She watched him open the door wider and step out onto the front porch. Was someone out there? Her muscles tensed and her heart picked up a few extra beats. Feeling the chilled mountain air drift over her skin, she pulled her button-down stretch shirt tighter and went down the stairs.
Outside, she shivered and stayed close to the door. Jag appeared from around the corner of the cabin, gun lowered. His head moved as he searched the night. He wore only a pair of jeans.
That’s when she remembered she was only wearing a shirt and underwear. Seeing her, his steps slowed as his eyes took her in, lingering on her long legs and bare feet. A warm response flared in her.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
He took the steps slowly and stopped a couple of feet from her. “I heard a noise.”
“I heard something, too.”
“It was the people in the cabin next to ours. Two young couples, and they’re drinking. One of them went to the office for firewood. They keep bundles outside for guests. I think they’re having a bonfire.”
It was a nice night for a fire, cool for late summer. “You heard them getting wood?”
“I heard them when they passed our cabin.”
He must have really good ears, or his training had kicked in. Sleeping on the edge of alertness probably came secondhand to him. Special ops man that he was…
The reminder did little to stave her awareness of him. She glanced down at his bare chest and the perfect fit of his jeans at the waist. It was as if she were becoming desensitized to her aversion to his type. Either that, or it didn’t matter so much anymore.
Raising her eyes, she caught his moving up from checking out her lower regions. The energy heated up between them.
She pointed to the still open door. “We should…”
“Yeah.”
Going inside, she stopped at the base of the stairs while he closed the door. They just stared at each other, gazes locked. Odie resisted the urge to look her fill over his entire body. His quiet patience was equally tantalizing, intelligence and brawn blending to make an intriguing package. He observed her expertly. Read her. No man had ever learned her as quickly as he had. She watched him look down her body and meet her eyes again. She met those captivating green orbs and was afraid her passion showed.
He took a step forward and her heart fluttered anew. She stepped backward up the first stair. He stopped at the bottom of them. Turning, she climbed up to the loft, but paused there to look down at him. Still holding his gun, he put his other hand on the railing and trailed it along the wood as he climbed up after her. At the top, he stood close.
She couldn’t move. The desire in his eyes mirrored her own. All she had to do was take his hand and lead him into her room. She wanted that with such urgency she almost forgot why it was a bad idea.
They’d both declared they didn’t want to sleep together, and yet here they were, on the verge of doing just that.
“Jag…”
“Good night, Odie.” Walking past her, he went into his room and shut the door.
Going to her room, she shut the door behind her. Breathing deep breaths, she turned and leaned her back against the door, closing her eyes and fighting what felt both right and wrong at the same time. Confusion. She had to get her head straight regarding Jag. Was she ready to give another operative a try? Nothing much frightened her, but that did.
The rain was incessant. Outside the internet café, the sky was dark and everything was dripping wet. Odie tapped away on her laptop keyboard, occasionally checking around her to make sure no one noticed she was pretending to be busy. This morning she’d text messaged a computer savvy friend who worked at the IRS. Finally she’d convinced her to send over what she needed.
She and Jag had gotten back from their cabin stay late yesterday. This morning she’d waited for him to get in the shower before she dug in his duffel bag for Frasier Darby’s driver’s license. After writing all the information down and replacing the wallet in the bag, she’d managed to sneak away.
She’d given her contact at the IRS Frasier’s name and the address on his driver’s license a while ago. Now she was getting impatient. She checked her watch. Almost ten.
Her cell phone beeped the tone that let her know a text message had come through. She opened it.
Check your email.
Odie entered her internet email account and saw a message from her contact.
Yes! she wanted to shout out loud. She picked up her phone and replied to her friend.
The usual thank-you is on its way.
It was their unspoken agreement. Bribery did work. Especially for a woman with three kids, no husband and a low-paying job. Five hundred would go a long way.
Odie opened the email.
Frasier Darby. Two addresses. One matched the location of the cabin. He was an engineer. Retired at fifty-six. Must have managed his money well. Married. No kids. Odie frowned. What did he have to do with Kate?
Her contact gave her the name of his wife. She didn’t work, either. She hadn’t been at the cabin. Trouble in paradise? Odie did an internet search of the D.C. address. It wasn’t far from here. An apartment in Georgetown.
“So you didn’t know who he was.”
Odie jumped, still seated on the chair, and whipped her head around. Jag stood there, reading the printout of the email. He’d picked it up from the printer.
“How the hell…?” She just couldn’t shake him.
His eyes rose to look at her over the printout. “I know you.”
“There are how many internet cafés in D.C.?”
“I knew you’d go to one of three. This is the second one I’ve been to.”
She should have known he’d find her. And damn if she didn’t like that. She tried not to gobble him up with her eyes, but it was impossible. He looked good in dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt, and his eyes were glowing with responding awareness.
“Who is he?” he asked, and there was a flirtatious lilt in his tone.
The night at the cabin had sure turned up the heat a notch. She couldn’t be near him and not feel the sizzle. “Nobody from what I can tell.” She looked at his hand holding the email. He kept his fingernails clean and trimmed.
“An engineer.”
“Yeah.” She loved his green eyes. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“You want to go talk to his wife?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” But secretly she was thrilled he was going with her.
He grinned. “Come on. I have the rental out front.”
By early afternoon, Odie walked with Jag toward the entrance of a redbrick and white trim apartment building in Georgetown. Heather Darby lived on the fifth floor. All the way here she kept telling herself to stop drooling over Jag.
His long strides weren’t that much longer than hers, because she was pretty tall. She liked the way he moved. For as muscular as he was, he was agile. He knew how to handle her, too. He had a way of talking to her, and staying close even when she tried to get away. He calmed her. Made her forget her pact to never involve herself with an operative again.
There she went again. Drooling.
Stop, she told herself.
After riding the elevator with four other people, they approached Heather’s apartment. The front door opened and two men exited, one carrying camera gear. A reporter had come with a cameraman to talk to Heather about Frasier Darby’s death.
Odie watched the reporter. He looked familiar. As he passed, he seemed to recognize her, too. That’s when it hit her.
He smiled and stopped, about to strike up a conversation, but Odie kept walking. She didn’t like reporters. Not after Cullen’s identity had been exposed after rescuing his wife from Afghanistan. It had nearly caused TES to crumble, but Cullen had renamed and restructured his business and saved it. That reporter had been the one to catch him declaring his everlasting love to Sabine, who was now his wife and the mother of his cute little girl.
“They
didn’t waste any time,” Jag commented as they stopped at the door.
A fiftyish woman with dyed brown hair stood in the still open doorway. Her eyes were red from crying.
“Heather Darby?” Odie asked.
“No.” The woman glanced behind her, where two women sat on a living-room sofa. One wiped her eyes and sniffed as she looked toward the door, and the other had her hand on the sobbing woman’s back. That must be Heather.
A wiry man stood on the other side of the coffee table, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
“I’m Odelia Frank and this is Jag Benney,” Odie said to the woman at the door, but loud enough for all to hear. She didn’t think there was any danger in revealing their real names. Besides, that reporter had recognized her. There was no point in lying. “We’d like to talk to Heather about her husband.”
The brown-haired woman glanced back at the crying woman again and then shook her head. “It’s really not a good time.”
“Please. We just need to ask her a few questions.”
“Frasier was murdered yesterday. We just got back from the coroner’s and identified the body. Reporters just left…”
“Yes, we know, and we’re very sorry, ma’am, but it’s important we talk to Heather. We may be able to help.”
“How do you know Frasier?”
“He came to us for help before he was killed.”
Jag looked at her when she spoke the lie.
“Help for what?”
“Please, can we talk to Heather?”
The woman hesitated. “Just a minute.” She left the door open and went to crouch before the dark-haired woman crying on the sofa.
“It’s okay,” the tearful woman said. She was almost identical in appearance to the one who’d answered the door. Twins. Not identical, fraternal, but uncannily similar in appearance. Wiping her eyes with her hand, she stood and approached the door, taking a tissue from the wiry man on the way and dabbing her nose with it.
“Why did Frasier come to you for help?” she asked.
“Can you tell us why he was at the cabin?” Odie countered, ignoring the question.
Large, bulbous tears bloomed in her eyes and spilled over onto her face. Her breath hitched in a pathetic whimper.
“I…I kicked him out of the apartment,” she wailed.
Her twin sister rushed to her side and put her arm around her shoulders. Then to them she said, “Maybe you should come back tomorrow. She’s had enough for one day.”
“No.” Heather shrugged free of her twin’s embrace. “It’s okay. If they can help, I want to talk to them.” To Jag and Odie, she asked, “Have you spoken with the police? They were here last night.”
“Not yet. We wanted to talk to you first.” It was a lie, of course. The police would only slow everything down. “Why did you kick him out?”
“I asked him for a divorce. He was having an affair. He was always coming home late and then one night he just didn’t come home at all. He confessed to me the next day.” She dabbed more tears with the tissue.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Odie said.
The woman looked from her to Jag. “Why did Frasier go to you for help?”
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that.”
“Why not? It might have something to do with his murder.”
“Yes, it very well could, and we’ll do all we can to find his killer, but we can’t discuss certain aspects of our investigation.”
“What kind of investigation? Are you detectives?”
“Who was he having an affair with?” Jag asked, effectively ending the question.
Heather looked at Jag. “I don’t know her. I don’t want to know her. He’s a son of a bitch for cheating on me. When I first found out, I wished he was dead.” She burst into a wave of fresh tears and her sister put her arm around her again. “I wanted him to be miserable.”
Couldn’t get any more miserable than dead. “Did you ever see her?” Odie asked.
“No.”
“Did you ever notice anything odd about Frasier’s behavior? Other than his affair, I mean.”
“No. He was good at keeping his other life a secret.”
“His other life, meaning his affair?”
“Yes.” Odie thought any woman who ignored signs like her husband coming home late all the time and never calling her didn’t want to face the truth. And Heather hadn’t. Not until the truth had forced her. Her husband had confessed.
“Did you or Frasier ever know a man named Calan Friese?” she asked.
Heather thought a moment. Then she shook her head. “No. I’ve never heard that name before. Who is he?”
“Someone we think your husband might have known,” Odie answered neutrally.
“How would he have known him?” She looked from Odie to Jag. “Why did he go to you for help? You have to tell me. We may have been having problems, but I loved him.” She gasped for air as she began crying again. “I still love him.” Her crying became uncontrollable.
Her sister looked imploringly at Odie.
“We’ll come back later.”
The woman nodded. “Thank you.”
When the door closed, Odie left the apartment building ahead of Jag. Outside, she noticed a white truck parked on the other side of a flower bed with a tree in the middle. No one was inside.
“Look.”
He followed her nod. “What’s he doing here?”
“Why would he want to talk to Heather?” Odie asked.
“Maybe because we did.”
“Did he see us go into the building?”
“Must have.”
“You’d think he’d stay far away after killing Heather’s husband.”
“Yeah, you’d think. If he was the one who killed Frasier.”
Good point. What if Calan hadn’t killed Frasier? He could have walked in on a murder the same way she and Jag had.
Jag remained parked where he was. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”
Good idea. After about forty minutes, Calan emerged from the building, glancing their way before climbing into his truck.
“Well, he obviously doesn’t care that we saw him.”
“He knows we’ll go back up and talk to Heather.”
“And he isn’t worried. Huh.” She got out of the rental with Jag.
They walked back into the apartment building. Up the elevator and down the hall, Jag knocked.
Heather opened the door, more composed than the first time. “You’re back.”
“Calan Friese was just here,” Odie said. “What did he want?”
She looked warily from Odie to Jag. “He asked why the two of you were just here.”
“Did you tell him?”
Heather’s sister appeared beside her like the first time.
“I told him Frasier went to you for help and you wanted to know why he went to the cabin,” Heather said.
“Did you tell him your husband was having an affair?”
“He said Frasier didn’t go to you two for help,” she said with a hint of accusation.
“Did you tell him your husband was having an affair?” Odie repeated. She didn’t want Calan to know they’d be looking for the woman. If he killed Frasier, he might kill her, too, to keep her from talking.
“He also said Odelia Frank had her own agenda and it didn’t include Frasier’s welfare.” Then she turned to Jag. “He said she probably had you fooled.”
Jag glanced at Odie and she could see his chagrin.
“Who are you?” Heather asked. “How did you know Frasier? Why did he go to you for help?”
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that. We’re from a private organization, but we are investigating your husband’s murder. I’m guessing Mr. Friese isn’t comfortable with that and that’s why he came to see you.”
She contemplated them. It wasn’t much, but it was a vague explanation. Maybe it would be enough.
She exchanged a look with her sister and then turned to them. “He said Fras
ier was involved in something over his head and it got him killed.”
“That much is true.”
“What was it?”
“Did he ask you anything else?” Odie asked instead of answering. “Is there anything else you told him that you haven’t told us?”
Heather looked from Jag to Odie and then shook her head. “No.”
“Thank you very much, Heather. You’ve been a big help. And again, we’re very sorry for your loss.” Odie started to turn, looking at Jag and telling him with her eyes that she thought Heather wasn’t saying something.
He returned it with a similar look.
“What was Frasier doing that got him killed?”
Odie pivoted and faced Heather again. She didn’t answer. Telling her too much would only put her in danger.
“Right,” Heather said derisively. “You can’t divulge that.”
“I’m sorry,” Odie said.
“Are you government? Calan Friese didn’t seem like he was, but you two do. He sort of scared me. There was something about him, you know?” She made a distasteful face.
“Again, thank you for your time, Heather.” Odie turned with Jag and they started down the walkway. There wasn’t anything else to say, and Heather didn’t trust them.
“Wait a minute.”
Excitement and hope soared inside Odie. She knew when someone was about to spill something.
“I lied to Mr. Friese. Frasier did go see a man once. A colonel in the army. Roth, I think was his name.”
Chills prickled up and down Odie’s arms. She knew Colonel Roth.
“I thought it was strange,” Heather went on. “I mean, why was he going to see an officer in the military?”
“When did Frasier go talk to the colonel?”
“I don’t know.” Heather paused as she thought. “Maybe a month ago. I kicked him out of the house shortly after that.”
“Thank you. You don’t know what a big help you’ve been today. We’ll be in touch.”
She and Jag left the building.
“Oh, my God.” Odie had trouble catching her breath after she and Jag got into the car.
“What’s the matter?” Instead of driving away, he kept the rental in park and looked over at her.
Special Ops Affair Page 8
