by Jo Davis
Too friggin’ early considering they’d been up half the night reading and absorbing the information on their case. And exercising her mattress during the other half. “I’m ready.” She rubbed her tired eyes, wishing she’d put on at least a touch of makeup. Her bloodshot eyeballs in her pale face probably looked like two assholes in a snow bank, as her grandma used to say. “I can’t believe one of those guys is a major. This sucks.”
“Look on the bright side — we get hazard pay. You know, in case the major and his buddies get wise and tell Dietz, and they decide we’d look great in cement shoes.” He grinned, apparently not bothered by the prospect.
“You missed your calling as a comedian.”
“I’m a riot at family reunions.”
“You have a family? I thought you were hatched.”
“Now who’s the funny one? I’ll have you know my relatives love me even if they think I’m a bit off. Which, in our crew, is saying a lot.”
“You mean there’s a whole flock of Kellys running around with a glitch in the ol’ gene pool?” she teased.
“Yep. My uncle was the original flower child. Claims he spent a whole summer down in Texas smoking pot with Janis Joplin, and most of us believe him. He’s an aging hippie with a brilliant IQ, still sports a ponytail and wears bell bottoms, and thinks I don’t know where he hides his weed when I visit.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the picture he’d painted of his uncle. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Scout’s honor.”
“Now I don’t have to wonder where you got a name like Blaze. That is your real name, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I have my uncle to thank for that, too. He’s one of those cerebral types who believes a name should fit the soul, or some shit.”
“Look on the bright side. You could’ve been stuck with Moon Unit, Dweezil, or Apple.” No mention of his parents. Interesting. But if he didn’t want to talk about them, she wasn’t going to kill the fun mood by bringing up the subject.
“Yeah, our occupations are strange enough. As it is, we boast a moonshiner, a belly dancer, a lion tamer, and a rock star in rehab.”
She snorted. “A lion tamer?”
“Told you, we could found the city of Kooksville.”
“Who’s the rock star? Anyone I’d know?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Ever heard of Ash Kelly?”
“What? Get out!” She gaped at him. “You’re related to the Ash Kelly? The singer who just built a vault onto his huge house to hold his guitar collection and six Grammys?”
“The same. He’s my cousin — my uncle’s youngest son. We’re pretty close, since we were practically raised together.”
“I can’t believe it,” she breathed. “That’s so cool.”
“One would think so.”
The reserve in his tone pricked her curiosity. “You don’t?”
“I would if he was happy. You might’ve heard or read that he was in a relationship that recently broke up over his career and some scary problems with a former girlfriend. In short, he was devastated, made some bad choices, and is trying to get himself back together.”
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard, but then I’ve been out of touch with a lot of tabloid news lately. I hope he gets back on his feet soon and his issue with the old flame is put behind him. Any chance he and his girlfriend will get back together?”
“Girlfriend and boyfriend. He was in a committed ménage when the blow-up happened.”
She blinked at him. “Oh. Wow.”
“Exactly. Talk about pressure, someone of his stature struggling to keep it secret. Then the big explosion, and the press gets wind of it after he goes to rehab. He’s still an emotional mess, but he’s doing better, so maybe there’s hope.”
She itched to know the whole story from the beginning, but his tone seemed to close the subject. Perhaps another time. In any case, they’d arrived at the compound, putting a hold on her fascinating journey through the branches of his family tree.
She walked inside with him, navigating the maze to Michael’s office. The man’s secretary wasn’t in at this hour, so they passed her desk. Blaze knocked on the partially open door.
“Come in.”
Their fearless leader looked impeccable in his suit, and not as gaunt as he’d appeared when he first returned to SHADO. Had he gained some weight? She thought so but couldn’t be sure.
“Work agrees with you,” she told him as Blaze shut the door, glancing at the sexy, slender blond man hovering to one side of Michael’s desk. Bastian Chevalier? What was he doing here? “You’re looking better every day.”
“Should’ve returned to the fold sooner,” Michael said, giving her a half smile. “Being here is like being a single parent with several hundred rowdy children to take care of. Keeps my mind off my personal troubles. My friends have helped, too.”
Poor man. She wanted to comfort him but doubted she’d know the right thing to say, even if they were closer. It struck her that she didn’t know how Maggie died, and couldn’t name offhand anyone else who did.
Bastian made a huffing sound. “As if you ever allow anyone close enough to—”
“Sit down,” Michael cut in sharply, directing her and Blaze to take the vacant chairs in front of his desk. “Willis and Osborne will be here any minute.”
Michael waved a hand at Bastian. “Everyone already knows Agent Chevalier,” he said coolly, earning a frown from the man in question. “He’s done me a big favor by agreeing to permanently take the vacated CEO’s position.” The one Dietz had previously held as Michael’s right hand, though no one said so.
“Congratulations,” Blaze said with enthusiasm, rising to briefly shake the man’s hand. “I can’t imagine anyone who deserves it more.”
“Thanks.”
“Double that for me,” Emma put in with a smile. Bastian nodded, but before he could speak, another knock sounded and the door opened, the newcomers moving to stand near Michael’s desk, off to one side.
“Sorry we’re late, boss,” Ozzie said.
“No, we’re just getting started.” Michael gestured to Emma, diving in without further ado. “You go first, give us the rundown on our suspects.”
She immediately understood that she was the rookie in the room when it came to this sort of undercover work and was expected to prove her worth. Preparing an agent for a job by doing background research and then providing a disguise in no way equaled the skill necessary to go undercover herself. Eager to make a good impression, she sat up straight and spoke with what she hoped came across as confidence.
“We have five primary suspects who are possibly providing Dietz with monetary backing and who may know where the weapon is being hidden. Ralph Meyer, Landon Hart, and Augustine Kosta are businessmen, all three powerful movers and shakers. One is a woman, Nicole Andrews, who is Hart’s sub. Her involvement is a question mark, more so than the others.”
“Why is that?”
She held her boss’s gaze. “Because she’s only been with Hart a few months.”
“Correct. Go on.”
“The last and most important player is Major Reed Fontaine. He and Dietz are old acquaintances. Eight years ago, there was a whisper of an accusation that the major was overheard having a private conversation with an unknown person in which he sympathized with Al Qaeda, but he was considered so far above reproach that the matter suffered a swift death. He has not, however, received a rank advancement since then, which may have further fueled his desire for retribution against his own government.”
“Good work. What is the thread that ties all of these people together?” Michael asked her, continuing his quiz.
“They are all part of the D/s scene to varying degrees and have met with increasing frequency at one particular club, Velvet Underground. Outside of the club, they have little or nothing in common in their personal and professional lives. For this reason, we believe they’re using the D/s scene as an excuse to meet and conduct their business rega
rding the weapon, and possibly other illegal activities as well, with none the wiser. If they’re meeting at another location besides the club, we’ll follow them and find out where.”
“Pretty clever,” Bastian put in. “If not for Dietz’s connection to the major, we might never have caught on.”
“True, but it’s still theory,” Michael reminded them. “We need proof, which is why I’m sending you all in. If Major Fontaine isn’t Dietz’s right hand, the one who provided the bastard with the inside information he needed in order to steal the weapon in the first place, he might know who did.”
Blaze spoke up. “My money’s still on the major. Despite his ‘untouchable’ status, inside sources say he’s a ruthless fucker with a God complex nearly as big as Dietz’s. If anyone in the government could’ve helped Dietz pull this off and had the motivation to do so, it’s him.”
“With any luck we’ll know soon enough.” Michael shifted his attention to Ozzie and Willis. “You two will spend most of your time in the van on surveillance, listening in. If and when it’s necessary for you to observe from a closer position, Emma will work her magic to help you blend into the crowd.”
She nodded. “Most of the makeup and costume changes I’ll bring, except for what we need ourselves, should fit in the van. Blaze and I definitely don’t want to be caught with that stuff.”
Michael leaned forward, an eager gleam in his eyes. “Good point. We’re all on the same page?” The question was met with a round of affirmative answers. “All right. Ozzie and Willis will keep me informed. One hint that anything has gone wrong, Bastian and I will bring in the troops, so don’t give us cause for worry. Be back here in forty-eight hours, ready to go, wheels up. That’s all.”
Emma rose and followed Blaze out, leaving their counterparts, who stayed to ask their boss and Bastian a couple of questions. Blaze turned around, walking backward, a smirk on his face.
“Getting nervous yet?”
“No. I’m a professional, so why should I be?” Annoying man.
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because in forty-eight hours you’ll have to convince a roomful of dangerous men that you live to serve me?”
A thrill shot through her at the image, but she rolled her eyes to cover the sudden, confusing reaction. “Get over yourself, hotshot. I can act with the best of ’em. How hard can it be to go through the motions?”
He laughed, the deep, smooth sound stroking her nerve endings like a lover. “Oh, honey. After the way you responded to me last night, I don’t think acting is going to come into play. And I’ll prove it.”
“How?”
“At the end of this assignment, if you can look me in the eye and honestly say you didn’t love every single part of your role — minus the bad guys, of course — then I’ll be your sub for as long as you want.”
She stared at him, incredulous. A man like him would never make a bet like that if he thought there was a chance in hell he’d lose. “You’re on,” she heard herself say, the lure of the wager too much to resist.
What? You idiot! You played right into his hands!
“Great! Dig around in that costume box and get your leathers polished, baby,” he said in a low voice, raking her from head to toe with a heated look. “We have some… research to conduct in the name of national security. See you when you get off work.”
He spun and jogged off, and she spent a few moments watching his fine ass disappear down the corridor before the clearing of a throat snared her attention. She turned to see that Ozzie and Willis had joined her and were grinning like Cheshire cats. How much had they heard? Her face flushed.
“Shut up,” she said, pointing her finger at Ozzie, before he could even open his mouth.
She marched away, heading for the sanctuary of her office, their snorts of laughter at her back.
Jerks. Must be part of the male DNA.
No wonder most of the world was at war; men were in charge. And she, a strong, competent professional woman, was about to abase herself at the feet of one of their nutty population.
You had to love irony.
Robert Dietz sat quietly on the metal bench in his barren white cell, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, the picture of the perfect gentleman.
Why shouldn’t he be calm and polite toward his guards? It wasn’t as if he’d be here much longer. No, this was and always had been strictly business. He harbored no real animosity toward anyone at SHADO.
Except for Michael Ross. Him, he’d gladly consign to hell.
If only poor Maggie’s untimely death had kept Ross from the helm a while longer, SHADO would’ve been firmly under Robert’s control by now. A near-invincible force of surveillance experts, combat veterans, and assassins — his to direct to his causes at will.
For that loss alone, he’d triple Ross’s suffering.
A pained grunt and the sound of footsteps running toward him along the corridor broke into his thoughts. He stood and moved to the cell door, the anticipation of probable danger singing in his blood. He hadn’t been behind a desk so long that he’d forgotten how to fight when necessary. He’d require all of that experience now, and then some.
Avery Hanson appeared at his cell door, shouldering an Uzi submachine gun and fumbling with a ring of keys. “Shift change. Took out the new guards and the security camera just like you told me,” he panted, young face pinched in anxiety.
“Well done. We have perhaps forty-five seconds to a minute before someone comes to check on the glitch. Surprise is our best advantage on the way out, so we have to move.”
“Yes, sir.” With a twist of the key, Hanson unlocked the door, and the wall of bars slid sideways automatically. Reaching into the back of his fatigues, he removed a Glock and slapped it into Dietz’s waiting palm.
“Tio?” Dietz barked at the younger man.
“On the roof. He slipped onto the compound with the fake ID I made for him and commandeered the helicopter, just like you ordered.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
Ross would shit brass monkeys when he got wind of this, in mere moments. Even though Ross had to know there was a mole in SHADO, he would never expect a direct assault from the inside. The idea made him smile.
At this hour there were few operatives in the building; it was the lull before the morning bustle, which was precisely why he’d chosen this time. Casualties were unavoidable, such as the two guards on his cell block that Hanson had dispatched, but would be kept to a minimum. He wasn’t, after all, a vicious man — simply a practical one. Waste not was his belief.
He and Hanson made their way cautiously down the corridor, passing the other cells, all vacant. He supposed that as their sole guest he should feel special.
The first guard lay prone at the end of the corridor. Dietz stepped over his bulk, noting a curious lack of blood. He directed a sharp look at Hanson as they continued on. “Did you kill him?”
“I incapacitated him. He’s out for a while.”
Killing a man who posed an imminent threat was not wasteful. It was one thing to act in an expedient manner, quite another to act in cowardice wearing the guise of mercy. Dietz wondered which described Hanson’s reluctance to permanently remove the guard as a threat. That was the chance one took when trying to mold someone so young and inexperienced. He’d have to address the issue with the man later.
They stepped over a second guard, also unconscious, he presumed. At the elevator, Hanson swiped his electronic card to gain access, and they rode up in tense silence. The true test was yet to come — he’d leave either in the helicopter or in a body bag. But one way or the other, he was leaving.
As a security measure, the elevator from the basement jail ascended only to the first floor. From there, they’d negotiate a couple of corridors to reach the elevator that would take them to the helipad on the roof. Perhaps luck would remain on their side and they would get away cleanly.
As if the thought had conjured them, a handful of agents jogged around the corner at the
end of the hallway, weapons drawn. Spitting a curse, Dietz raised his arm and fired several shots at the group, scattering them. The agents took cover in open doorways and returned fire, bullets slamming into the wall as he dove to one side.
The bastards, firmly entrenched and blocking the route to the elevator, had him and Hanson pinned. Unless he did something fast, this was going to end badly.
He ducked through the open doorway next to him and looked into a woman’s shocked face dominated by huge blue eyes, and grinned.
“Hello, dear,” he said, leveling the gun at her heaving chest. “Let’s go for a stroll, shall we?”
Emma stared into Dietz’s smug face, unable to comprehend for a second, but catching on fast. The sound of guns that had drawn her from the office, not to mention the one in his hand, told most of the story. “How the hell did you escape?”
He advanced quickly, moving to stand behind her and shoving the muzzle into her right temple. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat on our helicopter ride. Let’s go.”
She held fast even as a chill swept through to her bones. “If you kill me, you won’t make it out alive, and I’m not planning to cooperate. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to negotiate a hostage to take your place. Are you the sort of woman who would send a man in your stead? Can you live with the death of a fellow agent on your conscience?”
“Robert Dietz, throw out your weapon and come out with your hands up!” an agent shouted from the hallway.
The disgraced leader whispered in her ear. “Well?”
Loathing for this worm filled her, and a sinking sense of helplessness. She would never allow one of her comrades to be hurt if she could prevent it, and he knew it. “I guess I’m going for a ride,” she hissed.
“Good girl.”
The praise, a twisted version of the same words Blaze had spoken, sickened her. Coming from his lips, it sounded perverse.
“Hold your fire!” he yelled, then urged her forward. “Move.”
