Rafe Sinclair's Revenge

by Gayle Wilson

  Despite Rafe’s continued vigilance, she trained the gun on the man who claimed to be a member of Griff’s new organization. The problem with that claim was that everyone in the Phoenix had once been a member of the External Security Team.

  “You know him?” Rafe asked.

  Rafe had left the team before she had. Maybe he was thinking Edmonds had been a late addition.

  They had lost people through the years. It was the nature of what they did. And so there had been, of necessity, replacements. This man hadn’t been one of them.

  “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She was. Whoever John Edmonds was, he hadn’t been a member of the team prior to the time the CIA had ordered it stood down. She couldn’t imagine, therefore, why he would have been invited to join the Phoenix.

  “I contacted Griff when I heard what he was doing,” the intruder explained.

  “When you heard?” Rafe repeated, emphasizing the last word. “How the hell would you hear about the Phoenix?”

  “We have…mutual acquaintances.”

  “In the company.”

  It was what most of the CIA’s operatives called the agency among themselves. It was certainly a term Edmonds should be familiar with. If he were telling the truth.

  There was a slight movement of the intruder’s mouth, almost a tightening. “I wasn’t CIA. I was with the NSA.”

  The information seemed to be reluctantly given. That could be an act, of course, but if what he’d just said were true, he might be reluctant to reveal it. An entity more secretive than the CIA, much of what the National Security Agency did was shrouded in mystery, even from the intelligence community.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Rafe said.

  “Griff thought you might come to the summerhouse. He asked me to check it out.”

  “So…believing we might be here, you break in in the middle of the night? That seems like an invitation for disaster.”

  “I didn’t break in. Griff gave me the codes. And I had no way of knowing who was inside. Considering what happened in Mississippi yesterday, I didn’t feel I could take the chance that someone else might have the same idea as Griff about your destination.”

  It was plausible enough. After all, he knew their names. He knew about Rafe’s call to the Phoenix. And he had the security codes for the summerhouse.

  “Why didn’t Griff come himself?”

  “He’s in Moscow. When I finally got in touch with him to tell him about your call, he asked me to do some groundwork in trying to locate you before he gets back.”

  That didn’t sound like Griff. If Cabot believed one of his people was in trouble, it wouldn’t matter what he was doing. He would come.

  “And now that you’ve located us?”

  The tone of Rafe’s question reflected her own doubts about what they were being told.

  “I’m supposed to offer you my assistance.”

  Rafe laughed.

  Surprised by the harshness of that sound, she took her eyes off the man who claimed to be part of the Phoenix long enough to glance at him. His eyes still on his captive, Rafe’s expression was as mocking as his laughter had been.

  “Did you give Griff my message? Did you tell him I’m not going to play this game?”

  “There is no game, no matter what you believe. As a friend, Griff passed on to you a legitimate security alert, issued by the CIA’s new antiterrorism unit. As far as he’s aware, nobody from the agency knows he’s spoken to you. And nobody’s trying to manipulate you into doing anything.”

  “What do you know about Gunther Jorgensen?”

  Edmonds’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The German terrorist?”

  “Griff didn’t tell you that’s what the alert was about?”

  “I know he’s been dead for years,” Edmonds said without bothering to answer the second question. “Somebody blew him away. Paris, I think. Maybe…five years ago. At least that.”

  “The CIA in their wisdom has decided he’s still alive.”

  There was virtually no response. No reaction at all in the dark eyes. Elizabeth wasn’t sure what that might mean.

  “That’s what the alert was about?” Edmonds asked.

  Rafe nodded.

  “Then you must have had something to do with his death.”

  “Griff sent you here without bothering to make you aware of how I’m connected to Jorgensen? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “He sent me here in hopes you’d show up,” Edmonds said patiently, ignoring the sarcasm. “He wants a meeting. You and whoever he can round up from the Phoenix on such short notice.”

  “A meeting here?”

  “At Griff’s estate in Maryland.”

  “What do you think?”

  It took a moment for Elizabeth to realize Rafe’s question had been directed at her. Another to realize she wasn’t sure what she thought.

  Whoever this man was, he was incredibly well informed. And the information he had was not the kind that would be readily available to anyone outside Griff’s immediate circle.

  “I’d like to see the identification he mentioned,” she said. “Something from the Phoenix.”

  “Of course,” Edmonds said. “If you’ll allow me…”

  He made a gesture with his right hand, moving it toward the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Both of them reacted, fingers tensing over the triggers of the weapons they held. The motion stopped, his hand turning, palm toward them again.

  “I did ask permission,” he said, sounding amused.

  If nothing else, Elizabeth thought, he has guts.

  “Slowly,” Rafe said.

  Her mouth had gone dry, but Edmonds couldn’t have much in the way of lethal weapons in a shirt pocket. Despite that reassurance, her eyes remained trained on the long fingers that dipped into the pocket of the blue Oxford cloth he wore. They came out with only a business card, which he held out to Rafe.

  “Get it,” Rafe instructed her. “Stay at arm’s length.”

  She didn’t need the reminder. If she hadn’t been so eager to see what Edmonds was holding, she would have told him so.

  Instead, she reached out for the card, her fingers never making contact with those of the man who held it. As soon as it was in her hand, she lowered her eyes to study it.

  The card was nondescript enough to meet even CIA standards. Edmonds’s name, the Phoenix, and a phone number. At the top center was a logo of a stylized bird rising from the flames.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Rafe. She turned and found his hand extended. She walked back to him and laid the ivory-colored rectangle on his palm.

  “Watch him,” Rafe ordered her.

  “I believe you have one that Griff gave you when he invited you to join,” Edmonds added. “A comparison of the two might remove any lingering doubt.”

  She glanced at Rafe’s face for confirmation, wondering how Edmonds could possibly know about that other card unless Griff had told him. Rafe nodded almost imperceptibly before he examined the card Edmonds had handed her.

  “He didn’t give you anything else?” Rafe asked.

  “I suppose he thought that should be proof enough.”

  She wasn’t sure it was. Not for her.

  She knew it wouldn’t be for Rafe. His eyes lifted from the card to focus on the man whose arms had gradually lowered until his hands were now below shoulder level. Rafe’s face was closed and tight, so that it was hard to tell what he thought.

  “Name them,” he said, his voice very soft.

  “Name…who?” Edmonds seemed puzzled by the request.

  “The members of the Phoenix. Name them.”

  Edmonds laughed. “If I did that, I’d expect you to shoot me,” he said, his voice perfectly relaxed. His face, in contrast to Rafe’s, seemed on the verge of breaking into a smile. “I’d deserve it.”

  It was a request any of them would have refused. The ul
timate betrayal, and Edmonds hadn’t made it.

  “One name,” Rafe pressed.

  “Go to hell.”

  Genuine refusal on the grounds of security? Or a convenient out?

  Her gaze went back to Rafe. His eyes were on Edmonds as if he were attempting to evaluate him.

  “I’m no Jake Holt,” Edmonds said softly, “but other than that I don’t have any other proof to offer you. Whether you trust me or not is up to you.”

  Jake Holt had been a member of the EST from the beginning. He had also been the only traitor the team had ever had to deal with. That this man would know his name seemed particularly telling. And convincing evidence that he was who and what he claimed. At least it was to her.

  And for Rafe?

  “Right now,” he said, “I don’t suppose I have much choice.”

  Chapter Nine

  “You drive,” Rafe said.

  Maybe it was nothing but paranoia, but he’d be more comfortable if he were situated so that he could keep an eye on Edmonds during the trip to Maryland. Despite the proof the man had presented less than an hour ago, Rafe would be a fool to trust someone he didn’t know. Not in this situation.

  “My car or yours?” Edmonds asked. He didn’t seem insulted or surprised by the order.

  “Yours.”

  “You riding shotgun?” Edmonds asked.

  “I’ll be in the back.”

  “Then…Ms. Richardson?” John Edmonds’s words sounded like an invitation.

  Hearing them, Rafe turned to find Elizabeth standing in the doorway. She had just come down from the upstairs bedroom where she had gone to dress and repack her suitcase.

  “She’ll sit in back with me,” he said.

  He was sure that’s what Edmonds expected. His suggestion that Elizabeth might do otherwise could not be taken seriously. Rafe even wondered if it had been a form of taunting.

  More paranoia? Or the result of the way Edmonds had looked at Elizabeth earlier in the kitchen? Granted, there were few men who would have had the self-control necessary not to look. He didn’t, despite the lecture he’d given himself after he’d made the mistake of kissing her last night.

  Her nightgown had been virtually transparent under the fluorescent lighting. What the sheerness of the material didn’t expose, it hinted at, clinging to every curve of her body. It was no wonder John Edmonds couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Rafe didn’t blame him being interested, but he didn’t have to like that he was. Actually, there wasn’t much about Edmonds being here that he did like. Not even if Griff had sent him.

  Actually, he admitted, his dislike was probably based more on the fact that Griff had sent him than on anything the man had done. It implied Cabot didn’t trust Rafe to keep Elizabeth safe.

  And Griff had never before questioned his ability to handle any situation. Because Rafe had left the team as soon as the effects of the trauma associated with the Amsterdam bombing had become apparent, he had never before had reason to.

  “Then…whenever you’re ready,” Edmonds suggested easily.

  He reached out for the suitcase Elizabeth was carrying, his hand fastening over the handle beside hers. For a moment it seemed as if she were going to refuse to hand it over. Edmonds must have thought the same thing because he smiled at her again as he virtually pulled it from her grasp.

  “I’m very trustworthy, I promise you,” he said lightly.

  “And I promise you that I’m very capable of carrying my own bag.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he agreed, his smile widening attractively. “I, however, seem to be incapable of watching you do that. Early lessons are seldom forgotten. My mother was of the old school.”

  “Are you suggesting that chivalry isn’t dead?” Elizabeth responded, her lips relaxing into a smile.

  “Not in the South, in any case.”

  “You first,” Rafe said.

  The conversation was verging too close to flirtation for him to be comfortable with it. Elizabeth’s eyes lifted, questioning the tone of the command.

  Let her, he thought. Despite his determination to keep his hands off her, he’d be damned if he were going to stand around and watch Edmonds hit on her.

  John’s expression was slightly quizzical as well, as if he weren’t quite sure what he’d done to offend. Rafe didn’t care what either of them thought. All he knew was that the sooner they got to Cabot’s place and got Edmonds’s role in this resolved, the better he’d feel about what was going on.

  No matter Griff’s intentions, Rafe didn’t like being saddled with an unknown factor on a mission as dangerous as this was turning out to be. He had enough to deal with without having to worry about where Edmonds was every minute and what he was doing.

  “I parked a few hundred yards down the drive. If there was someone else waiting up here,” John said, “I didn’t want to give them any warning.”

  In that case, Rafe conceded, it might be smarter for them to take his car. He had pulled it into the enclosed garage under the house when he and Elizabeth had arrived.

  Then, to be on the safe side if anyone was trying to track them, they should move Edmonds’s car inside the garage. Which meant someone would still have to make the trek down the road to bring it back up here, he realized. That all seemed more trouble than it was worth.

  “Lead the way,” he said as soon as he reached that conclusion. “Elizabeth will follow you. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “Fair enough,” Edmonds agreed.

  His eyes were drawn to Elizabeth again as she opened her purse and took out the Beretta that Rafe had confiscated.

  “I don’t suppose I could talk you into giving me back my weapon,” Edmonds asked.

  “No,” Rafe said uncompromisingly.

  “I was afraid of that.” Edmonds’s concession didn’t seem to contain any trace of anger or disappointment. After all, he had probably expected that answer, too. “You know how it is. After all these years I feel naked without it.”

  “Elizabeth is more than able to guard your back.”

  “And you’ll guard hers. I guess all we’ll have to worry about then is a frontal assault.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Edmonds opened the door that led to the basement stairs and stepped through it. Elizabeth glanced back at Rafe, her expression again questioning. Mouth tight, he shook his head, trying to warn her silently that he still had his doubts about Griff’s messenger.

  She nodded her understanding before she turned to follow the supposed Phoenix agent. Taking a quick look around the kitchen, Rafe put both hands around the grip of the Glock, and followed them down the stairs.

  When he reached the midway point, he saw that Edmonds had stopped at the door leading from the basement to the outside. Dawn had broken. In its pale, watery light, the unpaved road that stretched before them, little more than a private drive, seemed very exposed.

  “Through the woods,” Rafe said.

  No one argued, although with the long summer’s heat and moisture the undergrowth beneath the trees that sheltered the narrow lane appeared so dense as to be impenetrable. As Rafe had surveyed their surroundings, he’d decided that wasn’t a bad thing. Not for what he needed to accomplish.

  Edmonds led the way, seeming as comfortable with the trailblazing as he had been flirting with Elizabeth. Periodically he would hold a branch or a vine back to allow her an easier passage through a particularly difficult spot. As soon as she cleared whatever obstacle he was protecting her from, he would again assume the lead.

  The insects had come to life with the first rays of the sun. From the woods around them came a steady hum of activity, broken by the occasional birdcall.

  After less than fifteen minutes Rafe could see the roof of Edmonds’s car ahead of them through the trees. During their journey, they had skirted the road. By keeping within the cover of the woods, he hoped they’d be shielded from view of anyone who might be out there waiting for them.

  The floor of the forest would have
been less dense farther in and easier to travel through, but they would have been more visible. The thickness of the vegetation along the drive, where the undergrowth was exposed to sunlight, suited Rafe’s purposes exactly.

  As he neared his car, Edmonds stopped and looked back. He seemed to be waiting for instructions, apparently having accepted Rafe’s command of this expedition with grace if not enthusiasm.

  Rafe’s first inclination was to signal him to move out into the lane. He’d seen nothing out of the ordinary since they’d left the house. Nothing had set off any of his well-honed instincts for danger. It all seemed as peaceful as any stretch of country woods anywhere.

  Elizabeth had halted, too. Both of them were now turned toward him, awaiting his decision. Before he made one, he listened. In the early-morning stillness he couldn’t hear anything beyond the low, almost mesmerizing murmur of the insects.

  Slowly he scanned the area around the car. The broken patterns of light and shade, created by the overhanging branches that partially filtered the thin sunlight, could in themselves be a form of camouflage. But there seemed to be no unnatural shapes or colors in the surrounding woods. Nothing suspicious. Nothing, he decided, that demanded this much caution.

  After all, there was no reason to expect there might be. No one had followed him and Elizabeth here from Mississippi. No one but the members of the team knew this location. Unless someone had been able to trail Edmonds…

  Not at night, he told himself. Not over the isolated back roads that led to this house. Edmonds would have known. Anyone would.

  His gaze had completed the slow circuit of their surroundings, and he’d seen absolutely nothing to be concerned about. Finally he met John’s eyes and nodded permission.

  Edmonds started forward, but because the brush thickened along the road, he had to force a path through it. After he had, he held the foliage back to ease Elizabeth’s passage.

  Even with his help, she struggled through the undergrowth. Once she used the hand holding her weapon to push back a branch impeding her progress.

  Rafe, following a few feet behind them choked back a warning. Edmonds seemed oblivious to the opportunity she’d given him, appearing more concerned with helping her through to the road.