Proof of Life: Super Agent Series, Book 3

by Misty Evans

  Lifting her gaze to his, she sent him a smile to tell him…what? That she was all right? That it wasn’t his fault she was getting stitches? That she was grateful he’d saved her from certain death?

  His gaze held hers with its usual reserve, but something flared in his eyes she recognized. Something that echoed in her blood, and suddenly she knew it wasn’t his jacket she was really interested in. He stepped to her side, and without a word, took her trembling hand in his.

  She forgot the throbbing in her arm and neck and closed her eyes. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Someone had deliberately tried to kill her and all she could think about was how Michael Stone’s arms would feel around her instead of his jacket. How his hands would feel on her neck, her shoulders, her hips…

  The pain, she could blame her pointless daydreams on the pain. Or the adrenaline crash from being shot. Or maybe she really was in shock…

  Good rationalizing, she told herself. Keep it up.

  Half an hour later, her need to bury herself in Michael’s arms firmly squashed and her hand reluctantly removed from his, she was ready to walk out of the hospital with her bandaged shoulder.

  Dr. Lakshmi had other ideas. “Overnight observation,” she ordered.

  “For what?” Brigit said.

  Dr. Lakshmi set her lips as she signed a form on the clipboard. “Treatment for infection and possible shock.” She eyed Michael and Truman before giving Brigit a scolding look. “And you could still be in danger. Hospital is safe.”

  Before Brigit could open her mouth to argue, the woman handed the clipboard to the nurse and left the small ER cubicle with a flourish, the privacy curtain swaying with her exit.

  The nurse tucked the clipboard under her arm and handed Brigit a faded hospital gown. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t need to stay overnight.”

  Truman pocketed his phone. “Actually, it’s a good idea.”

  The message in his eyes was clear. JOE insisted she lay low. “But really I—”

  “Need to follow the doctor’s orders.” Michael gritted his teeth for a second, worry warring with impatience. He spoke to Truman. “I’ll order a guard be put outside her door.”

  Truman, the traitor, nodded. The nurse opened the gown and began sliding it up Brigit’s arms.

  Brigit narrowed her eyes at Michael. “If you were me, with nothing more than a flesh wound, would you let the doctors keep you overnight for observation?”

  “I’m not you.”

  “Meaning what? Because I’m female, I’m weak and can’t protect myself?”

  Batman bristled, hands on hips. “Being female has little to do with it. Being foolhardy does.”

  Foolhardy? “Please give me credit for an ounce of intelligence. I never dreamed there’d be a sniper there today, nor that said sniper would take a shot at me.”

  A flash of irritation made his narrowed eyes darken. She saw him mentally dig in his heels. “Intelligence is not the same thing as common sense.”

  Footsteps sounded near the curtain. A male voice came from the other side. “Deputy Director? There’s a phone call for you at the desk. It’s the president.”

  “Excuse me.” He nodded at Truman, some secret male message passing between them, and left the cubicle, sending one more challenging glance in Brigit’s direction.

  Anger burned in her veins. The nurse smiled a knowing smile at her, which only made the anger rush faster and burn deeper. “That man is gorgeous,” she said in a murmured woman-to-woman voice.

  Truman stepped forward as the nurse moved behind Brigit to tie the gown in place. He lowered his voice a notch. “Stay in the hospital at least for the afternoon until I decipher what happened and who was involved.”

  Brigit glared at him. “Bring me fresh clothes ASAP.”

  “Dr. Kent,” he said, his voice full of warning.

  “Bring me fresh clothes or I’ll fire your ass.”

  His eyes bore into hers as he tried to go Michael on her. “Two hours, that’s all I’m asking for. Take your pain meds and get some sleep.”

  As the nurse guided her to lie down on the gurney, Brigit winced as pain shot up her neck again. “No meds. No sleep. You have one hour to get back here with my clothes.”

  Truman stepped back and sighed, shifting back into his normal I-can’t-do-anything-with-you mode. “You’re the boss, Gidge.”

  Brigit tugged at the gown and bit her lip in frustration. For now, anyway.

  ~ * ~

  As Conrad hit the lock button on the Jeep’s driver side door, his work cell phone rang. He shut the door and half-jogged toward the hospital’s rear entrance before yanking the phone off his belt. Julia was already inside. She’d been part of the FBI team assigned to keep an eye on Brigit Kent and he’d dropped her off before returning to the library. There he’d attached himself to the FBI evidence response team.

  It hadn’t taken long to pinpoint the origin of the bullets fired at the lectern. The sniper’s rifle was a beauty. The Mark 12 Special Purpose Rifle was built for the U.S. Navy special operations snipers to replace the SEAL recon rifle. SEALs didn’t like it as well, but it had been used by both Navy and Army special op marksmen with a high success rate. Clones of the rifle had made it into the public domain and even gamers could get their hands on one in Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon 2. The Douglas barrel was curved to maximize efficiency and minimize weight. The semi-automatic shot 77 grain bullets, which were more effective at longer ranges than standard bullets.

  The phone rang again and Conrad glanced at the readout. It wasn’t Julia but his best friend and colleague, Ryan Smith. “Smitty, what’s up?”

  Ryan’s voice sounded far away. It was. The Chief of Station was calling from London. “I found out something interesting on the party you asked me to check into.”

  Yes. Smitty was a true genius when it came to uncovering information. It was one of the reasons he was Chief of Station. “Knew I could count on you.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not gonna like it.”

  Conrad’s hand tightened on the phone. The hospital’s automatic door slid open with a swish and he ignored the posted warning about turning off cell phones. “Hit me.”

  “Box eight-fifty.”

  Conrad stopped dead in his tracks. Box eight-fifty was the code Smitty used for Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, made up of two branches—MI5 and MI6—in reference to the post office box the group had once owned. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Not sure she’s full SIS, but she is a consultant. A very pricey, well-connected consultant. Her skills are varied and much in demand.”

  There was that consultant crap again. “For Irish nationalism?”

  “My source says she’s got high-level clearance, and her meetings include everyone from the Prime Minister on down, all classified.”

  A passing nurse shot daggers at Conrad as he started walking again. “Turn the phone off, sir,” she said.

  He gave her a wave and kept talking as he rounded a corner out of her sight line. “Why would Irish republicanism be top secret?”

  “You got me.”

  “She holds citizenship in Ireland, England and America. Anything in her past strike you as odd?”

  “Nothing.”

  Which struck Conrad as odd. Everyone in the SIS or the CIA had something damning in their past. It’s what molded their character, seasoned their personality, motivated them. His secret army was proof.

  “Off topic,” Smitty said. “Where’s Tango? She disappeared about three days ago after leaving me a cryptic message about freedom fighters.”

  Tango was the nickname Conrad had given Zara after she’d danced with a nasty terrorist named Alexandrov Dmitri and managed to survive. “She’s here. I’ll be sending her back to you soon.”

  “Don’t you have someone else in your army you could send me?”

  “There’s always Ace.”

  Smitty made an exaggerated choking sound on his end. “No tha
nks. Say hi to Julia.”

  Conrad disconnected and found the woman in question heading his way. “We need to talk,” she said.

  “Not now. I’ve gotta find St—”

  “Now.” She steered him into an empty hallway. “It’s about Zara.”

  Zara was not high on his priority list at the moment, but the look on Julia’s face made him press pause on the other stuff. She took two steps away and then paced back to him. “When the doctor releases her tomorrow, she’s coming home with us.”

  “Why? She’s got a place.”

  “We need to keep an eye on her. Her sister’s in Europe again and I don’t want Zara home alone.”

  Something about her tone made his skin crawl. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Julia cut her eyes to the left and then to the right and Conrad’s stomach dropped an inch. He knew he was about to learn something he didn’t want to know. “She’s pregnant.”

  “She’s what?”

  Julia jerked a finger to her lips and lowered her voice as she repeated, “She’s pregnant.”

  Conrad pressed his fingers to his temples. First Julia and now Zara? “What is this, an epidemic?”

  Julia’s brows drew together. “What?”

  Dropping his hand, he shook his head. He couldn’t deal with this now. “Look, I’ll deal with the Zara issue later. Right now, I’ve got to talk to Stone. Where is he?”

  “For God’s sake, being pregnant is not an issue, Con.”

  It is for me. His secret army had just decreased by one. A very valuable one. “Where is Stone? Is he still with Kent?”

  Julia looked at him as if he’d just turned into an alien. “He left ten minutes ago.”

  Shit. He didn’t have anything truly damning on Brigit Kent, but the warning bells in his head were ringing loud and clear. Her being SIS, consultant or otherwise, and being a member of DHS, was a big no-no. He needed to tell Stone what Smitty had learned about her and figure out how Dr. Psych could work both sides of the Atlantic.

  Julia’s gaze was scalding through his skin to his very bones. First he had to keep his wife happy and make sure Zara was getting the best possible medical care available. “Smitty just called to find out how Zara’s doing. I’ll go check on her for him.”

  “You’ll go check on her for yourself and tell her she’s coming home with us.”

  “Isn’t that her call?”

  “I’m worried about her, okay?”

  Just like he was worried about his wife. “Okay, sure. I’ll see what I can talk her into, but no guarantees.”

  Julia’s tense face relaxed. “Room 314 on the O.B. ward.” She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Michael requested I do security at Dr. Kent’s door for the afternoon. I’ll see you at home tonight, okay?”

  Conrad caught movement in the hallway behind her. A tall, lanky suit with heavy-rimmed glasses was typing on a BlackBerry. “Isn’t that Dr. Kent’s assistant?” he said under his breath.

  Julia turned to look and nodded. “Truman Gunn.”

  An idea flashed in his brain and he patted Julia’s arm. “See you at home.”

  Walking with long strides to the bank of elevators, he watched Truman enter the main area to his right, heading for the exit. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Stepping inside, Conrad punched a speed dial button on his cell phone. When Smitty answered on the other end, Conrad said, “The key to this puzzle is Truman Gunn.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ashford Heights

  It was just after three in the afternoon when Michael walked down the front steps of Thad and Ruth’s house and slid into the backseat of the Navigator.

  Conrad Flynn was waiting for him. “How they doing?” he asked.

  Michael slouched down in the seat, leaned his head back against the leather and closed his eyes. It had been a long fucking day. “They’re hopeful, which may be worse if Ella turns up hurt or dead.”

  “Nah, you did the right thing. Hope is always better than the alternative.”

  Michael rubbed his eyes and prayed Flynn was right. “So why are you waiting for me in the back of my car?”

  “I’ve got something on our gal.”

  Pushing himself up, he fought the spurt of hope, like the one he’d just given Thad and Ruth, running under his skin. “What?”

  Flynn relayed his discussion with Ryan Smith and the spurt of hope died. If anything, Brigit Kent seemed even more of a puzzle. “She’s consulting for SIS and DHS, but she’s not an agent or an operative for either intelligence service?”

  “Smell the conspiracy yet?”

  Michael’s frustration grew. “And you’re telling me she’s well paid for consulting about Irish nationalism?”

  Flynn shrugged. “It explains her in-depth knowledge about Donovan better than the story about her thesis.”

  “What’s DHS doing with her? Irish terrorists are hardly on America’s top-ten watch list.”

  “You were right all along. There’s more going on than we’re privilege to.”

  Michael tapped a thumb against his leg and looked out the passenger window. “She met with the president this morning.”

  The leather squeaked quietly as Flynn shifted in his seat. “Our president?”

  “The one and only.”

  Flynn whistled softly. “I followed her to a construction site after I left you at home. She drew a weapon on a car ready to leave the site. A gal jumped out, confronted her and then freakin’ hugged her. I wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange, but it was weird.”

  Michael’s brain was spinning in circles but for all his logic, he couldn’t pull one definitive answer about Brigit from it. “I saw what happened. Julia brought me a tape of the meeting.”

  “That’s why she was in your office.” It was a statement, not a question. “That the only reason?”

  Michael met Flynn’s eyes, saw the hardness in them. “Yes. She was trying to protect Zara. You might want to get a better handle on your counterintelligence operative.”

  “I already talked to her. She won’t be doing anything stupid for awhile.”

  “That’s what you told me when she went AWOL in Paris on the hunt for a mad scientist and the Italian Mob.”

  Flynn waved him off. “Julia told me Dr. Kent believes Ella will turn up at one of the local parks in the next few hours. What do you think?”

  “I think I need help with surveillance.”

  “Consider it done.” He reached for the door handle. “You take the one a block from here. I’ll cover the park on Grant Avenue, and I’ve got Ace lined up to keep an eye on the third one over on Tremont Fairway.”

  “Which park has the best odds?”

  Silence hung as Flynn considered the question. “Grant.”

  “You and I will take that one. I’ll encourage the FBI to take the one up the block.”

  “Okay.” He pushed the heavy, bulletproof door open and slid out.

  “Flynn,” Michael called to him.

  He ducked back into the open space. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.”

  The car door slammed shut.

  Truman didn’t return with her clothes until after four o’clock. Brigit was pissed. When he dropped her off at her loft and offered to hang out with her, she gave him a scorching look and slammed the car door in his too-handsome face.

  Before she entered the building, she spotted an unmarked car down the block. Two men sat inside watching her. Police probably. She’d sent the FBI packing, but knowing Michael Stone, she was still under security watch.

  The press would have been hanging around too, if Truman hadn’t buried her personal information deep. She’d ducked the reporters at the front entrance of the hospital by using a delivery entrance at the back.

  Inside, she heated water and dumped a packet of instant hot cocoa mix into a mug. While a beer appealed to her more, she didn’t want the alcohol to slow her reflexes. Besides, her refrigerator was bare.

>   As the water boiled, Brigit’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day. Picking up her BlackBerry, she shuffled through the take-out menus in her head. Thai sounded good. Pressing the three on her phone, she speed dialed the local Thai restaurant and placed an order.

  While she waited for her early dinner to arrive, she booted up her computer and went to work on tracking down Moira Raphael.

  Three hours later, it was dark outside. Brigit had eaten, and succumbing to the exhaustion racking her body, fallen asleep on her futon.

  When her BlackBerry dinged she bolted upright, scattering papers on the floor and making her shoulder throb. Biting back a curse, she grabbed up the BlackBerry and saw Truman’s personal number ID’d.

  “What?” she answered, pushing hair out of her face and glancing at the papers now lying on the floor.

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Hurts like a son of a bitch, but it’s better than being dead.”

  “Agreed. Someone’s snooping into your past.”

  Her heart did a flip. “Who?”

  “Pick a name. You got a lot of people excited today, which was stupid. You should never have alerted Deputy Director Stone to Donovan’s possible involvement in the kidnapping.”

  “Has Ella turned up?”

  “Forget about Ella. Your beautiful backside is FUBARed. Do you get what I’m saying? If Stone or Jeffries or Director Halden start digging into your job history and connect you—us—with our current employer, we’ll both hang.”

  Truman was far from innocent, but he still cared about his job. “Just keep your mouth shut and go about your business as usual. I’ll handle Stone and the president, and I’ll take the blame if it all goes to hell.”

  After ending the conversation, Brigit picked up the papers and looked at what she had on Moira. Nothing new. The ex-Palestinian army sniper, and best friend of Tory’s, had been underground for the past three years.

  Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, Brigit decided there wasn’t any way to save herself after all of this, so she dug out her running clothes and went to help save Ella Pennington.