by Joanna Wayne
It had been this way when he’d first met Gabrielle. He’d never dreamed it might be this way again. But at least with Gabrielle, there had been countless similarities to bind them together. He and Jaime were total opposites.
There was nothing wrong with being filthy rich. He’d just never fit in that world. Jaime was a luxurious townhouse, fancy parties, expensive clothes, exotic trips and a flashy sports car. He was a pair of Wranglers, sturdy western boots with sheaths that concealed his weapons, a hat to ward off the sun and enough challenge and danger to keep him fired up.
Jaime was hot for him now, but when the newness wore off and the current danger and excitement were over, he’d be just another old boyfriend. Ancient history, just like poor Garth.
Nonetheless, he kicked off his boots and stretched out beside her, nice and easy so as not to wake her. She shifted without waking, snuggling close. Her right leg rested on top of his, her knee nudging his organ. Her exposed breast pushed into him, the nipple cuddling with his chest hair.
Pure heaven that hurt like hell.
He closed his eyes and eventually exhaustion took hold. Numbers and letters paraded through his sleep-induced stupor like soldiers, stumbling over dead men as flat as if they’d been rolled over by a tank.
THE WIND RATTLING A KITCHEN window woke Rio. In an instant, he identified the noise and glanced at his watch. He’d slept for almost two hours. Not so terrible since he’d missed an entire night’s sleep, but it was time he should have spent trying to decode the files. He’d gone a couple of days on only a few hours of sleep lots of times.
Jaime was still cocooned around him. He allowed himself the luxury of burying his face in her silky curls. The feel and fragrance of her affected him like a drug, a very addictive drug. He forced himself to ease from the bed, pick up his boots and head back to the computer.
As he worked, he remembered his dream. Marching number soldiers, moving back and forth in rank and file order…Back and forth. Not a bad idea. He opened a new file. This one was titled 244796. He gave up on the usual formulas based on most-used letters of the alphabet and the typical patterns of consonants, vowels and double letters he’d been working with.
Up two. That would make the Y an A. Back four. That would make the P a T. He kept going until the letters formed a word. Attack.
His spirits soared.
“Houston, we have a word.”
A half hour later, he also had an acronym. RKO. It appeared several times in the file that still didn’t make complete sense. There were code names for places within the code itself and number references to other files. It was as difficult to decipher as a bill drafted by Congress.
He took his phone to the front porch and put in a call to the CIA. After being switched to a half-dozen different departments, he was finally put in touch with a civilian female chemist who was familiar with RKO.
“First let me ask if you think you may have come in contact with RKO?” she asked Rio.
“No,” he replied. “I’m just trying to learn about its effects on humans.”
“Had you come in contact with it, you would require immediate treatment, though so far, contact has been one hundred percent fatal, at least in rats.”
“Is this fatal contamination contagious?”
“No. It requires direct contact with the skin.”
“Exactly what are we talking about here?”
“RKO, or so it’s known, is a chemical compound that was inadvertently discovered by two science students at a university in Washington state. They were searching for a vaccine against the common cold. Their research was dropped immediately when they realized that the compound actually destroyed the heart and lungs of lab rats resulting in almost immediate death.”
“Did the rats’ heart and lungs actually collapse?”
“Can you hold on a minute while I verify an answer to that question?”
“Yeah. I’ll hold.”
Her one minute stretched to five. “I’m sorry to keep you on hold, but I didn’t want to give you any false information. The data I have states that both the heart and lungs shrank to a tenth of their original size.”
Just what he thought. He questioned her further. “Are there any labs in this country still working with RKO?”
“There hadn’t been until recently. The fear from most responsible research scientists was the damage RKO could do if it fell into the hands of foreign or domestic terrorists. Three labs in the country now have permission to use minute amounts in their cancer research, but there are stringent restrictions on the amounts that may be stored and even more stringent protection methods to ensure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Apparently not stringent enough. “I’ll need the names and locations of those labs.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to get that information from the CIA.”
“The CIA sent me to you.”
“But only for certain levels of information.”
He raked his free hand through his short hair in frustration and his voice rose. “Forget levels. We’re on high alert here. RKO may already be in the hands of terrorists. Now either give me the names and locations of those labs or connect me with someone who will. Every second counts.”
The bluster got him nowhere. He hung up and called his CIA supervisor. Five minutes later he had the information on the three labs, but none of the three labs had reported missing chemicals. That wasn’t good enough.
“I’ll take the Culpert-Greene Research Center in Dallas,” Rio said. “It’s the closest of the three labs to me and the one most likely involved.”
“We’ll handle the other two,” his supervisor added. “We can’t waste any time. I need you on this like ten minutes ago.”
“I’m there.”
“What about Jaime Collingworth?”
“I’ll have to take her with me.”
His supervisor didn’t hesitate. “That doesn’t fit with protocol.”
Rio kept his anger in check. “Do you really want to talk protocol with RKO up for grabs?”
“Forget I asked. I’ll forget you told me. Just get the job done.”
It was time to wake Jaime from her nap.
“I CAN’T WEAR THIS skimpy dress out in public!”
“Why not? You look great.”
“For a slut. Look, Rio, I’m as hyped as you are right now, maybe more so. My brother’s name is on that hit list. Buerto issued me a death warrant when he helped plan my abduction.
“But I’m not running around the state looking like I’m trying to pick up tricks. The next time you abduct a woman for the good of the country, you should tell her to pack a bag.”
“You win. Get in the car. I’ll stop at the first mall we come to and buy you a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Fine. But I’m picking them out.”
She grabbed her shoes and a bottle of water as they ran out the door. Rio rammed the car into Reverse and turned it around as she buckled herself in.
“Tell me everything that led up to the RKO discovery,” she said. “Start with breaking the code.”
Her fascination with him would have increased tenfold at his newest accomplishments had it not already reached its peak. She listened spellbound until he’d filled her in on every detail.
“You’re brilliant, Rio.”
“That’s what all the women say.”
“No, I mean it. Nothing gets past you. Nothing is too complicated for you. You never even think about accepting defeat.”
“I’m no longer in the service, but I still live by the SEAL creed. Failure is not an option.”
“Every woman in the world must want a Navy SEAL.”
“We fight them off. It’s how we get our combat training.”
“You always tease when I try to compliment you or get serious about your personal life, Rio. When this is over, I plan to change that.”
“For now, let’s just deal with one battle at a time.”
Rio stopped at the first mall they
passed and she picked out a pair of jeans and a pale pink sweater. She changed into them in the store’s dressing room and they were on their way again in less than fifteen minutes. It was a shopping record she’d no doubt carry to her grave. Hopefully that was many years in the future.
They talked little the rest of the way. Rio seemed lost in his thoughts, and she drifted into her own as well. So much had happened since her abduction that it was difficult to believe that was only a few nights ago. No matter how this came out, she’d never be the same carefree, self-indulgent person again.
Traffic on I–45 grew exceedingly heavy as they approached the city. It was ten past seven when they reached the lab. For some reason, she’d expected it to be in a hospital. Instead it was in a brick physician’s center in a cluster of medical buildings. The parking lot was nearly empty and Rio parked only a few feet from the entrance.
He’d called ahead and stressed the urgency of their visit without telling the doctor in charge of the research center exactly what he needed. A Dr. Allison Pitre was waiting for them just inside the door, along with a burly armed security guard.
“May I see your CIA credentials?” she asked Rio as soon as the introductions were past.
“I don’t carry credentials. I work undercover. I’m not asking for any privileged information, Doctor. I just need you to check your secure storage unit and ascertain that no RKO is missing.” “I can’t discuss the contents of our facility with you unless you bring in the appropriate credentials or arrange for someone from the CIA with the proper credentials to come in with you.”
“There’s no time for that. You know the capabilities of that particular compound. You know what can happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Check your supply now! That’s an order.”
The security guard pulled his gun. Rio spun, knocking it from his hand and pulling his own weapon. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Dr. Pitre. I’ve verified that you keep RKO on site. I don’t want it. I just need to know that your supply is intact. If you don’t check, and we find out that lives were lost because you didn’t cooperate, you’ll face criminal charges that could put you away for the rest of your life.”
“It’s a waste of time, but I’ll check.” Her voice and manner made no secret of the fact that she considered Rio’s request ludicrous. She turned and marched through a pair of double glass doors, locking them behind her.
Rio returned his gun to his holster. The doctor was gone so long that Jaime figured she was calling the police or at least verifying his credentials with the CIA.
When the doctor finally returned, her demeanor had drastically changed. Her eyes looked haunted. Her face was pasty white and her hands were shaking. They had their answer even before she opened her mouth. The deadly chemical was officially in the hands of madmen.
Chapter Eleven
The gravity of the situation couldn’t be clearer to Jaime. She’d seen Luke’s body that morning. That same fate could be planned for countless innocent victims, and the pervasive horror of it had crawled inside every cell in her body.
As yet, she hadn’t had the chance to talk about it with Rio. He’d let her drive when they left the research lab, but only so that he could talk on his cell phone. He’d called his CIA supervisor, then Cutter and now he was discussing the newest developments with her brother Zach. She was starting to feel like the outsider here.
She’d heard enough of the conversations to understand that RKO recovery operations were in full swing. The CIA was checking film from the lab’s security cameras and checking out everyone who’d had access to the supply cabinet for the last five years.
Rio had protested not having an active role with that, but the CIA considered it more crucial that he remain at the cabin with her. Apparently they all believed that the ransom/prisoner exchange was imminent, though no one could explain why Poncho or another guard was not at the cabin with them.
Not that she was an actual prisoner as long her only guard was Rio.
The traffic was much lighter than it had been earlier and by the time Rio broke the connection with Zach, they were nearly to their cutoff.
“What’s the consensus of opinion?” she asked. “Are they going after Poncho? He must have the RKO. How else could Luke have become contaminated?”
“They’re conducting an all-out search for him, and if and when he shows up at the cabin, I’ll let them know immediately. They’ll have a team ready to swoop down and apprehend him.”
“Are they watching Buerto? He might lead them to Poncho.”
“They have that covered as well. The CIA is sending a team to tail him 24/7.”
She checked her own rearview mirror. “Why not just confront him and demand he take them to Poncho and turn over the canister of RKO?”
“That’s what I suggested. The CIA is afraid that if we make him suspicious, he’ll renege on the ransom idea altogether and find another way to transport the chemical. They want him to show up at Langston’s plane, RKO in hand. Otherwise, they fear we could lose control of the situation altogether.”
“That’s a valid consideration. The most certain way to ensure getting the canister out of dangerous hands will be when someone boards the jet with it.”
“If someone boards the jet with it.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “I’m not following you.”
“The missing canister is no bigger than a pound of coffee. If that’s the only cargo, why not just drive it to the border? In fact, Poncho could already be doing that.”
“But couldn’t getting it across the border still be a problem?”
“Taking it across the border would make sense if they were going to use it in dirty bombs. They’d need all the materials in a place where they could work without detection. But I can’t see them using RKO in any type of explosive or even a sprayer device. You heard what Dr. Pitre said.”
“To what in particular are you referring?” Jaime asked. “The doctor said plenty once she realized the RKO was missing and that she’d best start cooperating.”
“The part where it’s believed that as little as ten grams on the skin can cause death. With such a limited supply at their disposal, why waste it by spraying an entire area with a bomb and chancing having the chemical not even hit the target? Watering it down or using pumping devices to spread it through a building’s vents would be even less effective.”
She frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re not in the investigative business.”
“Maybe I should be.”
She felt the look he shot her. “Don’t even think about it.”
But she just did, and the idea didn’t strike her as being that far-fetched. She was smart. She could handle a gun as well as most cops. The hours she’d spent hanging out with her brothers at the range had ensured that.
No one called her a loose cannon, but she’d never been accused of backing away from edgy adventures, either. Skiing the Alps. Diving off cliffs. Mountain climbing. Riding her Harley. She was always up for a little excitement.
And there was no law saying an agent for the CIA or for Cutter Martin couldn’t wear smokin’ hot shoes.
But first she had to prove herself. She thought out loud, trying to connect the dots. “So if they don’t need the plane for the RKO, they must need it for something else. Which would leave us with no clue as to the location of the canister.”
“Exactly.”
Rio reached across the space between them and massaged her shoulder. “You’ve been terrific through all of this, Jaime. If we fail, it won’t be because you didn’t give it your all.”
“I’m not through yet. I’m with you, baby. Failure is not an option.”
His Poncho cell phone rang before he had a chance to respond. He groaned. “If you can’t see the enemy, they’re probably right behind you.”
“Maybe it’s time for the ransom exchange,” she said. “Or, even better, maybe he’s calling to say he’s waiting for us. The CIA could apprehen
d him and this would all be over.”
But the second Rio started talking, she knew the caller was not Poncho.
“Your lover’s right here with me, Buerto, in the hands of a real man, if you know what I mean.” He switched the phone to speaker. “So when are you and the Collingsworths coming through with that ransom so we can get this show on the road?”
“I only wish it were up to me. I only have a minute and I need to speak to Jaime.”
Rio passed her the phone. “Your boyfriend wants to make sure I’m treating you well.”
“Buerto,” she said, struggling to keep the revulsion from her voice. “Why hasn’t my family paid the ransom? I’m sick of this cabin. I want to see you. I want to come home.”
“I want to see you, too, but I can only talk with you for a minute. The kidnappers have put me through to you but they are listening to every word we say.”
“Good. They can hear that I’m tired of this filthy cabin. I want to go home. I want to see you and my family.”
“We have to make that happen, Jaime. The kidnappers want me to tell you that if your brothers insist on talking to you again, you must convince them not to deviate in any way from the ransom demands. Insist they don’t try to trick these men. Please, Jaime. If they want you back safely, they must comply.”
His words, she noticed, sounded slurred. Had he been drinking, or was he using drugs? “I’ll persuade them, Buerto,” she replied. “But I know them. They won’t wait forever.”
“I have to hang up now, but please be sure that your brothers understand the danger you’re in.”
What a rotten, lying, conniving rat, she said to herself. To him she said, “We all understand, Buerto.”
“I’ll be thinking of you, my love, until we can be together again.”
“That can’t come too soon for me.” This time she spoke the truth. She couldn’t wait to see him begging for his own life.
