by Lisa Hughey
Katerina pressed her lips together.
“We’ll keep a record.” The old man negotiated, “With the understanding that you leave Rina alone after it’s done.”
“Agreed,” Staci said.
Staci didn’t like it, he could tell. Then she looked at him and understood he wouldn’t change his mind. He wasn’t going to back down.
He was trying to prevent her death. Trying to prevent the mess of her life from spiraling any more out of control. Trying to protect her.
“I hate the idea of you confronting him,” Staci said softly.
“I’m not real crazy about it myself.”
FORTY
October 19th
10:00 pm
Rural Virginia
Carson Black’s house was an access nightmare.
No way were they ascending that driveway. The house, the final stop, was a good, wide open, half mile from the security gate.
If Carson called in a retrieval team while they were in the house, Jordan and Staci would be effectively trapped. The ranch style house had no cover. Bushes were trimmed. Trees were cut back, making access from the upper branches impossible. Much care had been expended to give the house a normal appearance when in reality the structure was a defensible and almost unbreachable fortress.
Jordan carefully examined potential access points. Finally he decided the best approach was from the neighbor’s yard.
He was betting they had no perimeter alarm. Situated on a rolling hill, surrounded by a lake of grass, the house position was so open, getting in close without detection was impossible.
Motion detectors were most likely only inside the house. There were too many critters in the country to make outdoor sensors a viable security option.
If he was wrong, they were fucked.
Their best hope was to cammy up and crawl in.
What fun.
“How are you feeling?” Jordan was worried about Staci. Her face was pale, her mouth lined white, her skin glistening with sweat.
It wasn’t hot out.
“Fine,” she said shortly.
He wanted to rub his hand across her shoulder, the comfort as much for him as for her, but she’d shrug it off. Jordan leaned closer, breathed the scent of gardenias and Staci, and then held the air in his lungs, wishing he could hold onto her as easily.
He exhaled softly, let the wish go, and scooped out a bit of greasepaint from the jar. Her legs and arms were covered by green army-issue pants and a long sleeve shirt in green and tan camouflage.
A camo cap perched on her ponytail.
All that was left was skin. He smeared the goop across her cheekbones, around her mouth, the tops of her ears. As he spread the paint he was struck by how gaunt her face appeared, how finely the skin stretched across her cheekbones.
She was so thin.
Staci hunched her shoulders as if aware of his concern, closing in on herself, shutting him out.
Jordan efficiently coated his own face, dismayed at how the rote actions came back to him easily. He tucked the jar back in the knapsack and shrugged into the small pack.
The past year at the Franklin Group disappeared in the face of a threat, and he was a warrior again. That was a job he thought he’d given up for good.
Lately he’d done a lot of things he thought he’d given up.
He looked away from Staci and focused on their mission objective. Utilizing the binoculars, Jordan assessed the house and grounds one last time.
The layout hadn’t changed in the hour they’d been watching. No one had approached or left the premises. He’d scanned the surrounding vegetation cautiously, looking intently for any kind of sniper blind, anything to suggest Carson Black was expecting company of the wrong sort.
“Let me look.” Staci held out her hand.
Jordan gave the binoculars to her silently.
She competently scoured the area around the house and the few trees on the sloping hills.
“You see anything I didn’t?” Jordan respected her ability and sometimes you needed that second pair of eyes.
“His wife, Antoinette,” her voice faltered for a moment, “just walked back into the living room area again. She looks to be carrying a tray or something. CSI is on the plasma screen.”
“You know the house?”
“Yeah. Carson was my...mentor after my grandparents died. He and Antoinette had me to dinner on Easter Sunday.” She kept the binoculars pressed tightly to her face, fingers white on the stock. “Spent every Easter here from age nineteen on.”
Every year, she’d been invited to his home for Easter dinner? “Why Easter?”
“Don’t know.” She shrugged. “But it was a tradition.”
Even after Jordan had met with Carson, she hadn’t mentioned how close their relationship was. Just one more example of how she hadn’t really let him in to her life.
He’d examine the implications of her involvement with Carson and his wife later, when he had time to take things out and dissect their relationship.
“I haven’t seen much of him in the last few years, except in a more official capacity.” Staci hesitated.
Jesus, he knew that hesitation. Something bad was coming.
“Occasionally the CIA and the NSA...collaborate on projects.”
“Collaborate how?” He thought he probably needed to know before he belly-crawled across a half acre of exposed open space.
“The Joint Special Collection Service does cross-over intelligence work. Like in a situation where the NSA can’t approach without blowing cover but perhaps the CIA operative isn’t known.”
He heard what she was not saying. On U.S. soil. Where technically the CIA was prohibited from conducting operations.
Shit.
“Sometimes...there are certain non-official cover personas whose identity can be utilized by more than one agency.”
A light bulb went on in Jordan’s head.
Carson used Staci. Suddenly, appealing to Carson for help was more risky. “You sure we can trust him?”
“I’m sure.”
Her whole life was a cover. Jordan couldn’t focus on the hurt penetrating the shell of his emotions. The past was over. He could only control the future. To do that they had to get through this crisis.
“Let’s go. It will take us at least an hour to reach the house, possibly longer.” He lifted the flap to check the matte black watch on his wrist.
He’d have preferred another few hours of surveillance before attempting to gain access, but they didn’t have the luxury of time on their hands. Every minute they spent in the D.C. area was another minute Staci could be recognized and captured. Especially if the guys following him found them again.
“It would be better if we could wait until the wife goes to bed.”
“Antoinette is a night owl.” She pursed her mouth, drawing his gaze to the perfect moue of her lips. “Good news, Carson is home tonight.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
Jordan knew they hadn’t been followed.
Staci had a car stashed in a parking garage in Alexandria. Jordan realized then she could have left at any time. Instead they had driven to the rural farm in Virginia. The closer they had gotten to Carson’s farm, the more distant her attitude.
They’d taken indirect and rambling routes to finally arrive at the farm in rural Virginia. Just because they weren’t followed didn’t guarantee Carson’s house wasn’t under surveillance. After all, someone had connected Jordan and Thea.
“Did anyone know you came here for Easter?”
“Carson might have told someone. Every aspect of CIA life is secretive, so I never said a word.”
“Except Jamie figured it out,” Jordan commented.
A flutter of her eyelashes was her only response, but he could tell she was unsettled. “How?”
“She came for Thanksgiving.” Jordan said, “You came for Easter. I wonder when Katerina came?”
“I wonder who else came.”
Jord
an put the binocs away. He picked up a few twigs and tucked them into the elastic straps on the camo hat, giving her a little gilly decoration. He tried one more time, figuring he’d get no further in the argument than he had while they were driving here.
“Why don’t you wait here?”
“Nope.”
He felt the compulsive need to go over the directions one more time. “The key to moving in on a surveillance target is to go extremely slow. No starts and stops, just slow flow as if you’re crawling through jello. Sudden movements draw the eye whereas consistent movement is overlooked.”
She nodded jerkily.
“If they have long-range snipers, we’re dead.” He placed his hand over the slightly rounded curve of her belly. The little bulge wouldn’t normally be obvious but she was so thin everywhere else that he’d zeroed in on the change in her body when she’d been naked, on top of him.
Not the place to go right now.
“If I don’t get these monkeys off my back, I’m dead anyway.” Her hands went to his shoulders. “Maybe you should stay here.”
He snorted. “Right.”
“Then we go together.”
“Together.” He curved his arm around her waist, yanked her flush against his body. If anything happened to either one of them, he was going to make this final kiss count.
Jordan cupped her grease-smeared jaw, held her worried gaze with his, then dropped his gaze to stare at her mouth. Her breath came in little pants, warm against the evening chill.
The first brush of their lips was soft, tentative, barely clinging before separating.
Staci brought her arms up around his neck, slanted her head and nipped at his mouth.
Everything tightened, his muscles grew harder, his arms clenched her closer. She held his face in her palms, pulling his mouth to hers in a tactical assault.
She stabbed her tongue inside of his mouth, then he refused to let her retreat, sucking, dueling, devouring.
He kept his eyes open. Not wanting to be taken off guard by anything around them, but all he could see was Staci, her desperate grab for him and the near violence with which she attacked their kiss.
The scent of gardenias rose in the steamy heat they’d generated, puffs of white air surrounding their heads like a halo.
Jordan broke away, thinking she would only kiss him like that if she thought they might not make it.
“Let’s go.”
They dropped to the dark ground underneath the split rail fence and began the slow crawl toward the main house.
Jordan buried his face in the inches high grass, cool, damp, and fragrant as he crawled so slowly his muscles protested at the exaggerated, deliberate movement.
At least once a minute he surreptitiously checked his three to see how Staci was doing. His Glock was in a web holster at the small of his back. The range and accuracy were limited, but the small protection was better than nothing. They were still way too exposed for his comfort.
So far she was holding up pretty well. Especially since he knew she’d been half-dead only days ago. Crickets chirped and sang in the cool fall evening. Somewhere close by a cow mooed.
They got down the first slope with no incident.
Jordan wanted to pause at the little dip in the land, but it was better to continue moving than to start and stop even in this relatively sheltered spot.
“Keep moving,” he murmured.
“Yeah.” Staci huffed in the chill air.
They eased up the larger hill. The cow mooed again. Jordan was pretty sure the cow was just a cow. He was also pretty sure he hadn’t spent much time around farm animals.
They crested the hill in forty minutes.
Staci shivered, trembling visibly, obviously working to control her body as best as she could. The dew had soaked through his clothes, making the crawl cold and wet. He hadn’t really noticed his own discomfort, but Staci’s shaking emphasized her vulnerability.
They were about a hundred yards from the house, near a grouping of wrought iron furniture set on a little stone patio. Staci pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, very, very slowly. “Time to make the call.”
“Yeah.” Jordan quartered the area again. His senses were telling him they weren’t in any danger, but he still didn’t like being so exposed. He calculated the distance between them, formulating his plan to cover her body with his if anyone started shooting.
Of course, if there were snipers, he’d be dead before the sound reverberated. On that cheery note, he listened to the soft clicks of the buttons on her phone as she dialed.
“Carson?”
Jordan could hear a response, just not the specifics.
“We need to talk.”
She waited.
“As a show of good faith, walk out into your yard to the stone patio, sit in the loveseat,” she said softly. “When you get there, I’ll give you additional directions.”
The front door thunked loudly and then Carson started down the path towards them. His shoes clicked on the Connecticut blue stone as he strolled confidently toward the furniture. Jordan thought Carson would be hesitant if snipers were in the vicinity. He wouldn’t want to get caught in any kind of crossfire.
He hated this part of her plan. Once Carson sat, Staci was supposed to come up behind him, and immobilize him. Her rationale was Carson would not attack her, but if Jordan were the immobilizer, Carson could perceive Jordan as a threat.
But if Carson had watchers, Staci would be perceived as a threat.
Carson wiped the dew wet furniture with a handkerchief then shook out his trousers before settling on the metal loveseat.
It was time for her to rise up behind Carson. But Jordan saw the exact moment when her muscles failed. The low to the ground position of the last hour had trained her muscles in a set pattern. When she tried to shift, her body had seized.
If she’d been healthy and in her normal peak shape, the move would have been no problem. But her muscles, mineral and vitamin deprived from morning sickness, had frozen. And she was stone still on the ground.
Carson flipped his cell phone shut. “Would it be possible to take this inside?”
“Sure.” Staci still hadn’t moved.
Jordan said, “Give us a guarantee that you don’t have shooters in place.”
“Of course not.” Carson brushed a fallen leaf from his pants. “I told you I’d help.”
“How can we be sure you won’t turn Staci in?” Jordan questioned.
The tap-tap, tap-tap-tap of Staci’s chattering teeth overlay the buzz of insects and that lone moo-ing cow.
“Let’s take this inside. No betrayal. No shooters. Just Antoinette, but if it will make you feel better I can send her to our bedroom without her seeing you.”
“Works for me.” Jordan had already shifted to a squat. He curled a hand under her elbow and eased her into a standing position.
She stifled a groan, barely audible. His body snugged up against hers, supporting her weight until she got the feeling back in her legs, and the vibration ran through her body and into his.
Taking advantage of her momentary inability to move, he brushed a hand over her shoulder, the way he’d wanted to earlier but had known she wouldn’t welcome.
The past few hours had to have been shock after shock but she’d held. Rallied even.
His right hand was free and his weapon out as Carson turned around. The glow from the porch light only touched on Carson’s forehead, nose, and mouth. His eyes were hidden in the backlit shadows, but his concern was evident. “Okay?”
“Just get us inside.” Being this exposed was making him itchy.
Carson strode toward the front door without any furtive glances or hesitation. But Jordan’s itchy feeling refused to go away. Maybe Carson didn’t have shooters, but that didn’t mean that no one was watching and waiting for them to show up.
Their footfalls were soft on the blue stone barely making a scuffle in the still night air. When they got to the porch, Carson held a hand up
, gesturing them to wait.
The front door burst open.
A black woman came rushing out the door, her brown eyes wide. “Oh my God.”
Jordan’s weapon swung up to cover the threat.
Carson grabbed the woman with one arm and drew his weapon with the other, holding it steady on Jordan, not blinking as he held the woman tightly.
“My wife.” Carson’s gaze never wavered from Jordan’s weapon, his own hand steady, weapon still aimed at Jordan’s chest. “My wife.”
The standoff, Jordan supporting Staci, and Carson restraining his wife, only lasted mere seconds, but in that time Antoinette Black registered both guns and the danger.
Her wide brown eyes met Jordan’s gaze. “Don’t hurt her.”
FORTY-ONE
I had to diffuse this situation. Fast.
“It’s okay.” My voice came out weak, thready. “I’m okay.”
Jordan and Carson nodded to each other. By silent agreement, both lowered their weapons. Neither put them away.
“Oh, sugar. You don’t look it.” Antoinette ignored both men, reaching her fine-boned hand out to stroke my hair, triggering the memory of the first time we met.
Carson had brought me to this house after my grandparents died. Antoinette was only four years older but I’d been so lost and she'd tried to comfort me.
She’d let me stay here and mourn; even though she had no idea what she was doing, she’d taken care of me. She’d stroked my hair, just like now. With compassion and gentleness.
“Inside,” Carson said calmly.
We filed into the house. Jordan went last, keeping alert until the front door was closed and locked.
He wasn’t letting me go.
He had his arm curved around my waist, even though I was finally steady and could walk without him. Probably. A shiver wracked my body, dew had soaked my clothes. The raw heat of him radiated at my side.
Weapon still ready, Jordan examined the house with the door at his back, looking left toward the kitchen, then right with a line of sight down a hallway with doors leading to bedrooms.
Straight ahead, the great room exuded welcome, a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace, the television murmured, and a single glass of red wine sat on a Mission-style table next to a plush sofa.
