by Dawn Atkins
“Not true,” Ryder said. “We know that Agent Bailey Montgomery executed the hit. She may be in on the frame.”
“Hell, I told you that much. But she didn’t execute the hit alone. It was a sharpshooter who got me in the shoulder. Her bullet was the second one.” Jed reminded him. “In any case, she’s the one person who might know something that would help me.”
Ryder turned and studied him again. His eyes and the set of his face told Jed that either the words or the coffee had done the trick.
“I’m thinking that it’s time I took a more proactive role in this,” Jed said.
“You’ve decided to rise from the dead?” Ryder asked.
Jed rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got this feeling that I may have already risen. I haven’t told you because you’ve been busy with Sierra. And I’ve been trying to come up with a strategy.”
Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t told me what?”
“Bailey Montgomery may have spotted me at that D.C. party when I was supposed to be helping you guard Sierra.” He’d been stationed on the patio at the back of the Langford house right outside the room where Sierra was supposed to be meeting with the vice president. Someone had knocked him out. He hadn’t been out for more than a few minutes but it had been enough time for a killer to kidnap Sierra. It had certainly been enough time for someone passing by to get a good look at him.
“I should have insisted that you wear one of your disguises.”
Jed’s brows shot up. “And how would we have explained that to Sierra and her sisters and their significant others and Zoë? Besides, we didn’t plan on my being knocked out.”
“Right.” Ryder sighed. “Why didn’t you mention the possibility that you’d been spotted before?”
“Because I don’t have anything to go on besides a gut feeling. I got it again when we left your little engagement shindig the other night at the Blue Pepper. I think I spotted a car following us—a dark-colored SUV or a van. I lost it easily enough, so I can’t be sure, but I haven’t been able to get rid of the feeling that my time is running out.”
“Great,” Ryder said. “I know you well enough—what your gut instinct is telling you is probably right. That means we have to make some kind of a move.” He took another swallow of his coffee. “That SUV—that’s why you did all that fancy driving on the way back here that night, isn’t it?”
Jed grinned at him. “I thought you were too distracted with Sierra in the backseat to notice.”
Ryder ran a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I was, or I would have figured it out sooner. But if you’re right and someone saw you with Sierra and me, they’re going to pursue that connection. Good thing no one can trace me to this place. Even if they could, it’s next to impossible to find without specific directions.”
Ryder took another swallow of coffee. “If you think Bailey Montgomery is your best source of information, please don’t tell me that you’re just going to walk into her office and ask her.”
Jed smiled slowly. “It’s a tempting thought. But I was thinking of a more conservative move—to start off with at least. I’m thinking we might break into her office and search it—her desk, her hard drive.”
Ryder’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re talking about breaking into the CIA headquarters in Langley? It’d be a challenge.”
Just the kind of challenge that Ryder would enjoy. Jed was banking on that. Still deep in thought, Ryder took a long sip of his coffee, grimaced and then spat it out over the railing. “Shit. I can’t drink this. We’re going to finish this conversation in the galley.”
Jed followed him down the short flight of stairs. The kitchen was small and well equipped with shiny pots and pans hanging off hooks. Ryder filled the teakettle, rinsed out the French-press pot and measured coffee into it.
“Gage Sinclair might be willing to help us,” Jed said.
Ryder frowned in concentration. “Gage Sinclair. If it’s the same man I’m thinking of, he doesn’t work at the CIA anymore.”
Jed shook his head. “No. But we worked together on a couple of assignments, and I got him out of a messy situation about seven years ago on a job we did together in Jordan. He got shot up pretty bad and lost a leg but it could have been a lot worse. Since then, he’s gotten out of fieldwork.”
“He’s doing private consulting and security work here in D.C.,” Ryder said. “I’ve run into him a few times. He even invited me to work on a case with him a year ago. I liked him, and he’s good at what he does. We’d be rivals if he weren’t primarily doing contract work for the CIA.”
“If anyone would know the ins and outs of CIA headquarters, he would,” Jed said.
“Can you trust him?”
“Yeah. He’s a good man. Even if he believes I killed Frank, he’ll figure he owes me at least one favor. Plus, I know him well enough to suspect there’s a reason why he left the CIA. It wasn’t just because of his injuries. He wasn’t entirely happy with the CIA. But he still consults for them, so he’ll have a pass. He probably knows the building like the back of his hand. I’ll set up a meet as soon as possible.”
“Set it up at the Blue Pepper.”
Jed thought for a minute. The Blue Pepper was a very popular Georgetown watering hole that drew not only on the academics from the university but also on staffers from the hill. “Why there?”
Ryder glanced at him. “It’s public, you’ve been there before, and I’m familiar with all the entrances and exits. I’ll put two men on you as soon as you set up the meet. If you’re right and someone, perhaps Agent Montgomery, suspects you’ve risen from the dead, she may also suspect that you’ll contact me or Gage. We’d be in your file. So Gage may be followed. If he is, I’ll know it.”
“Okay.”
Ryder thought some more. “You’ll wear a disguise.”
Jed grinned at him. “Of course.”
Ryder smiled. “Which persona are you going to assume this time?”
“I’m thinking of turning myself into Ethan Blair, British diplomat, until this is over. He has a slight accent and very expensive taste in food, wine and clothes. He’s one of my favorites.”
Ryder shook his head. “How many different men have you turned yourself into over the years?”
“A baker’s dozen, give or take a couple.” Then Jed’s smile faded. “I’ll register under Ethan’s name at the Woodbridge Hotel, and you won’t have to worry about anyone following me back here. You and Sierra will be safer if I’m not around.”
Ryder nodded. “I’ll keep two men on you. But even using a disguise, the meeting with Gage is risky.”
“He’s my best bet to get us into that office. Bailey Montgomery is a good operative. And she’s meticulous. I’m betting that she’s kept some kind of file. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a file on Frank Medici, too. I want to know who killed him and why. I was just starting to check into that when I agreed to meet Bailey down in Colombia. All I need is a thread. Then I can start pulling it to figure out exactly what is going on.”
Ryder gave him a brief nod. “Looks like we’ve got a plan.”
Jed smiled. “Yeah. I’ll get in touch with Gage today.”
“Say as little as possible over the phone.”
“Right. I’ll fax him the details.”
As the teakettle began to shriek, Ryder turned back to the stove and busied himself making coffee.
Jed knew from experience that his friend was in mulling-it-over mode. Right now he was covering all the angles that Jed had outlined in his own mind in the wee hours of the morning. So he was surprised when Ryder turned back, coffee mug in hand, cleared his throat, and said, “About Zoë McNamara.”
After a moment, Jed said, “What about her?”
“What I want to know is…” Ryder let the partial sentence hang as he shifted his gaze away. He took a sip of his coffee and then a bigger swallow. “I couldn’t help but noticing…she was here yesterday for a couple of hours.” Finally, he met Jed’s eyes dir
ectly. “Hell, I’m no good at this.”
To Jed’s astonishment, Ryder’s face had turned red. Ryder Kane was the most unflappable man he’d ever known. He’d personally seen his friend face a bullet without so much as blinking, let alone allowing his blood pressure to fluctuate.
Ryder cleared his throat. “Zoë is a good friend of Sierra’s. And Sierra feels very protective toward her. And she’s…” As his sentence trailed off, Ryder raised a hand. “I know it’s none of my business, but Sierra would be very unhappy if Zoë got hurt.”
“Zoë’s a big girl.”
“Exactly. That’s what I told Sierra, but she made me promise to…Shit. I told her it was none of our business if the two of you—do whatever the two of you want to do. But she wanted me to say something.” He picked up the mug and drained it. “Hell, I’m still trying to get used to all the stuff that goes along with being involved with one person. You don’t just have a relationship with a woman. You get the whole package—friends, work associates, relatives. And the relatives’ friends and significant others. Forget I brought it up.”
“Done,” Jed said. “But if it will make Sierra feel any better, you can tell her that as far as Zoë’s concerned, our relationship is over.”
“Over?”
Jed nodded. “She as much as told me so herself. When she left yesterday, she told me she really appreciated my letting her sort of burn away all that sexual frustration she’d been feeling.”
Ryder’s brows shot up. “She actually said that?”
“Yeah.” Jed smiled slowly. “And then she shook my hand just as if we’d concluded a little business meeting. Can you picture it? She is so damn cute.”
“NIGHT AFTER TOMORROW at the Blue Pepper,” Gage said, making a note on his calendar. “I’ll wait for the fax.”
Replacing the phone, Gage Sinclair leaned back in his chair and stretched out his good leg. The little hum of excitement that had begun zinging through his blood the moment he’d heard Jed Calhoun’s voice was something that he’d missed.
Gage had cut the conversation very short. No details, he’d warned. And no name. Jed was sending the info in a fax.
Gage Sinclair didn’t trust phones—neither the cellular nor land varieties. He didn’t much like e-mail, either. He was more aware than most of how difficult it was to eliminate all traces of those little missives once they were sent. In the kind of work he did, he knew full well how vulnerable every form of communication was to eavesdropping. George Orwell had gotten it right in 1984. Big Brother was watching. And listening.
His lips curved in a smile. Hell, he made a living watching and listening. And he’d still be doing it for the CIA if he hadn’t lost his leg.
No, that wasn’t quite right. Part of his reason for resigning from the CIA was that if he’d stayed, he’d have eventually had to work under Hadley Richards. And he just didn’t like the man.
He’d spent too many years in the field, he supposed. In that kind of work, you learned to size up anyone you worked with quickly and you either trusted them or you didn’t. He’d worked with some of the best agents around—Jed Calhoun, Frank Medici. They were men he’d trusted with his life.
Hadley Richards was a paper-pushing politician who, because he played all the right games and had influential connections, would be the next director of the CIA. Politicians were necessary, Gage supposed. But they were hard to trust. He’d seen the writing on the wall concerning Richards and he’d gotten out early. He was too independent to work for someone he couldn’t respect.
Shifting his gaze to his right, he glanced out at a world-class view. All in all, it had been a good move for him. From his fifth-floor office, he could see the Washington Mall, and in the distance, the Washington Monument. Private consulting work paid very well. He was his own boss, the view was better than the one he’d had in his office at CIA headquarters, and best of all, he got to pick and choose his cases. If he had any regrets it was that he was still alone. Not that a single man “batching” it in D.C. had to be lonely. But he’d always thought that once he retired from the field, he’d find the perfect woman and settle down.
Maybe the perfect woman didn’t exist. He’d thought he’d found one once, but it had been the wrong time and the wrong place.
He turned back to his desk. A man shouldn’t complain when he was lucky enough to enjoy his work and be good at it. And now he had a challenging case.
He hadn’t had to think twice about taking Jed Calhoun’s. Nor had he needed any of the information Jed was currently faxing him to make his decision. Jed Calhoun was a trusted friend as well as the man who’d saved his life. He’d never believed that Jed had killed Frank Medici. And Jed hadn’t been taken out, as had been the word. That was the good news.
The bad news—and Gage had discovered there was always a downside to every piece of news he received—was that Jed had been framed for the murder of Frank Medici. And by appearing again in D.C., he ran the risk of being taken out for real this time.
Another reason he’d taken the case was that he would have a chance, working with Jed, to find out what had really happened to Frank Medici. He’d admired Frank nearly as much as he admired Jed. When he’d thought that they were both dead, he’d not only been saddened, but he’d thought it was a sad day for the CIA.
There was nothing that fascinated Gage more than a good mystery. And from the moment he’d heard about Frank Medici’s death, he’d suspected that it was just that—a classic whodunit waiting to be solved. What had happened to Jed Calhoun had stunk to high heaven of a frame.
Oh, Jed might have been assigned to take Frank out if that had been deemed necessary by the higher-ups and he might have even carried out the hit. But not for money and certainly not for some drug cartel.
Jed Calhoun was a straight arrow, a Boy Scout almost.
The story had just never fit, which had led Gage to wonder who was behind Frank Medici’s death and why. The war on drugs was a dirty business. It was being waged in many cases by people who didn’t really want to win because the profits in the illegal trade of drugs were huge—to everyone involved.
Rising, Gage went to his window. Some of those involved in reaping the profits held high government positions, and they would do a lot to keep their involvement a secret.
The other thing that intrigued him was that finding out the true story behind Frank Medici’s death and keeping Jed Calhoun alive were going to present almost impossible challenges.
As his fax machine began to whir, Gage smiled again. It had been a long time since he’d come up against an impossible challenge, and the last time it had cost him a leg. But, one leg and all his brains were intact, he thought, as he lifted a sheet out of his fax machine and began to read.
“I’VE HEARD a disturbing rumor.”
Bailey Montgomery closed the file on her desk and glanced up to meet the gaze of her most immediate superior at the CIA, Hadley Richards. “Had” to his friends and a favored few of his subordinates.
He closed the door behind him with a little snap.
Bailey wasn’t one of the favored few. She’d worked under “Had” for nearly a year, and he was still Mr. Richards to her. Go figure. Bailey watched him stroll to her desk and make a ritual out of sitting down, pressing the crease in his slacks and lifting them slightly to cut down on wrinkles. Once he was seated, he proceeded to adjust his cuffs.
Hadley Richards was a tall, handsome man in his early fifties who was always meticulously dressed and normally had charm oozing out of his pores. Not that he’d ever wasted any of it on her. In fact, he seemed to check it at the door whenever he entered her office. He was also a man she neither underestimated nor completely trusted.
Since she’d known him, he’d been playing the old-boy network very skillfully to ensure he was on the fast track to becoming the next director. He would probably achieve his goal since he had the right political connections. His father-in-law was the President’s National Security Advisor. And it didn’t hurt that his
wife was richer than a goddess and the current CEO at McManus Pharmaceuticals.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me about the rumor?” Had asked.
Arching one brow, she set down her gold pen and smiled at him. “I’m confident that you’re going to enlighten me any second now.”
He returned her smile—a slight curve of lips that wasn’t echoed in his eyes.
Hadley Richards didn’t like her. She wasn’t sure if his dislike sprang out of the fact that he didn’t believe women belonged in the CIA or whether he feared that she was competing with him. Or perhaps the formal way he treated her was due to the fact that she’d made it clear early in their relationship that she wasn’t going to take a tumble with him between the sheets. Had’s reputation as a womanizer was firmly established. He was usually discreet. Sometimes, there was gossip, as there had been six months ago when the rumors had circulated that he’d been “seeing” one of the new data analysts, a young woman named Zoë McNamara. But when she’d quickly resigned, the talk had stopped.
“It’s about that assignment I asked you to handle in Bogotá six months ago,” he said. “Someone has spotted your quarry back here in D.C.”
Bailey’s stomach clenched, but her gaze remained steady. “That’s impossible.” Ever since she’d spotted Jed Calhoun at that trendy party at Millie Langford’s house two weeks ago, she’d been waiting for this. But Had must have received his news secondhand, so he couldn’t be certain. If he’d spotted Jed at that party, as she had, he would have been in her office the next day. “The man you sent me to Bogotá to kill is dead.”
“You know that party that Millie Langford threw two weeks ago to honor my wife for receiving the President’s Humanitarian Award?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my source thinks our so-called dead man was there.”
Bailey kept her gaze and her voice steady. “Your source is mistaken.”
