by Misty Evans
She held his gaze for a long minute. “Just tell me you sanitized it before using it on my food. I mean, I'm not going to catch a disease or anything from eating this cheese, am I?"
If she ended up diseased, it wouldn't be from his knife. The cheese was another story. He picked it off his bread and frisbeed it into the yard. “My knife is cleaner than your mother's best silver, but that cheese is God-blessed awful."
Zara layered her cheese and bread like he had done and took a bite, still watching him. She swallowed. “My mother would no doubt argue with you about the cleanliness of her silver."
Lawson accepted the point without further discussion. He would expect the same from his own mother and her sterling flatware from Walmart. They ate for several minutes in silence and Lawson saw color return to Zara's cheeks. “So Tim was your field officer?” he asked. “What was he like?"
She shot a nervous glance at the house and then turned her head the opposite way to look out at the road. “Funny guy. Always cutting jokes. He had me meet him at The Louvre in front of Mona Lisa's portrait once.” A faint smile passed her lips. “It was the first time he'd seen it and he couldn't get over how small it was. There he was trying to have this big cultural experience, as he called it, and Mona turned out to be small. He felt cheated."
"Size matters,” Lawson said, giving her a grin.
Zara ignored him. “Tim was a good case officer, but he worked too hard at keeping me safe. I wanted to develop some assets who had contact with Dmitri, and I had hopes of personally infiltrating his network down the road. Tim supported my plan in theory, but wouldn't let me actually do anything."
Lawson knew the feeling. He wanted to keep her safe too. She seemed to trigger a man's natural desire to protect her.
He pulled a plum out of one of the bags and handed it to her. “You were pretty inexperienced to try such deep cover, weren't you?"
She took the plum and gave him a frustrated look. “No, I wasn't. You have to quit doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Undermining my skills and abilities."
Nodding, he wiped a second plum off and eyed it before he looked at her. “You're right.” He bit into the plum, chewed and swallowed. “I'm not used to working with women."
"Obviously.” She stared at the farmhouse. “However, I am embarrassed I freaked out and then passed out. Very female. Very wrong. I'm usually cooler than that under pressure."
"It's okay to be scared of Dmitri, Z. He's one bad dude and you got to find that out up close and personal."
She sent him a harsh look. “I'm not scared...” She shook her head, took a deep breath and eyed her plum. “Okay, that's a lie. I am scared of him. A little.” Glancing up, she fidgeted. “I still have nightmares. Ones where I end up killing Tim or Dmitri kills me. I want to nail his ass for those alone, not to mention all the other stuff he's done. All the rotten crimes he's committed."
"Did Tim ever talk to you about the other operations he was working on? He was in Italy quite a bit, right? Did he ever say anything about the Italian mafia?"
Zara's forehead wrinkled and she bit into her plum. She chewed and swallowed. “What has that got to do with tracking down Dmitri?"
"Humor me a minute. Did Tim mention any names or specific operations?"
She shook her head. “He never talked specifics, but I know the group he was trying to infiltrate was part of the Italian mob, and they were branching out into France. Their drug business was in a slump and they were putting some of the smaller suppliers out of business in an effort to create more demand for their own drug supply. Along with that, Tim said the group was recruiting chemistry students and disenchanted research scientists to develop different recreational drugs they could mass produce and market through their already well-established channels."
Recreational drugs. Made sense. Recreational drug use in the States and Europe was still dominated by softer drugs like pot, but more and more kids were expanding their drug repertoire to include amphetamines and ecstasy. “When it comes to hedonism,” Lawson said, “recreational drugs will always be a lucrative market with kids."
Zara finished her plum and washed it down with a drink of Coke. “Kids? How about adults? Many of them experimented at some point and still use common stuff."
Lawson snagged an apple out of his bag and buffed it with his shirt. “Did Tim ever talk about a female asset?"
"Not that I recall. Why? Is there something you aren't telling me that has to do with Tim and Dmitri?"
He watched her over his apple as he bit into it. The sun was cutting through the leaves of the tree, dancing in her blonde curls. “There may be a link between them, yes."
As Zara thought it over, he took another big bite and tossed the rest of the apple on top of the discarded slice of cheese. He brushed his hands over his jeans. “Our Eurotrash friend told me about a prostitution ring run by the Italian mob that caters to the rich and famous ... playboys, royalty figures, actors and self-indulgent millionaires. Apparently Varina Scalfaro actually does the recruiting and manages it all. Part of the services her girls offer includes drugs. Cocaine, pot, ecstasy. Whatever the client wants."
"Top-class prostitutes, high-quality drugs and discretion. A profitable combination."
"Yep. The clients not only become repeat customers for the girls, but they also have a source for drugs they can count on."
"What does that have to do with Dmitri and Tim?"
Lawson shrugged. “Maybe nothing. I don't have a complete picture of Tim's job assignment, but I believe he might have been trying to infiltrate this ring. I also know Varina visited Dmitri and Vos Loo in prison, but I don't know why. Annette claims she disappeared after the prison break along with our two guys. Either she's jumped ship from the mafia to a terrorist organization or she's creating a link between the two."
"For drugs? But Vos Loo's into creating biochemical weapons, not an ecstasy replacement."
"Maybe some of Varina's clients want both."
"And you think Tim may have tried turning her into an asset he could use to get inside information on the organization and its clients?"
"She who holds the balls holds the power."
Thinking it over, Zara shook her head. “What could Tim or the CIA have offered Varina to make her give up that kind of information about her employer?"
"Maybe they threatened to prosecute her and throw her in prison."
"What person in their right mind would be more scared of the CIA than the Godfather?"
She had a point. “We obviously have some research to do while we're looking for Dmitri.” He stood and began gathering up the bags and blanket. “In the meantime, as long as we're out here in the middle of no man's land, you're going to get some shooting practice in."
Coming to her feet, Zara brushed her butt off. “You got me a gun?"
Lawson reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a Glock 22 and several clips of ammunition. He showed the gun to her. “Think you can shoot this one?"
She screwed up her face. “Did you steal this too?"
"For someone who's broken the law more than a few times, you sure are hung up about my conduct."
She squinted at him. “How would you know I've broken the law?"
He shrugged and she looked him over head to toe. “You read my agency bio, didn't you?” she asked.
Grinning, he held the gun out. “Do you want it or not?"
She took it and turned it over in her hands before she raised her gaze to his. “You were a juvenile delinquent, weren't you?"
Lawson smirked. “Damn close."
* * * *
With Lawson's coaching, Zara was field stripping, loading and shooting the Glock with accuracy and consistency in under an hour. The only time panic struck was when he'd stood behind her as she aimed at the human outline he'd drawn on the side of the barn.
He'd repositioned her arms with his, that's all. But it was enough. They had already shed their jackets and his front had been f
lush against her back. Her flimsy T-shirt did little to block the heat coming from his body. With his voice rough and sexy in her ear and his arms wrapped around her, she'd had a hard time concentrating on his words. Not because Dmitri had held her in a similar manner, but because Lawson was so damned attractive. Fighting her female reaction to his nearness, she'd ignored her pounding pulse and put all of her energy into following his instructions.
It paid off too. Keeping her mind focused on the gun and shooting her barn-board target made her fear and anxiety about Dmitri fade away. In its place, anger and revenge blossomed. She blew chunks out of the pretend man on the barn and every shot sent confidence pumping through her veins.
Every nod of Lawson's head made her flush with triumph.
Under his intense scrutiny, she didn't have time to contemplate what she was doing or what the future held. She had to keep her mind clear and her aim true. She suddenly wanted to impress her teacher.
Even though her bones vibrated with certain betrayal.
She fired off another series of bullets, finishing her last clip, and lowered the gun to her side. The Glock sat differently in her hand. Her weekly target practice in Virginia had kept her arms toned, but they were going to be sore later. Her hand was going to be stiff.
Lawson walked up to the barn and fingered the holes in the imaginary man's chest. She'd made the first ones with the previous clip and widened them with the latest one.
"That's good,” he said, walking back to her.
She couldn't keep the grin off her face. He took the gun from her hand and dropped both it and his on the ground near the big oak tree. Then he turned back to her. “Now we're going to brush up on your self-defense training."
Her grin faltered. Self-defense training meant body contact. Self-confidence drained out her toes. “Why?"
"Because you may need it."
He took a step toward her and she instinctively backed up an equal distance. “Dmitri comes near me, I'm just going to shoot him."
He curled a finger and motioned her to come to him.
She shook her head no.
A grin crooked his mouth. “Scared of me, Z?"
Truth be told, she was a little scared of him. He sliced cheese with a knife the size of Cuba and carried a loaded gun everywhere he went. He teased her relentlessly and turned everything into a competition. “I'm not scared of you,” she lied. “I just don't see the point."
He moved so fast, she barely had time to register his intent before he had her by the arms, spinning her around and backing her into his chest. Her instincts and previous training kicked in automatically and she jerked forward, bending at the waist and trying to pull him over her back. They fell together into the grass, him twisting his body so he took the brunt of the fall and landed underneath her.
She kicked her heels down hard, making contact with one of his shins, and heard him grunt, but her satisfaction was short lived. A second later, she was on her back and he was lying on top of her, his hands pinning hers to her sides.
He gave her a smug smile. “Not bad."
His heart beat a sharp staccato against her chest, tripping her pulse into its rhythm. Strong muscles in his legs sandwiched hers and Zara knew with sudden sureness that even with Flynn's training, she was too soft to be any real challenge to Lawson Vaughn.
Which was exactly what he was thinking too. She willed her body to relax and gave him a sheepish smile. “Guess I am a little rusty."
He released her arms and shifted his weight off her. “We'll fix that. I want you to know how to handle yourself in any"—Zara jerked her knee up and connected with his balls—"umph."
He rolled away, cursing, and she jumped to her feet and stood over him. “That's worth at least two points,” she said. When he swerved toward her, she sidestepped him. “Now if I really wanted to hurt you, I'd plant one foot in your face and one in your kidney and then I'd grab my gun, load it and shoot you in the head."
Lawson rose in slow motion to his feet, staying bent at the waist. His voice strained to rise above a whisper. “You never cease to amaze me."
She started to say that was because he didn't give her enough credit, but before she could utter a word, he swept her feet from underneath her and she landed hard on the ground.
"Hey!” She gasped as he flipped her over onto her stomach. His knee dug into her back and the next thing she knew he had her wrists pinned behind her. She tried to rock him off, but his body weight kept her from moving at all.
His deep chuckle rippled over her skin. “Say Uncle,” he demanded.
Zara considered her options. She could not let him beat her. Injecting resignation into her voice, she forced a heavy sigh. “Uncle."
Releasing her wrists, he helped her stand. She hung her head as though out of breath and laughed like it was all a big joke. Then she balled her right hand into a fist and swung at Lawson's stomach.
This time, though, he expected it. He knocked her fist away, grabbed her arms and brought her up against him. “Not bad for a girl,” he said.
She glared up at him. “You haven't seen anything yet."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fifteen
Zara let herself into her suite and closed the door behind her. She threw the lock, dropped her bag on the floor and leaned against the door with a sigh. She was tired and dirty and hungry from the past eight hours with Lawson and all she wanted was a hot shower and a nap before the two of them hit the city for dinner.
He'd promised to take her anywhere she wanted to go. She smiled at all the possibilities as she kicked off her shoes and hung up her jacket. She'd done well with the target practice and, while Lawson had kicked her butt through most of the defense training, she'd still managed to make him sweat. More than once, she'd even had him breathing hard. He'd thrown a lot of tough scenarios at her and there had never been any question she wouldn't fight back with every ounce of female determination she possessed.
Before she took a shower, she needed to make contact with Director Flynn. Using her cell phone, she typed a text message. So far, so good. Plenty of bread crumbs to follow. Mother Goose is demanding but manageable.
Stripping out of her sweaty clothes, she dropped them on the floor as she made her way to the bathroom. Her partner had revealed a lot during the past few hours. On the drive back to Paris, he'd told her a few things about his independent contracting jobs, most of which were classified.
The majority had come through the CIA, but he'd also contracted with several other government agencies. He'd worked with Navy SEALs on black ops to retrieve nuclear warheads as well as with the East Coast FBI Hostage Rescue Team in a couple of delicate situations involving kidnapped children.
Team Pegasus was his pride and joy. He had personally recruited the men and trained them himself. Today, he was training her.
She caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Even though her hair was matted and her face had dirt smudges on it, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. Tiredness aside, she felt emotionally and mentally revived, like waking from a deep sleep. She'd faced the ghosts that haunted the farmhouse and still went on to eat a picnic lunch in the yard. She'd blasted the snot out of the side of the barn and practiced self-defense in the exact place she'd been stripped of some of her dignity. Today, she'd taken her dignity back.
The sound of a bike bell came from her phone. Opening her messages, she read Flynn's reply. Keep Mother Goose happy, but find Big Bad Wolf. No retreat. No surrender.
The last two sentences were Flynn's code for eliminate threat. Zara sighed to herself and responded. No retreat. No surrender.
Turning on the shower, she pushed terminating Dmitri from her mind—ugly business, but incredibly necessary to protect innocent people—and concentrated on the coming evening. Lawson had dropped her at the hotel so she could get cleaned up while he went to return the Mercedes. She wanted to pick a nice place for them to eat, but it couldn't be too fancy or even hint at romance. Cloth
napkins, a breathtaking view of the city's lights, a dinner cruise on the Seine, all out. She needed casual but hip. Maybe a café in the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank, near the Sorbonne. The two of them could blend in with the young professionals there, and maybe after dinner they could visit a wine bar or a shop or two.
She hopped into the tub and started washing her hair. Her arms were fatigued from the target practice and self-defense training, but she welcomed the heaviness. It reminded her of the feel of Lawson's hands on her body as he guided her through different fight scenarios. Of the solid wall of his chest planted against her back and the feel of his fingers on her neck, wrapped around her wrists, grasping her hips. He was hard muscle, rogue confidence and brute strength with just a touch of Southern gentleman thrown in when she least expected it. She would have sworn the only reason he'd offered to take her out to dinner was because he blamed himself for causing her so much anxiety she freaked at the farmhouse and passed out on him. Farmhouse Incident II.
Finishing the second rinse of her hair, Zara saw movement in the bathroom on the other side of the shower curtain. Her heart leapt into her throat and she froze.
The shadow of a man appeared on the curtain again, his hand rising to pull her protective screen back. She reached for the only weapon she had—her shampoo bottle. When the man jerked the curtain open, she threw the bottle at his head.
He flinched and grunted as the small bottle hit his paunchy cheek and fell to the tile floor. He was under six feet tall, and with the bathtub raising her up five inches off the floor, Zara was staring directly into his small, piercing black eyes.
Her reflexes still heightened from her afternoon of training with Lawson, she swung her flat hand at his ear and made contact. He let out another grunt, shaking his head and calling her a choice name in Italian. But he didn't stop his advance. When she took another swing, he grabbed her wrist in mid-aim and jerked her out of the tub.
Off balance, she slipped on the floor and went down hard on her knees. Pain shot up her thighs and she grabbed her attacker's legs to keep from falling over. They were as solid as the pink marble columns on the ground floor of the hotel. He didn't budge an inch.
