Undercover Agent

by Slade, Heather

  Remembering her reaction to Rashid and how she’d demurely looked at the floor when he’d questioned her, I wondered how she’d react if I told her to—demanded that she—raise her dress and spread her legs? What if, at the same time, I pulled the bodice down so both her tits and pussy were on view for me?

  I tried to focus on the road, and even though I could feel Emerson’s eyes on me, I didn’t allow myself another look.

  “Lynx?”

  “I can’t look at you at the moment, my darling. My ability to drive depends on my keeping my eyes off of you.”

  “You missed the exit.”

  How did she make those four words sound like the sexiest I’d ever heard? “Fuck,” I swore under my breath, and then had to look at her to see if she’d heard me.

  Her eyes were hooded. Had she been able to read my thoughts? Did she want my hands on her as much as I wanted to run them over every inch of her bare skin? Thrust my fingers into her pussy while I demanded she pinch her nipples for me? I groaned and adjusted my trousers as she watched.

  “Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now, Emerson? How much I want to spread your legs and taste the sweetness between them?”

  She shuddered like she had so many times in the last few hours. It was all I could do not to pull the car over and rip her dress from her body.

  Somehow, although I doubt I could duplicate our drive, I got us to her building. I pulled up to the front and was about to get out to open her door, when I saw a man standing near the entrance.

  “What is Paxon doing here?” she murmured, obviously noticing him at the same time I did.

  I didn’t know, but by the look on his face, I could tell his reason wasn’t a good one.

  He walked over and opened Emerson’s door, glaring at me as he held out his hand to help her out. After he had, Irish stuck his head inside. “Where have you been?”

  I didn’t care for his tone even a little. “Dinner, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “We need to talk,” he seethed.

  I looked beyond him to where Emerson waited just inside the glass doors of her building.

  “She knows who I am,” I told him.

  “About Saint,” he spat, slamming the passenger door before he stalked away.

  “What’s going on?” Emerson asked when I joined her in the lobby.

  “I believe Mr. Warrick has news of Saint.”

  Other than looking into my eyes, she had little reaction. As we rode the lift to her floor, I noticed her chewing the inside of her lip.

  “Is Tommy in danger?”

  “I fear he is.”

  “Paxon isn’t an assistant analyst, is he?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Does he also work for MI6?”

  “No. CIA.”

  Emerson nodded and continued chewing the inside of her lip, processing what I’d just told her.

  “Does the danger Tommy is in have anything to do with China?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “My work with Dr. Benjamin specifically?”

  “Yes,” I answered for the second time. As much as I wanted to reassure her, I had to meet with Irish first and find out what was so urgent that he’d been waiting outside Emerson’s building.

  “Goodnight,” she said when we exited the lift and I walked toward Saint’s apartment rather than hers. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” She opened her door and then closed it behind her without taking another look at me.

  I stalked over to Saint’s apartment, ready to tear into Irish, but stopped abruptly. As I’d told Emerson, he was not MI6. He worked for the CIA. If there was anyone I should be tearing into, it was his boss.

  Sumner Copeland was a man I knew well. We’d risen through the ranks of our respective agencies at the same time and had always been able to work out our differences even when our employers couldn’t.

  “Lynx, I’ve been expecting this call.”

  “How are you, Cope?”

  “Working too much. Don’t see my family nearly enough. You know how that is.”

  I did understand the part about working too much, but outside of my brother, who worked as much or more than I did, I didn’t have anyone in my life who would miss me if I weren’t around.

  “You said you’ve been expecting my call. Why?” I asked.

  “What has Irish told you?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “We’ve received a brush pass from Saint.”

  “And?” Jesus, why hadn’t Irish said so straight away?

  “He’s tracked Benjamin into Hong Kong.”

  That didn’t come as a surprise. The man had been hell-bent on using the Hong Kong protests as a stage to further his agenda by way of calling attention to China’s human rights exploitation.

  “There’s more.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m quoting here, Lynx, so please understand that the phraseology comes from Saint himself.”

  “Very well.”

  “The message reads, ‘We don’t protect them because they are weak. We protect them because they are strong, and strong people make enemies.’”

  It wasn’t unlike Saint to use obscure quotes as messages. He liked to dangle clues without enough bloody information for anyone to decipher it—a trait I was beginning to abhor.

  “Any idea what he’s referring to?” Cope asked.

  “Not straight away.”

  “Irish thinks it’s a reference to Dr. Charles.”

  There was a certain amount of logic behind that line of thinking. While not as publicly outspoken as Dr. Benjamin, Emerson was among the leading critics of the Chinese. The policy she wrote often suggested trade sanctions designed to bring them to their knees economically.

  Cope went on. “I’m going to tell you something that needs to stay confidential between us. Can you give me your word?”

  “You have it.”

  “Tread carefully, Lynx.”

  “For bloody sake, Cope, get to the point.”

  “Irish believes you pose a threat to Dr. Charles.”

  “Pull him,” I spat.

  “I won’t do that.”

  “Then I’ll go over your head.”

  “He’s a good man, Lynx. Misguided at times, but nonetheless, a good man and an outstanding agent. I believe his heart lies in protecting Dr. Charles.”

  “I’ll not have someone working against me on my own mission, Cope.”

  “Then convince him that you both have the same agenda—protecting Dr. Charles.”

  I shouldn’t have to convince anyone of a bloody thing.

  “Irish may have developed feelings for the doctor.”

  Yes, he’d mentioned that himself, but it didn’t make the situation any better.

  “Work with him, Lynx. Use it to your advantage.”

  I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Other than going above Cope’s head, but did I truly have cause?

  “By the way,” he said. “I had a conversation earlier with Z. He’ll be expecting your call as well.”

  I was a card-carrying spy, and even I was annoyed by this subterfuge.

  I rang off my call with Cope and immediately placed one to my boss, Z Alexander, Chief of the U.K.’s Secret Intelligence Service, aka MI6.

  “Lynx, I was about to ring you,” he said.

  “Second time I’ve heard that this evening. I’ve just finished speaking with Cope.”

  “You’re aware of Saint’s brush pass, then?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “The bloody wanker and his quotes. Why didn’t he say what needed to be said straight out?” Saint had been walking on thin ice with Z before this mission. The only thing standing between him and unemployment was my personal assurance I’d bring him around. I was beginning to wish I hadn’t made that commitment.

  “He and Benjamin are in Hong Kong. Shall I assemble a team to go in for them?”

  “I’ve decided we should go off the books for this one.”


  “I don’t necessarily disagree, but what’s your reasoning?”

  “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.”

  I concurred with his Hamlet reference. Everything was not as it seemed.

  “Are your concerns within MI6?”

  “Not presently.”

  “Who are you thinking?”

  “Your call, Lynx, but I do have a recommendation.”

  “Go on.”

  “You’ve worked with Decker Ashford in the past.”

  “Many times.” The American was a bloody genius when it came to security technology—aka spyware.

  “You know about the new group, then?”

  I laughed, of course I did, and Z knew it. My younger brother, Keon, a former MI5 agent, was one of the four founding partners, along with a high-ranking MI6 agent and another MI5 agent.

  The aforementioned Ashford had always refused to do more than freelance contracting work. I was anxious to ask what had made him change his mind about becoming a permanent part of this particular team.

  In any event, while this was a big op for a new team, collectively they were hardly unseasoned recruits.

  “I’ll ring them.”

  “Glad you agree, Lynx,” Z said as if I’d had a choice.

  10

  Emerson

  I was stunned it hadn’t occurred to me that Paxon wasn’t who he pretended to be. I’d worked with the CIA a number of times. Why hadn’t it dawned on me until now that that’s what he was?

  He’d shown up nine months ago, within a few days of Tommy moving into the building, not that I’d noticed at the time. There was something about that coincidence I was missing. What, though?

  Lynx had confirmed that Tommy’s disappearance had something to do with my work with Dr. Benjamin in regard to China. Again, what?

  The Chinese had been my main focus since joining the IPP. I was offered the position because of my research into the risks associated with our dependence on their exports—particularly generic prescription drugs.

  While some considered my viewpoints alarmist, given the growing trade war and animosity between our two countries, I believed the United States’ utter dependence on China for basic medicines posed a significant national security threat. The subject of my doctoral dissertation was how China’s drug manufacturing dominance gave it a “nuclear” option in the ongoing trade war. Millions of Americans could die without access to lifesaving medications if China decided to weaponize its drug-making.

  Considering MIT was aggressive in hiring me away from Stanford, I initially felt vindicated in the face of my naysayers. Any sense of victory I felt was soon replaced by dread when I realized that my theories were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the threat China posed not just to the United States, but to the world.

  I’d been with IPP a little over a year when, six months ago, Dr. Benjamin contacted me directly, asking for a meeting. I’d had to clear it with the head of the program, but given the request had also come to him by way of England’s prime minister, he was quick to approve it.

  If I thought I’d stumbled on a significant Chinese threat, what I learned from Dr. Benjamin had made my blood run cold. So much so, that there were times I wanted to walk away from my job and find a teaching position in some small college town off the world’s radar.

  I couldn’t, though. The reason I’d begun researching China’s role in the U.S. pharmaceuticals in the first place was personal. At the time, my main concern related to their import of illicit fentanyl and the painkiller’s analogues.

  Fentanyl was one hundred times stronger than morphine. It was given to relieve severe pain, like after surgery. The addictive nature of the drug resulted in it being responsible for over fifty thousand deaths this year alone in the U.S. Three years ago, while I was at the conference in London, my older brother became one of those statistics.

  He’d gotten hooked on it after he had knee surgery following a football injury. The autopsy my parents had asked be performed, indicated that the amount of the drug found in his body had depressed his respiratory system to the point of failure, leading to his fatal overdose.

  I was wrecked by his death. More so because I’d been out of the country at the time. Shortly after leaving Lynx’s bed and returning to my room, I received the call from my parents, informing me of what happened, and had made arrangements to fly home immediately.

  Even if Lynx had tried to find me, I was already gone.

  The days and weeks that followed were among the worst of my life. For me, losing a sibling had been devastating; for my parents, it had been their worst nightmare realized.

  The truth was, my night with Lynx helped me through it. Whenever things became too much for me to handle and I had to check out for a few minutes, I let my mind wander to memories of the hot Englishman I met in a bar, followed by a wild night of sex. It was the craziest thing I’d ever done, and somehow, I thought if he’d known, my brother would have given me an enthusiastic pat on the back for doing something so far out of my comfort zone.

  In the same way it helped my parents and me navigate his addiction, counseling got us through my brother’s death. It hadn’t been easy then, and it still wasn’t. I felt his loss on a daily basis. Things happened that I’d want to share with him, or I’d see something that reminded me of him—there were countless ways he came to mind. Each time, it felt like a knife in my heart.

  I heard a knock at the door and walked over to open it, expecting to see Lynx. Instead, it was Paxon.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” I said, stepping aside and then looking beyond him.

  “He’s not with me. I asked for a few minutes on my own.”

  I nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. I’m here to apologize.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re doing your job.”

  Tonight was the first I’d seen him wear anything besides a long-sleeve dress shirt, and was stunned to see that both of his arms were covered with tattoos. His body, like Lynx’s, was muscular, something I also hadn’t noticed as much when he wore business attire.

  “Sometimes, the hardest part of being undercover is getting to know the people you work with, and then feeling regret that the role you play in their lives isn’t real.”

  “I understand,” I murmured. “What happens now?”

  “Nothing changes, except that you know who I really am, and that makes it harder on you. On the other hand, both Lynx and I are going to ask you to help us, and that we can be upfront about it, makes it easier for all three of us.”

  “Is anyone else in the office aware of who you really are?”

  “Only Dr. Baker.”

  That made sense. As the head of the International Policy Program, it would’ve been necessary for Dr. Baker to approve the CIA and MI6 working undercover within our walls.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s happening with Tommy, or is Lynx?”

  “He will.”

  I saw a glimpse of something on his face that he quickly masked. Perhaps whatever that was about, Lynx would explain to me also.

  “Thank you for coming over to talk to me rather than waiting until tomorrow when it might be awkward.”

  “It’s late. I should go.”

  I walked Paxon to the door, but before he could walk out, I put my hand on his shoulder. When he turned, I hugged him. I could feel the relief in his muscles when he returned my embrace.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, stepping away from me.

  Interesting word choice. Not “see you tomorrow.”

  He and Lynx made eye contact when he brushed past Paxon, who stood waiting for the elevator, but neither spoke.

  I closed the door behind us once he stepped inside.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked him like I’d asked Paxon.

  “A glass of wine if you have it.”

  I held up two bottles, and Lynx pointed to the red. I handed him a glass and
motioned to the sofa. When I sat beside him, he stretched his arm out behind me.

  “It’s after midnight. You’ve had a long day,” he said, brushing his fingertips along my shoulder.

  “I won’t be able to sleep until you tell me what’s going on. That’s if you’re permitted to.”

  When he sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand, I stood.

  “Wait.” He grasped my wrist, and I sat back down. “As you’re aware, Saint’s mission, as well as Irish’s, is highly classified.”

  “Irish?”

  “Right. Sorry. Paxon.”

  “Not an assistant analyst, an agent. Someone who has worked in my midst, with whom I shared my opinions and beliefs. Who in turn will likely use them against me.” I hated being deceived, especially when so much of my work involved interacting with high-ranking government officials. Why hadn’t the CIA, or even my own boss, trusted me not to divulge the identity of the undercover agent? It was something they’d have to do now.

  He ran his finger down the side of my face. “You’re feeling betrayed.” Again, I found myself wondering how the man was seemingly able to read my thoughts.

  “Tell me what you can about Tommy.”

  “He was here undercover, essentially on Dr. Benjamin’s detail. But for other reasons too. I’m here because he’s been out of contact for over two weeks.”

  “What’s different tonight? If you’re here because he’s been out of contact and it’s been two weeks, why was Paxon waiting when we got back?”

  “He received word of a brush pass—in this case, agent to agent.”

  “Tommy handed something off to another agent?”

  “That’s right. Not MI6, CIA.”

  Which was logical. If the brush pass had happened between two MI6 agents, Lynx would’ve been contacted rather than Paxon.

  “What was it?”

  “Information that could lead us to his whereabouts.”