would give him a lead. She knew because she’d done the same thing.
He finally looked up again, setting the tablet aside. “In the morning, you should go back to D.C. I’ll take it from here.”
“No way.” She shook her head; her gut instinct told her that would be a terrible mistake. “I didn’t stick my neck out for you just to get a better view when they take you down.”
“I’ll land on my feet.” His smile was full of regrets, an expression she’d never seen before. It worried her.
“Maybe. T
his time I think you need someone to break the fall.”
“If you stay, it could mean the end of your career. Or worse, your life.”
The part of her that had never gotten over their brief time together wanted to believe his concern was mostly personal, but Thomas was known for his concern for anyone he sent into the field. “I can take care of myself. You know you need someone watching your back on this.”
He opened his mouth and she knew he was going to list all the times he’d managed just fine without her. Knowing it was true didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.
She pressed her fingers gently to his lips. “Don’t say it.”
He frowned.
“It would be a waste of energy,” she said. “You have a partner this time. You’ll just have to accept it.”
His lips pursed and he kissed her fingers. She yanked her hand back as if she’d been scalded. Before she could step back, he caught her around the waist and pulled her hard against his strong body.
So close, she could tally every new line bracketing his eyes, framing his mouth. The mileage had done nothing to lessen his appeal, it only strengthened her desire for him. She watched the slow descent as he brought his lips to meet hers, giving her the opportunity to duck or dodge.
Not a chance. She wanted this kiss—wanted him—more than she wanted her next breath. He hesitated, his lips only a whisper away and she leaned in, closing the gap. With that first soft touch, the long, empty distance between their last kiss and this one fell away. Once she’d thought time and perspective would dull her desire; instead she discovered it had intensified her longing.
For him.
The sensual heat washed over her, sizzling through her veins. She looped her arms around his neck, delighted and meeting him with equal fervor as he took the kiss deeper.
“Jo, stop.” His breath was ragged in her ear, his hands firm on her hips as he nudged her away. “Stop.”
“Why?” She blinked several times, slow to come out of the sensual fog. “Oh.” The “why” was clear in the hard set of his jaw, the knitted brows. He may have given in to the moment, but he clearly didn’t want her the way she wanted him.
Disappointment and humiliation whipped through her. She took two quick steps back. The heat from the fireplace behind her was weak compared to the burning passion he’d stirred in her blood. How could she have fallen so hard for this man?
An apology danced at the tip of her tongue, but she refused to let it out. She wasn’t sorry, not really. If he gave her the slightest hint he wanted a repeat performance, she knew she’d leap at the chance.
Pathetic but true.
“Jo, I’m—”
“Don’t say it.” If he apologized, she might go screaming out into the storm. If he told her there was someone else, she’d feel lower than she already did. If that was possible. “Waste of energy,” she quipped, managing a faint smile to go with it. “It’s better if we keep this strictly business.”
“That’s—” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he gave a jerky nod. “Fine.”
“We should make a list of people in your past, other than Whelan, who could have created that bomb.” Grateful for the tablet in her hand, she turned on the screen. Instead of the file on Thomas’s inquiry, she saw her files were open.
“You snooped through my files?” Outrage expelled the lingering heat he’d roused.
“Just in case I was wrong,” he began, slumping back onto the couch.
“About trusting me,” she finished for him.
“If it’s any consolation, it isn’t personal.”
It wasn’t. None of it. Not the snooping or the kiss. “I should be used to the derision and distrust by now.” She was an idiot.
“You mean you aren’t?”
“I guess a part of me is still naive enough to believe agents who work in the field should be used to oversight committees by now. Everyone has to answer to someone.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” He shrugged. “Knowing it doesn’t mean liking it when someone with plenty of time and the whole story second-guesses decisions made in the line of duty.”
“That’s not what I do.”
“Then you are an exception to the rule.”
“I do my best. Please tell me who you think is responsible for the explosion and the setup.”
“Whelan made that bomb, no doubt in my mind. His signature is in the scent on the fuse more than the design of a bomb. Whether he put it there or not is still a valid question, but if you say he’s in the country, I believe he rigged it himself. As for the setup, I don’t have enough information. That’s why I checked your files. To see if there was more to this story than the report you showed me. Something you didn’t see.”
“Happy now?” she demanded, still frustrated.
He stood up to pace again. “I had to be sure.”
“Got it.” And on a professional level she understood. “You could have asked.”
He chuckled, but the sound carried more bitterness than humor. “I know the training you’ve had. As head of a division I have a better idea what it takes to stay alive on the committee. I could ask if you had lunch on the moon and not be sure if your answer was truthful.”
“We’ve received the same training, Thomas, and I trusted you despite the outbreak evidence and allegations you’d sold out.”
She waited just long enough to see his face go pale as the full measure of her words sunk in. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t have that same faith in her. They were both tired and stressed out. Maybe he’d come around by morning. “With no connection to the outside world, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Get some rest. We can develop a plan to draw out Whelan and whoever is setting you up in the morning.” She turned for the bedroom.
“Jo, wait.”
Not a chance. She kept moving. She didn’t trust herself to maintain the distance he obviously needed.
Chapter Ten
Glenstone Lodge, 10:00 p.m.
Lucas recognized the thinly veiled concern in Blue Drake’s eyes as she and her husband approached his table. During his days as Thomas’s deputy director of Mission Recovery, he’d served as her contact when she’d been assigned to protect Noah Drake, the man who’d not only married her, but eventually joined her as a Specialist.
The rest of the guests were divided between dancing, a card game and simply relaxing in good company.
“Good evening, Lucas. Can I have a minute?”
“Of course.” He glanced across the table, making sure Victoria was distracted with her own conversation.
“There was an explosion in a long-term parking lot at the Denver airport a couple of hours ago,” Blue said quietly. “It was on a breaking news update while I was in the lobby downstairs.”
“As the storm was rolling in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Director Casey’s flight landed safely. He called me.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, visibly relieved. “He wouldn’t have a car in long-term parking.”
“No. I don’t even think he intended to pick up his rental until tomorrow morning. He wasn’t planning to drive in the storm.” No matter that he knew this information, Lucas’s instincts went on point.
“The authorities haven’t released any names or picked up any suspects,” Noah added.
Lucas was already mentally sifting through his contacts, wondering who he could call about video surveillance at the lot. He pulled out his cell phone, only to realize there was no signal. “Keep an eye on the news. If you hear anything that you think ties to Director Casey, let me know.” They both nodded and Lucas turned the conversation in a lighter direction.
If Thomas had been in trouble when they spoke Lucas would have picked up on it. Had something gone wrong after their call ended?
A waiter moved to his side. “Mr. Camp, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a message for you at the front desk.”
Lucas excused himself and rose from the table. Moving slower t
han he would like and leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way out of the great room and to the lobby. His wife caught up with him just as he pushed the elevator call button.
“Is there a problem, Lucas?”
He shook his head. “Just a message waiting downstairs. Want to join me?”
“Always.”
There were less than a handful of times he’d kept anything from her and he didn’t see any need to add to that short list now. The elevator arrived and as the doors closed, he drew her into his arms. “Having a good time?”
“It’s wonderful. Cecelia and Casey have outdone themselves with this one. Whoever in our growing family gets married next will have a tough time topping this.”
“I worried the weather would upset her, but my goddaughter seems to find it romantic.”
“Everything here is romantic,” Victoria agreed. “As long as Thomas gets here safely for tomorrow’s rehearsal it should stay that way.”
Lucas smiled as the elevator chimed their arrival at the lobby level. “Nothing will keep him away. Has Casey expressed any concern?”
“Not yet.”
He hoped the bride-to-be still felt the same way tomorrow because Lucas had a bad, bad feeling that something was very wrong.
“Mr. and Mrs. Camp,” the woman behind the desk greeted them. “How are the festivities?”
“Absolutely marvelous,” Victoria raved.
“That’s what we like to hear.” The clerk handed Lucas a folded note. “My apologies for the interruption, but we were told this needed to be delivered immediately, rather than placed in your mailbox.”
Lucas accepted the note, thanked the woman and stepped aside to read it. Victoria waited patiently, but he felt her gaze on him, watching for his reaction. He read it repeatedly; it was only one brief line, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the strange message. He only knew it meant trouble was hovering at the edges of the wedding, ready to strike.
