Special Ops Affair

by Jennifer Morey

  He didn’t seem to like that. His eyes hardened and no longer sparkled with amusement. “Did Kate find something on your father’s murder?” he asked. “Is that what you’re hiding?”

  How the hell had he surmised that? “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “What do you know about my father’s murder?” she countered.

  “Probably nothing close to what you know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Five years is a long time for someone like you not to uncover something. Surely you’ve discovered something since then.”

  She didn’t respond. What could she say that wouldn’t make her seem shady and dishonest? Nothing. Working for a man like Cullen, there was no room for that. Cullen would not understand. And neither would Jag. None of them would. She needed more facts, that’s all. Once she had them, then she could explain.

  That nagging sense that maybe she was wrong threatened her usual aplomb like it always did when she thought too long on it. What if her father wasn’t as innocent as she’d always believed? She’d have to reveal what she knew, and what she’d withheld.

  “What did you find out about your father’s gambling debt?” Jag asked, jarring her back to the present.

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “I read an old news article.”

  An article that had speculated her father had been killed for nonpayment, but that wasn’t true. The police had confirmed it. “He didn’t gamble. That was a rumor started by a reporter who saw him in Vegas.” And she wondered if it had been deliberate, since it happened just before he was killed.

  “But wasn’t his murder a professional hit?” he asked.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t over gambling debts.”

  “Then what was it over?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you think it was over?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a sharper tone.

  “No? No idea at all? Nothing?”

  She pressed her mouth closed. Damn him. He was relentless. “The intruder broke in and caught my father unaware. There was no sign of forced entry. No prints. No witnesses. Nothing.” Just like Kate.

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  She sighed her frustration. “Look, if I knew, I’d tell you, okay? I don’t.”

  His amazing green eyes grew less menacing, her emotion reaching him. “Was he alone when he was killed?”

  “Yes. My mother was out with her friends. Every week she went to dinner with them.”

  “What was he working on at the time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you?” he asked gently.

  If she told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t know. Why would anyone want to kill her father? He didn’t have a single enemy. He was a good man.

  “Does Cullen know he was murdered?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Do you think his murder is related to Hersch?”

  Oh, how she wished she could just tell him everything. How nice it would be if she had someone to lean on. Ever since Sage had died, she’d never leaned on anyone. She’d been in a fight for survival. Cullen had helped her, but she’d been in a shell. How had Jag seen that about her? He was the only one other than Cullen, maybe, who ever had. And it touched her in ways she couldn’t organize in her mind. All she knew was that she was drawn to him.

  As if sensing her turmoil, he turned her pivoting chair so that she faced him, using his knee on the outside of hers to keep her from swinging back toward the counter. “What are you so afraid of?”

  Being wrong. But instead of telling him the way her instincts were clamoring for her to do, she just looked into his eyes. Maybe he’d seen the truth there.

  “Have you ever trusted anyone?” he asked.

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, one time too many.”

  So they both had reason to guard their hearts. Odie found it oddly comforting. They had an understanding now. This didn’t come easy but the bond between them had strengthened. She could lose herself in this moment. He leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers, a light and unexpected caress. But Odie wasn’t resisting. She was too caught up in the moment. He pulled back and she met fire in his eyes before he kissed her again.

  The room lost focus. The buzz of voices faded. All she felt was him kissing her.

  The reminder of why she had to be guarded seeped through her passion. He was an operative who worked for Cullen. He was a soldier first. Love came second.

  Pulling away, she stared up at him, frozen. Why had she allowed this to happen? Why had he? She could see the same confusion coming from him. She didn’t welcome this sudden loss of control.

  Pushing him, she freed enough room for her to swivel back toward the counter and then the other way. She jumped off the stool, walking as fast as she could to the door, ignoring stares on the way.

  What was she thinking? How could she have let him kiss her like that? Did she want to fall for another man like Sage? No! It would kill her this time. She wouldn’t survive another broken heart. As tough as everyone thought she was, she was as weak as a kitten when it came to love. Sometimes she wondered if she was even capable of loving anyone anymore. Not after the first time. The first time she’d loved without reservation. She’d held nothing back. The love she’d felt for her husband had been whole and consuming. And she’d welcomed it. Given everything she’d had to it. To him.

  That had been a mistake. Loving a man who could be killed in an instant had been the worst mistake of her life. She would never put herself in that kind of situation again. Because she never wanted to feel what it was like to have that kind of love ripped out of her chest. Never again.

  Odie’s heart still hammered as she watched Jag stride toward the rental car where she waited for him. Looking up and down the street, he unlocked the doors with the fob he held. She’d already checked—the Lexus hadn’t waited. She climbed into the car, lifting a laptop from the floor where Jag had put it. Jag didn’t look at her as he started the car. His presence was like a generator, though, humming nearby, full of sexual energy.

  She used the laptop for a diversion, activating the screen. “Huh,” she grunted when she saw the GPS tracking software. “You don’t waste any time.”

  “While you were in the restaurant with him, I put a magnetic transmitter on his truck.”

  Too bad they didn’t have one for the Lexus. She saw the indicator on the screen blinking. A street map with a blinking red dot showed Calan Friese’s location. “He’s on the move.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Looks like he’s heading out of town.”

  Jag started driving. The silence in the car was deafening.

  “Odie…”

  “Don’t say it.” He was going to apologize. She just knew it.

  “How do you know what I’m going to say?” He sounded annoyed.

  “You were going to talk about it. You know…it. And I don’t want you to.”

  “I was just going to say you don’t have to worry, it won’t happen again.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “Good.” He sounded terse. “I’m glad you agree. The last thing I need is another go-round with someone who isn’t who she’s portrayed herself to be.”

  “Hey—what you see is what you get. I don’t portray.” Who had he gotten involved with that had portrayed herself falsely? Whoever she was, she must have made quite an impact for him to bring it up.

  He sent her a dubious look. “Maybe not in your work, but your personal life…now that’s a different story.”

  “I just don’t want to get involved with someone who could get killed. What’s so bad about that?”

  He glanced derisively at her and faced forward again. “Let’s just drop it. Stay focused on the job. Keep it professional. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” But she wondered if that was true. Would her heart overr
ule that better judgment? Kissing him had made her feel something she hadn’t felt since Sage. And that more than disconcerted her.

  While her spirits fell, she looked down at the laptop screen and was glad to report a change. “Friese is heading toward Interstate 81.”

  “Looks like we’re going on a road trip.”

  Great. Just what she needed, more time alone with him. She watched the laptop screen, but her mind kept wandering to that kiss. It had broken something loose, something she was good at keeping buried, until now.

  Staring through the passenger window, she didn’t really see the passing landscape. The last day she’d seen Sage descended upon her as if it had happened yesterday. He had stood in their foyer smiling as he held her.

  “Two months isn’t that long,” he’d said.

  “It will seem like forever.” She’d looped her arms around his big shoulders, rising onto her toes to bring her mouth up to his. She’d been barefoot and wearing one of his button-down shirts and nothing else. They’d made love the night before and again that morning, but she could never get enough. And he was leaving.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she’d told him, covering his face with kisses.

  He’d put his hands on each side of her head. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  She’d shaken her head. “Don’t go. Don’t do it anymore. Find another job.”

  He’d chuckled. “You know this is what I do. There isn’t anything else I want to do.”

  She’d kissed his mouth, wanting to convince him to stay.

  “When I get home, I’ll spend every second with you until I have to leave again. Maybe we’ll take a trip somewhere. The Caribbean or something.”

  She’d held on to that thought. Seeing him again. Two months. She could do it. Just two months….

  Three weeks later they’d come knocking on the front door.

  That was the one memory she wished she could forget. Usually she was pretty good at pushing it back where it belonged, in the dark shadows of her mind, far away from her conscience. But kissing Jag had brought it all back.

  She’d opened the door and saw them in uniform. Two men. And she’d known.

  “We’re very sorry to tell you…”

  She hadn’t heard any more. She’d screamed and had kept screaming. Time had lost all order after that. Her mother had arrived. A doctor had given her a sedative. She’d spent two months at home. Well, most of the time that was where she’d been. She’d sat on the couch, ridden in her mother’s car, sat outside. But she’d been in a daze. Numb. Dying inside. She’d nearly died from a broken heart. Her. Odelia Frank. Anyone who knew her now would never guess.

  When she couldn’t take it anymore, she’d convinced her mother that she was better and needed some time alone. But she was anything but better. She’d vanished in the Caribbean and would never have returned—lying listlessly in a secluded bungalow where no one was around. Death didn’t scare her. It would relieve her of the pain.

  As it turned out, her mother had told Cullen where she was, and he’d come to find her. He was looking for a good intelligence officer and had gotten her name from someone he knew, some government type who knew her father. He’d found her in the bungalow, skinny as a rail, uninterested in life.

  “You okay?”

  Odie flinched, her awareness returning to Jag. Feeling wetness on her cheek, she briskly wiped the tears, mortified that she’d allowed her thoughts to run away the way they had, and that they’d affected her like this.

  “Fine.”

  Jag kept looking at her, glancing from the road to her.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” she snapped.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.” Those few dribbles didn’t count.

  “I think I know when someone’s crying.”

  “I wasn’t crying. Crying is wailing and getting a stuffy nose. My eyes watered, that’s all. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

  He glanced at her again but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He was the first person since Cullen had found her crumbling under the weight of grief to see her one vulnerability. Sage and her love for him. And because of that, love in general.

  Well, good. Great. Lovely. Now he knew why she couldn’t get involved with him. She never wanted to feel like that again.

  Chapter 5

  Hours later, Jag drove the rental through the Monongahela National Forest near Harman, West Virginia. The tracker display showed Calan turning off the highway. It stopped moving a short distance up a dirt road.

  Jag pulled to the side of the road at a long driveway leading up to a beautiful log home. Slipping on a pair of thin leather gloves, he pulled out a gun from his boot and opened the driver’s door.

  Odie opened the passenger door and followed him into the woods. The cabin came into view through a maze of tree trunks. The white truck was parked in the gravel drive in front of a garage.

  Jag stopped. “Wait here.”

  “No. I’m going with you.”

  “You don’t have a gun. I’ve been meaning to ask you why, too, by the way. Weren’t you some kind of hotshot markswoman or something?”

  Yes, but that was before Sage. “I don’t need a gun.” She started hiking again.

  “No, you just need your mouth.”

  His teasing tone made her smile.

  Moving ahead of her, Jag reached the sliding glass door in the back of the cabin. Odie heard the sound of a truck starting. Calan’s? Was he leaving? Already?

  She shared a glance with Jag.

  He slid open the unlocked door and stepped inside. Odie searched the great room containing leather furniture and a huge fireplace. Tall windows offered a view of mountains from the back. There were no windows around the front door, but it was open a crack.

  The cabin was quiet.

  Odie’s heart began to beat faster. This didn’t feel right. The front door was open. Calan had just fled. And it was too quiet.

  There were dishes piled in the kitchen sink and papers on the kitchen table. An empty bottle of beer sat on the coffee table before the fireplace. A throw blanket was crumpled on the couch. Someone was staying here.

  She looked out the front window. Calan’s white truck was gone. She moved to the garage door and opened it. There was a white Lexus inside. On the other side of the garage was a motorcycle.

  “Jag?”

  He came up behind her.

  “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Where is he?” If the man who’d come to Kate’s funeral on that motorcycle—and followed them in that Lexus—was here, where was he now and why had Calan come to see him?

  Jag turned and headed down a hallway across from the living area, moving slowly and looking out the windows. She followed, instinctively knowing what they’d find. At the first door, he stopped. Odie peered inside. It was an office. The computer was on and the screensaver hadn’t kicked in yet. On the floor a body of an older man lay facedown, blood staining the carpet around his head. Fresh blood. Whoever he was, he had just been killed. And it appeared as if Calan Friese had just done it.

  “Damn it,” Jag swore, going to the body. With his gloved hands, he rolled the man over.

  Odie couldn’t stop her sharp inhale. It was the man in the second picture she’d seen.

  Jag glanced back at her and she tried to cover her alarm, but he was so astute when it came to observing her that she didn’t doubt he’d picked up on something.

  “You know him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Odie…”

  “I swear I don’t know him.”

  Anger tightened the line of his mouth. He glowered at her a moment longer and then began searching the body.

  She turned to the computer, plucking a tissue from a box and putting it over the mouse. With a shaky hand, she maneuvered quickly, scanning files. Nothing unusual. On the desktop, she brought up the start menu and saw a link to a folder. Frasier Darby, it said. S
he went to the control panel and brought up the system window. Under computer name was Frasier Darby again.

  “Anything?”

  Realizing Jag stood behind her, she glanced back. “His name is Frasier Darby.”

  “I know, I have his driver’s license.”

  Tucking the tissue into her pocket, she left the room ahead of him. They searched the rest of the house. Odie let Jag do most the touching since he wore gloves. After about twenty minutes, nothing significant turned up.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” Jag said, and she followed him through the front door, leaving it open a crack as it was when Friese had left. She jogged with Jag to their rental.

  Inside, she put the laptop on her thighs and checked the monitor. “Friese went left.”

  “He’s probably heading back to D.C.,” Jag said.

  “Let’s not follow him. I want to be able to talk to him again.”

  “Don’t you mean we?”

  She sent him an impatient look while she used her satellite phone to call 911 and anonymously report the murder.

  Just as she finished, the road led into a steeper grade. When Jag pressed the brakes, they didn’t slow. He drove fast into a curve in the road.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Brakes aren’t working.”

  Had someone punctured the line?

  “Someone doesn’t want to be followed,” he said, shifting into Low.

  The car slowed, but Jag had to steer hard to correct the direction of the car as it sailed out of the turn. The car swerved.

  Odie saw the tree and shut her eyes as they hit it. Airbags exploded. She was disoriented for a second or two.

  “You okay?” Jag asked as everything went still. The car engine sputtered and died.

  “Yes.”

  Odie got out and stood under the branches of poplar trees. She looked over at Jag, who’d gotten out, too. She couldn’t hear anything other than the sounds of wilderness carrying on as if they’d never come. She tipped her head back. There was a chill in the air and the sun was setting. She turned toward the road. It was desolate and full of deepening shadows. That didn’t scare her. She knew self-defense and she was with one of TES’s finest.