by Misty Evans
Flynn had reported that, even after the antidote saved her life, Zara had been kept for observation and treated for dehydration before being released. The Director of Operations had personally escorted her back to the States forty-eight hours later and debriefed her. She'd been examined again by the specialists at CIA headquarters and vetted clean.
Lawson and his team had also received a standard physical and a psych evaluation in Germany, but what had taken days in Zara's case had been condensed down to hours for them. The morning after she'd been admitted and still lay half-unconscious from the drugs, the CIA had sent them to Yemen.
Lawson had balked, but Flynn insisted the danger had passed for Zara and another person needed his help. So Lawson and Pegasus went to find the lost spook Hoffman had told him about. They found him, but it was too late. The man had had his head cut off.
From Yemen, they'd been sent to Afghanistan where a reporter for NBC had been kidnapped. They had hooked up with Lt. Redington and his SEAL Team and once again, the combined units had pulled off a Hail Mary. Thirty seconds before the reporter was sure to die at the hands of an al-Qaeda lieutenant, Pegasus and the SEALs made a daring rescue.
One man lost. One man saved. When Lawson tallied up his mental scorecard, there were still more in the saved column than the lost. He should have felt good about that. Should have felt pumped after the last rescue.
Instead he felt like crap.
An image of Zara rose in his head. And then another and another. The last one at the end of the tunnel. Have you ever heard of transference?
He'd been about to pour out his heart to her, tell her how he couldn't breathe without her, and then she'd told him about her crush. Told him she was in love with him.
Not him, the hero who had rescued her. The revelation had sent him for a loop. She said she was in love with him, but he knew she was confused. She was in love with Superman, the leader of Team Pegasus. Not Lawson Vaughn.
Throwing the blanket off, he sat forward and rubbed his eyes with his fists. Hell, he'd always known getting involved with Zara was a bad idea. He'd known he wasn't good enough for her, but even now he still wanted her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his nose in her sweet-smelling hair. He wanted to watch her sleep, make her laugh, listen to her swear.
He missed her.
The guys of Pegasus were some of the best friends Lawson had ever known. He loved the camaraderie and the competition between them whether they were rescuing an injured pilot or shooting hoops.
But they weren't Zara. Teddy, Rooster, C.J. and Johnny combined could not replace his liberal-viewed, lip-gloss wearing, terrorist-hunting partner.
After unsnapping his seat belt, he moved through the cabin of the plane. Most of his men were snoring, dead to the world. Only Johnny's curious eyes followed him as he walked by.
In the rear of the cabin, he sat next to the SATCOM phone and picked up the handset. He dialed Hoffman and waited for the phone to connect with the nearest satellite.
"How's she doing?” he asked when his favorite techie answered on the other end.
"Jesus, Law, it's five o'clock in the morning.” Del yawned in his ear. “Normal people are still asleep."
"You and I are not normal. We work for the CIA."
"How did you get my home number?"
"I may not be a super geek like you, but I do know how to use the Internet. Now tell me how Zara's doing."
Lawson heard the crunch of bedsprings. “She started her new job for Flynn Monday."
"New job?” Lawson's heart tripped a beat. “He's sending her back into the field already?"
"She's at the Farm. Teaching one-day workshops on hostage survival. Flynn figured her firsthand experience made her the perfect teacher."
Lawson whistled softly under his breath, relieved Zara wasn't going back into the field as a case officer yet and intrigued she would agree to teach a class at the CIA's training center. “She's not going back to Paris?"
"Flynn was going to send her back next week, but Deputy Director Stone wants to keep her out of France for awhile. Give things more time to settle down.” Del yawned again. “Rumor has it she's asking for placement in London. She plans to tackle a female Palestinian group the government believes is planning death and destruction on the Arab world."
Lawson smiled to himself. That sounded like the woman he knew. “Anything else?"
"You mean in regard to you? Sorry, Law. All us techies know is that Zara went extreme again and you saved the day."
Lawson grunted. “Truth's more complicated."
"Always is. One more thing you might be interested to know, Zara bought an old house outside Arlington. Some run-down duplex that's been sitting empty. Annette told me she and Lucie are using some of Daddy Morgan's money to open a dance studio for underprivileged kids once they get the place fixed up. Lucie's going to run it."
"Is she living at this house?"
"Why don't you just call her, man? Annette's got her number if you want it."
"What happened with Annette?"
"She's out of a job, but because of the extenuating circumstances and the fact she helped take out Biaggio and Vos Loo, her jail time will be cushy. Her sister was found and brought back to the States. Annette says she's a little messed up, but she's going to see a good psychotherapist courtesy of Zara."
Lawson sat back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling over his head. He couldn't call Zara. He didn't know what to say. In between rescues, he had called other people to check on her: Christian and even her parents. Sitting forward again, he glanced at his watch. “I'll be checking in at the office at 0800 hours. We'll talk more then."
"I want details."
"Done."
Lawson replaced the phone as Johnny slid into the seat opposite him. He pointed at the phone. “Zara okay?"
"Sounds like it."
Johnny nodded. “How ‘bout her sister? She doing okay too?"
Lawson studied his point man carefully. “Lucie's staying in the States for now. She and Zara are going to open a dance studio."
One eyebrow lifted. “Cool.” He glanced out the window. “Where's this studio at?"
"You got something going for Lucie now?"
Johnny blushed and sent his attention around the cabin, checking to see if any of the other men were awake. Satisfied they weren't, he looked at Lawson and said, “We shared a ... a moment. You know, after the rescue."
"A ‘moment', huh?"
"Are you going to bust my balls about this?"
Lawson laughed. “Studio's outside of Arlington. Del says they're fixin’ up an old house."
Johnny nodded and went back to staring out the window. After a minute he fidgeted in his seat and shot Lawson a glance. “Think Zara and Lucie might need some help?"
Lawson's spirits began to rise. Love was like a dark tunnel. You went in blind, never knowing what you'd find or where you'd come out. But if you didn't get down on your hands and knees and get dirty with it, you might never see the sunlight at the other end.
"I doubt they need help,” he said, giving his friend an understanding smile. “But they might enjoy our company."
* * * *
The Farm,
Camp Perry, Virginia
"Does anyone know what this is?” Zara held up a thick book with a broken spine and a well-worn cover.
There were nine men and three women sitting in her class today. Most of them were fresh out of college. A handful were military commandos who had joined the CIA full time. Zara found it difficult not to think about Lawson every time she looked at one of them with their unsmiling eyes and laced-up boots. She found it hard not to remember how he'd turned brusque and businesslike in the face of her admission of love.
Even though he'd held her hand while she fought for her life, he wasn't there when she woke up. He'd dropped out of her life and left her feeling unbalanced, like she was walking around in some kind of fog. Like her time with him in Europe had been nothing more than a crazy d
ream. Now she was awake, but she still couldn't seem to get her bearings.
He'd been checking up on her. She knew he'd called everybody but her. He obviously cared, but the big dummy was too chicken to face her after she told him she loved him.
That was just too darn bad. He'd have to face her, because eventually, if he didn't come to her, she was going to him. She didn't care if he was in the middle of Timbuktu saving a drowning kitten, she was going to hunt him down and make him face his feelings for her. She'd been through too much to let him walk away. A near-death experience could do that to you.
A near-death experience could do other things to you too. Lucie had attached herself to Zara's hip since the moment she'd come out of the tunnel under Vos Loo's lab. She'd fluctuated between joy at being alive and anger about her ordeal. Zara understood. Her sister was undergoing the same emotional upheaval she had the first time she survived Dmitri. The two now shared a bond that was closer than ever and Zara welcomed it. She hoped Annette and Amy were sharing a similar experience.
Taking a deep breath, she slid her hip off the scarred wooden desk and cleared her mind of thoughts about Lawson. Flynn had given her an important job to do and she didn't want to let him down, or the men and women sitting in front of her.
In the days and months to come the students before her would learn what she had learned here a year ago—how to infiltrate hostile countries, how to communicate in code, how to retrieve messages from dead drops and how to recruit foreign agents to spy for the United States.
Zara's class, however, was not a how-to workshop or a test of physical strength.
"This,” she said, waving the book, “is the 1963 version of the CIA's manual of interrogation, the Kubark Manual. It is still the most comprehensive and detailed explanation in print on effective coercive methods. The bible of torture techniques.
"If you are ever a prisoner in a foreign country, you will no doubt be subjected to some of the methods described in this manual to extort information out of you. But it isn't only police forces, intelligence services or foreign governments you have to worry about."
She set the book on her desk and picked up a dry erase marker from the tray at the whiteboard. “This class is a case study.” She wrote the word betrayal in capital letters across the top of the board before turning to look at her students. “And this case study is about me and a terrorist named Alexandrov Dmitri."
* * * *
Five minutes before class was over, Lawson and Johnny snuck into Zara's room. Her back was to him as she crossed off a word on the whiteboard. When she turned and saw him, she went completely still. She hadn't heard them open the door or enter the room.
She shifted her focus away from him as if he wasn't there and looked over the class. “Any questions?"
Yep, she was mad.
"Yeah, I got one.” A guy in the front desk grinned up at her. “You doing anything after class, Professor Morgan?"
The male students snickered and the female students rolled their eyes. The man jabbed an elbow at a friend seated next to him.
Lawson walked the aisle between the desks. “She's busy."
Passing the young guy, he thunked him on the back of the head with his hand. He stopped in front of her, blocking her view of the classroom, and pushed his sunglasses up on his head to look into her eyes.
Her flinty blue gaze challenged him. “Class dismissed."
They stood locked in place as the classroom slowly emptied out.
Lawson soaked up all the pissed-off energy she was throwing at him, loving every second of it. She was alive. Very alive.
He set the bag he'd brought her on her desk. “Word around Langley is I saved your butt again."
"I know. I'm the one who started that particular rumor."
That brought him up short. “You?"
"Of course. Subterfuge. It's part of my job as one of Flynn's secret army."
He chuckled. “So how are you doing?"
"I'm good."
"You look good."
She scanned his face. “You look tired."
No argument there. He knew he looked like hell warmed over. “Any nightmares?"
She placed the marker on her desk and picked up a pencil instead, shuffled a few papers. “You don't have to worry about me. I'm doing great for a pampered rich girl."
He grinned at her sassiness before glancing over the empty classroom. Johnny had closed the door behind him when he'd left with the others. “Hoffman tells me new enrollees are begging to take this class. Maybe I better get here earlier tomorrow so I can see for myself."
"You're coming back tomorrow?"
"Possibly.” He took a step toward her. “If you let me spend the night with you."
She stopped shuffling the papers. “Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you, Commander?"
He took the pencil out of her hands and tossed it on the desk. Then he pulled her against him. “Z, I haven't been sure about anything since the moment Annette stole you out from under my nose."
She tipped her head up. “But you think you can blow me off and then show up when it suits you to sleep with me because I told you I loved you."
He took a deep breath. “Yes. That's what I was hoping."
Her hands pressed against his chest and he let her back away.
But she couldn't go far because of the desk. “No way."
He grabbed her waist and gently lifted her off the floor to deposit her on the desk. She stared at him in surprise, but didn't push him away this time.
Looking down into her eyes, he was suddenly afraid to breathe. “Zara, I...” He stopped and hung his head, trying to find the right words. The moment he'd seen her, he'd wanted to fall down on his knees and tell her he loved her.
She touched the side of his cheek. “What is it, Lawson?"
He turned his head and kissed her palm. Moving closer, he put his hands on the desk on either side of her and leaned into her space, catching her wonderful scent. She smelled like night-blooming jasmine, heart-stopping sex and the Paris countryside. She smelled like the woman who'd stolen his heart.
Clearing his throat, he found the words he wanted to say. “I'm not Superman, Z. I can't leap tall buildings or stop speeding bullets. I'm just a man who makes mistakes and gets scared like everybody else."
He took a breath before continuing. “I'm not a wealthy man, either. I'm not Harvard educated and I know you deserve better than me, but you better get used to me showing up to spend the night, because...” His voice had grown husky and he cleared his throat again. “I love you. So the question is, can you be happy with a poor mortal like me?"
Zara's eyes searched his and came to rest on the outline of his mouth. A faint smile played across her lips. “Can you dance?"
Laughter rose in his chest. “Hell no. But for you, I'll learn."
She kissed him, slow and sweet. Then she whispered against his lips, “Lawson Vaughn, I know exactly who and what you are. I don't need a superhero to make me happy. You'll do just fine."
He took her chin between his fingers and lowered his mouth to hers. Her arms went around his neck and she tugged him closer. Within seconds, the sweet kiss turned hot and needy.
Lawson broke away, breathing hard. He dangled the bag in front of her face. “I got this back for you."
She pulled the red dress out, hugged it to her chest. “My dress."
"I knew it was important to you.” The smile that curved her lips made his heart jump. “Maybe you can wear it when we go back to Paris. I still owe you dinner."
Licking her bottom lip, she shook her head. “I can't go to Paris now. As soon as I wrap up this class on Friday, I'm leaving for London for my new assignment."
"Yeah, I talked to Flynn. He offered me a job working alongside you."
"What?” Her back straightened. “I don't need a part ... ner...” She trailed off, squinting at him. “Unless you're willing to agree that I'm in charge of—"
Lawson cut her off with a kiss. A moment later, she
ahhed into his mouth. The wildcard spook was once again his partner on a very important mission.
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About the Author
Misty lives with her real life hero and hubby, Mark, her twin sons Sam and Ben, and her big dog, Max, in a small town along the Mississippi River. She's a multipublished author who divides her writing time between suspense and paranormal. Once a month, she indulges her love of fashion by blogging at www.solestruckfashions.com.
To learn more about Misty, please visit www.readmistyevans.com. Send an email to Misty at [email protected] to receive her newsletter or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Misty. groups.yahoo.com/group/MistyEvansSuspense.
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Operation Sheba
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Hotshot spies never die. They just slip undercover.
Operation Sheba
© 2008 Misty Evans
Julia Torrison—codename Sheba—is keeping secrets.
Seventeen months ago she was a CIA superagent, tracking down dangerous terrorists with her partner and lover, Conrad Flynn. A mission was blown, literally, when a bomb Julia built exploded early and Conrad died.
Yanked back to Langley and given a new identity, she is now the Counterterrorism Center's top analyst, spending her days at CIA headquarters and her nights in the bed of her boss. Her former life as a secret agent has been sealed off. Like her heart.
Conrad Flynn—codename Solomon—has his own secrets. For starters, he's not dead. Going under the deepest cover possible, he faked his death to save Julia's life. Now he must tear her life apart and ask her to help him hunt down a traitor: her new love.
Is Con a rogue agent or just a jealous ex-lover? To find out, Julia will have to enter a web of seduction and betrayal to play the spy game of her life using nothing more than her iPod—and her intuition.
