by Wendy Byrne
Would he have the balls to show her the picture and gauge her level of surprise, shock, discomfort, anger? At this point he wasn't sure he'd be able to tell the difference. The thing between them was getting more complex by the minute. Was it due to forced proximity or by design on her part? Or was the draw between them inevitable from the start? Was that what this was all about?
Damn, he wished he could trust his instincts about her. But history lurking inside cautioned him to move slowly.
She leaned back in the chair. "I want a slice of normalcy right now. Let's talk about normal everyday things. What do you like to do when you're not being a badass?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm a badass twenty-four seven." He gulped the beer and smiled. Letting down his defenses, for even a short period of time, felt good. "Occasionally, I take a break and go to art galleries, film festivals, or get out of the city and enjoy the open land. I've grown to love Manhattan, but it's a far cry from where I grew up. How about you?"
"I do like going into DC just for the fun of it. I completely geek out and go to all the museums. Or I laze around at home, go for a run, watch old movies on TV, or read books, listen to music. Normal stuff, I guess." She patted his arm. "Tell me about your siblings. What are they like? I vaguely remember your sister, but that's about it."
"If it weren't for the fact my brother looks like my twin—except for the Brooks Brothers suits and conservative haircut—I would swear we weren't even related."
She surveyed his grungy jeans and T-shirt with a smile on her face. "Somehow I can't picture you in a fancy suit."
"Meet my brother and you'd see my replica, but not the badass version." He smiled despite the twinge of unexpected envy running through.
"I don't have experience with sibling rivalry, but comparing yourself your brother seems pretty normal. Are your siblings laid back but with a meticulous edge like you,?"
"Meticulous?" He'd never thought of himself in that way.
"You packed my backpack so well, I couldn't have done it better myself. This was after knowing me less than forty-eight hours—most of which I was either passed out or being held against my will. I'd say that was getting a read on me pretty fast."
He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable with the line of their conversation. He wanted to get the emphasis off him and onto her but couldn't figure out how to change the trajectory of their conversation. "I did the female version of my go bag. Simple as that."
"The pain patches were a surprise. You even got the same type I'd been using. Very observant of you."
"Don't we have to be in our line of work?" Which made him think, what had she observed about him? Selecting weaknesses and capitalizing on them was an undercover operator's MO. That was how she recruited her informants in the field, no doubt.
A guy who looked like he was down on his luck, in need of extra funds, who happened to be chock-full of information about the enemy, snap, before you know it, stuck in a CIA trap. Or maybe it was a guy who had an affinity for the ladies, loved strip clubs and prostitutes. All bribes were created equal in their world. If they were a means to an end, that would be the lure.
"I guess." She stilled as a hint of discomfort settled in between them. For a moment or two the conversation had dipped from the impersonal to the personal. "Is there any salad stuff in the fridge to make this a passably healthy meal?" When he checked the vegetable bin in the refrigerator and shook his head, she clucked. "So we'll have to settle for no healthy vegetables this time around. It's good to know The Alliance isn't perfect after all."
"Far from it, but I can live with that. How about a movie? The Alliance does stock the place with some first-rate flicks. Any preference?"
"You pick."
"Bullitt it is." He put the disk into the Blu-ray player. While he was up, he popped open beers for both of them. He grabbed her hand and steered her toward the couch. They plopped down and put their feet on the leather-covered ottoman. Even with the lights on it was hard to dispel the feeling of being underground. While he appreciated having the Batcave at his disposal, more than twenty-four hours inside of one of these things and he'd likely go crazy. The only time he'd had to stay in the one outside of Chicago for a week, he thought he might very well lose his mind.
As the movie started, she turned and kissed his cheek. "Thanks again for the surgery, although I'm still a little sore. I'm sure the beer will help with that." She clinked her bottle with his.
"Yep, get enough beer in you and the pain will all be a distant memory."
"Tell me the truth. Is Aaron a real doctor? I promise I won't try to hurt you." She gave him a half smile.
He couldn't help but laugh. "Close enough."
She worked her shoulder, as if his admission had caused a new round of discomfort to settle inside her joint. "That is so not cool. Did he replace that and plant a transmitter from The Alliance inside me?"
He burst out laughing. "Absolutely not." It took effort to stop the laughter. Maybe being secure for this short period of time allowed him to relax enough to enjoy her company and let his guard down. He suspected the same might be true for her as well.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you." Based on the smile on her face, she was teasing.
"What would have been the other option? Let them keep tracking us down? Take a whack at the removal yourself with a razor? We needed a solution, and we needed it fast. And the implant was just beneath the surface, so it was easy. A couple of stitches and he was in and out."
"One day I'll let a doctor wannabe operate on you and tell you it's all good." She swigged her beer and smiled.
"Like to hold a grudge? I should have figured. And here I thought you CIA types were badasses."
"Says Mr. Faints-at-the-sight-of-blood."
"Hey, I told you that in confidence. You're not supposed to spread the rumor. If word gets out, I won't get any more sweet gigs where I'm getting shot at more than if I was serving on the front line somewhere. That's me living the life."
"Ah, you don't like being shot at. I personally love being shot at. I'm so in my element when that happens." While the words came out with a smile affixed to her face, they changed the trajectory of their conversation as evidenced by the hint of tears littering her lashes. He couldn't help but think she was reliving her time in Afghanistan under those exact circumstances. He'd seen the same faraway look in her eyes once before when she'd recounted her experience.
In order to keep the mood light, he avoided looking her directly in the eyes. "Then leave me out of your adrenaline rush fantasy." He swilled back the beer, feeling it simmer into his belly. After the last couple of days, throwing back some beers felt so normal he couldn't help but relish in the welcome sensation.
The oven timer went off seconds later, dispelling the concentration on the movie. She jumped off the couch. "Pizza's ready. I'm going to get another beer. How about you? I am so ready and willing to get drunk tonight."
"You're a woman after my heart."
When they stood up simultaneously to retrieve the pizza, he slipped his arm around her waist and walked the fifteen feet or so into the kitchen. He wasn't sure what surprised him morethe fact that she didn't fight the contact, or that he'd initiated it.
She used the pizza cutter to slice it into quarters then eighths, then grabbed two for herself and plopped them on her plate. Something had changed between them over the last day or so. Their conversations weren't as guarded. She didn't recoil when he happened to brush her hair with his lips. Or maybe they were both following their own agendas.
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He wasn't all that sure what this comfort between them meant, but his body had its own ideas. Then he bent his head down to kiss her, cementing his trip into hell. This was how he'd gotten the job done before, and he was doing it again.
Aaron was right. He still had it. This time he wasn't so sure he could live with himself and the potential consequences.
"I was w
ondering when you might make a move." She planted a soft kiss on his lips.
"So you think the guy has to make the first move," he teased while his fingertips slid beneath the shirt, settling on the soft skin of her torso.
"If we didn't die, I was going to proposition you. Besides, I need some distraction from my shoulder." She raised her eyebrows up and down, taking a bite of the pizza before affixing herself to him.
Somewhat accustomed to making the first move, he was taken aback by her come-on. But more than a little pleased when after consuming their food and finishing off the movie, he carried her to bed. Scruples and second-guessing be damned.
* * *
The scream tore from her throat, startling Jake awake. His chest banged as the adrenaline shot through his bloodstream. It took him seconds to realize they were safe. Seconds more to recognize she'd been dreaming.
He snaked her in close and brushed back her hair. "You're okay. Everything's okay."
Her body trembled as tears streamed down her face. She nodded but then closed her eyes as if to ward off the visions. Unable to speak, she wrapped her arms around Jake and nuzzled into his chest. He felt the tears she spilled along his collarbone.
She pulled back from him, and her eyes got wide. "I'm tired of being vulnerable." Giant droplets of tears plopped down her cheek in rapid succession.
Had she read the playbook on him? A woman's tears were his weakness. Was that what this was about? She didn't look like she was faking it, but he couldn't be positive.
He shook off the burgeoning need to take control of the situation. To assure her things would get better. That he'd take care of it all. That would play right into her hands. And that was a road he didn't dare wander down again.
Her chin quivered. He wanted to believe her and everything she said. And there was a large part of him that did. But that was the Jake who screwed up everything. He bought every line tossed out there by a beautiful woman, even if his instincts told him that this time it was the real deal. She was scared and vulnerable and needed someone she could count on.
"Tell the truth. Do you think I'm crazy when I say Alex is alive?"
A whole host of possibilities shot through his mind. That second of hesitation seemed to ripple through her, as she held up her hand to stop anything he might say.
Before he could think, she interrupted. "I get it. You don't want to say for obvious reasons, mainly that you're stuck with me until this whole thing gets resolved one way or another. But," she bit her lip, "I have this memory…I don't know if it's real or not. Alex gave an order to the rebels not to kill me." She shook her head.
"Say what?" Thoughts surged inside his head as he ferreted through the possibilities.
"I was bleeding like a pig. I'd managed to get away from Behrang, but had collapsed. I was in and out of consciousness…" She swallowed, no doubt allowing the emotional component to push further down her throat. "Behrang held a gun to my head, and Alex shouted at him not to kill me. Instructing him that I'd bleed to death before anyone found me." She shook her head. "Did he really say that? I don't know. It sounds crazy, but in the back of my mind I kept thinking Alex went with the rebels of his own free will. And I could swear he spoke Russian to them."
"Are you saying you think Alex was a double agent? And were the people who took him really Afghan rebels or were they Russian?" Was she throwing him off the track of her own duplicity?
"I don't know what I'm saying. Since this whole thing started, I feel like I'm not sure of anything anymore."
The idea that Alex was behind this whole fiasco had some merit, except for the fact Jake couldn't envision him being able to pull this all off on his own. But that didn't mean he didn't have help somewhere. With an organization as large as the CIA, there were bound to be people who'd gone over to the dark side. Was Alex one of them?
Everything pointed to this whole thing building toward a giant crescendo of trouble, and Jake wasn't convinced he was up for the challenge. He'd been down this road before. The woman he'd thought was an ally wasn't, and the next thing he knew Max was dying.
"I need to find out the truth about Alex. There's only one way to do that."
"Do not tell me you have another harebrained idea about breaking into CIA headquarters again." When she nodded, he swore before he continued. "The stuff we're looking for isn't going to be easily obtained. Think about trainers or supervisors you had—who was a pack rat? Who might keep notes on the new recruitsgood, bad, or indifferent? It's been ten years, so think of who would keep that kind of data forever. Any ideas?"
She chewed the nail on her index finger. "Our former unit leader, John Clark, might have the data. He's retired now and lives in Maryland I think. Maybe we could try breaking into his files?"
"Much better. Sounds like a road trip to me."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Despite evidence to the contrary, Jake couldn't reconcile the idea Tessa was a double agent or a murderer. Everything pointed to a setup, but he needed to be able to prove his hunch. And if Alex were indeed alive, everything fell into place like a well-placed row of dominoes.
You'll never be as good as Maxim. Petrovich's words echoed through his head once again. If he could only make the broken record stop playing. But that never seemed to happen. Instead it had intensified over his last three failed missions.
"This is John's house. I had to drop off some files to him one time," she said, breaking through his thoughts. "Park on the next block, and we'll go in on foot." She glanced at him as she opened the car door. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem distracted or something."
"Just hoping things don't go haywire, as seems to be the norm between the two of us."
"Bite your tongue." She pointed toward the house. "John's office at headquarters was filled with piles and piles of worthless scraps of paper and old files. The powers that be were always after him to shred old documents. But I've got to warn you, if we find his files, he never put things in logical order." She chewed her lip. "Most everyone at the agency is paranoid enough to have a top-notch security system. I expect he'll be the same. I happen to know he goes to Florida in November, so no worries about being confronted by an old man with a gun this evening."
"That's a shame. I've become accustomed to living on the edge after the last couple of days with you." They walked together around the back of the home as they strategized. "I'll work my magic on the patio door. You up for tackling the alarm?"
"While you need fancy gadgets, I've got magic fingers," she said as she flexed them.
"Okay, Ms. Hot Shot CIA Agent."
"Jealous, or afraid I'm going to break into your place after all this is over?"
"Yep to both." He pulled his tools from his back pocket. Within seconds, he'd tripped the lock, and they were inside.
A low beep, beep greeted them as she scrambled toward the back part of the house. Jake counted off the seconds as he followed after her in case she needed help. Most alarms were on a sixty-second delay. He was at the fifteen-second mark when the beeping sound stopped. She might have cut it a little close, but there was no mistaking that the woman had some skills.
She walked toward him and brushed her hands against her thighs, but had a broad smile on her face. "This gal's still got it."
Then he did the stupidest thing. He kissed her. Right in the middle of the hallway. As if there weren't a thousand different agendas floating in the atmosphere around him.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled. They both sensed it at the same time, as they looked around and sniffed. The smell was unmistakable.
"Do you—"
She nodded and pointed down the hall. "That way."
He spotted the fear in her eyes and suspected his eyes reflected the same fear as well. With gloved hands, she opened the door. Her face remained stoic until her mouth began to quiver. She gulped then shuddered. "Gun to the temple. Suicide."
"Or staged to look like one." He peeked inside the door to confirm what she'd already said. "W
e can't do anything for him now. Not to sound callous, but do you know where he kept his files?"
"He once mentioned something about a basement office. That's our best bet." She charged down the hall, and he followed. "I wonder if whoever got to him got to the files as well."
He finally stumbled across the office in the basement. File cabinets lined three walls but were tipped over, their contents dumped onto the floor. "My guess is they didn't find what they were looking for."
"Probably right." Despite her words, she got down on her hands and knees and began to look through the paperwork littering the floor.
"You keep searching. I've got an idea." Even as he rushed toward the freezer he'd spotted on the way, the itch started at the back of his neck and crawled along his skin. This wasn't good, and getting worse. Something didn't feel right.
It took him less than five seconds to find the unmarked files in a freezer bag behind the frozen pizzas. He didn't have time to look, but knew he'd struck gold. As he ran toward Tessa, he shoved the files in the inside pocket of his jacket.
"Found it. Let's get out of here." Paranoia seemed to rule his life as of late. But then came sounds from upstairs. And he knew.
Her gaze traveled upward. "We must have tripped something." Seconds later a large boom sounded, reverberating through the house. "Holy crap. What was that?"
"I'm not sure, but we need to get out." He slid open the basement window and eyed the small opening. He would be a tight fit.
Footsteps creaked along the hardwood above their head. It wouldn't be long before they figured out where they were.
"We've got to hurry." Fear caused her gaze to widen. No way she could fake that kind of bodily reaction.
"Help me move the desk in front of the door. It won't stop them, but it should slow them down."
