Dangerous Lies

by Claudia Shelton

  She waited.

  Why couldn’t he say what he wanted to say? Because he didn’t know what the hell to say. Because he was sure she already knew what a jerk he could be. He sighed heavily. Because he was tired, too tired to think anymore.

  “Evidently we don’t have anything to discuss, Mitch. Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll talk later.”

  “I…”

  Shaking her head, she pushed his hand from the door. “Go take a shower. Clean up. You look like hell.”

  She closed the door in his face then clicked the lock.

  His whole plan had fallen apart the moment she’d opened the door. Something about her standing her ground right in front of him had scuttled what brain waves he’d had before he’d knocked. There was nothing he could do about what had happened, but he wouldn’t let her get the edge on him ever again. He was the protector on this assignment, the only thing he had to concentrate on getting right. All she had to do was follow his orders.

  He went back to his own stateroom and flipped on the shower in the stateroom’s small bathroom then peeled out of the Neoprene. Twisting to get a better look at his side in the mirror, he noticed the spot where he’d taken a hard kidney blow on the last assignment, which was still swollen, along with the yellow-green blackish shade of the bruise. If that didn’t fade in a few days, he’d have it checked out by OPAQUE’s doc.

  His reflection in the mirror made him stop. Red, sleep-deprived eyes, overgrown stubble, scraggly hair, and lines bunched in his forehead hit him hard. Sure, he’d left one assignment to get to this one, but he’d done that other times with no problem. This time, the man looking back at him shouted he needed a break.

  “Good luck with that, bucko,” he said to himself. “Too much evil in the world for any kind of rest.”

  Liz had been right about one thing. He looked like hell.

  She’d looked like heaven to him. Her wet, slicked-back hair with the scent of gardenia, her toenails sparkling with color, her slender ankles leading to her golden tan legs, to her thighs, to… He flicked the water to full ice cold.

  Too bad. They were nothing more than protector and client, just the way he liked his life to run.

  Chapter Eleven

  Liz bolted upright in bed. She jerked her eyes away from the midday sun shining through the porthole. What had she heard?

  “Drone! Drone!” echoed loud and clear from somewhere up above, along with a pulsing buzzer.

  Pressing her eyes tightly together, she covered her ears, trying to muffle the screech. The sound ceased a half second before a pounding fist hit her door.

  “Liz. This is real. Open the door,” Mitch shouted.

  She jumped out of bed, flicked open the lock, and turned the handle. Before she finished, he’d pushed himself into her doorway. He looked fierce, his gaze intense, every muscle straining against an unseen enemy. A gun clenched in his hand.

  “Get dressed,” he said as he chambered a round and turned away. “And stay quiet. No matter what happens. Stay quiet.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “What part of quiet do you not understand?”

  She figured he didn’t want an answer.

  Grabbing the stack of clean clothes from the small dresser, she quickly shucked the oversized men’s T-shirt she’d slept in then pulled on her clothes. All thoughts of decorum had gone by the wayside. But that hadn’t mattered, because his focus was entirely on the stairs at the far end of the boat’s main cabin.

  Obviously, Mitch had jumped right out of bed and taken up position at her door, because all he had on were a pair of black boxerjock briefs. The stretch of the material only served to accentuate his body but, trying to focus her nerves, all she could do was stare at the red waistband.

  A loud thud sounded on deck, and Reese and Drake shouted a loud laugh and hoorah. Had they caught someone? Who? She took a step toward the porthole.

  “Stay away from the window.”

  “Please tell me what’s happening,” she whispered, moving close behind him once again. If he could talk, so could she.

  “Onboard air detection must have picked up a drone flying into our space.”

  A drone? Out here? How had anyone been able to track them down in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico? She’d been involved in working with drones for some of her magazine articles. They made easy work of what used to be dangerous climbing to get the right view or close-ups of a nest of endangered birds. But she didn’t like being on the receiving end of the close-up.

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s watching us?” he said.

  Nodding, Mitch halfway glanced in her direction while keeping his eyes, and gun, trained on the hallway. “Reese and Drake are doing their best to convince the drone guys this is nothing more than a charter boat.”

  Okay, she got that. Kind of. “So, what was the thud?”

  “Drake landed a really big fish on deck. Now he and Reese will take a moment to do some big-time celebrating like guys do.”

  “Lucky for us, a big fish grabbed onto his line so fast.”

  “You are something else, Liz. I tell you what, when they cook that fish, you watch out for the remote control.”

  Some things he said were so far above her realm of thought, she just let them pass. She’d ask for specifics later. Assuming there would be a later. The seconds slipped into minutes, slipped into a quarter hour. Finally, she sat down on the side of the bed.

  Suddenly she heard Drake and Reese laughing and joking, coming down the stairs into the cabin. Their chatter abruptly stopped, and she heard what sounded like the whoosh of a sliding panel.

  “Where the fuck did that drone come from?” Drake asked.

  Lowering his gun, Mitch stepped into the hallway then joined the other men in the cabin area. “Better question, how did they even find this boat in the middle of the Gulf?”

  “Got anything on sonar, Reese?” Drake asked.

  “Looks clean. They must have bought the fishing routine.”

  Still waiting in her stateroom, she wanted to shout for joy. Yet all she could manage was a long exhale. Steadying her hand against the doorframe, she realized her chest seemed unwilling to release the tension of fear that had bitten into her for the past few minutes. But for all Mitch’s words about her worthless ass, he’d been there to protect her. He’d stood in front of her, ready to face whatever came down the stairs. She’d never forget that. Never.

  He motioned her to join them in the cabin, so she slipped out of her stateroom. Breathing in the fresh brewed coffee aroma, she headed straight for a cup. From the looks of Drake and Reese, they could have really been two guys out for a day of fishing.

  As for her, she needed caffeine. Caffeine and answers. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the small table.

  Technology seemed to have run rampant on the far wall of the boat’s cabin as Reese stood in front of an embedded screen. He increased the radius of the search on the radar. Farther and farther. “That had to be one high-speed drone. There’s no sign of it on radar anymore.”

  Mitch picked up a tech-band from the counter then glanced at Drake and nodded. “Maybe they got what they wanted. Ditched the bird in the water.”

  From her limited experience, something seemed to be missing. “What about the sound? The hive-of-buzzing-bees sound drones make?”

  “What do you mean?” Drake asked.

  “I know we weren’t up on deck, but I think we’d have heard the buzzing.”

  Drake shook his head. “The hum was low. Really low. Means they put a lot of money into that baby.”

  “Maybe they saw Mitch and me in the stateroom.” The men were better informed than her, but still she wanted to toss out all the simple things they might have overlooked. “I mean, if they’re using all this advanced technology, wouldn’t they have used infrared imaging? Or thermal?”

  The corner of Mitch’s mouth quirked as he tightened the tech-band on his forearm. “Good questions. Bottom line, th
is boat was built with up-to-date specs. That includes cutting-edge test material. The kind that blocks imaging.”

  “Scrambles sound, too. Wouldn’t want any eavesdropping on our conversations.” Reese input more codes on the keyboard linked to the tracking screen.

  She rapidly realized her knowledge was like first grade, and these guys were like they’d graduated with a doctorate in drones and evasive maneuvers.

  Watching the way Mitch never took his eyes off the tracking screen, she wasn’t surprised when he and Reese began an intense, rapid-fire, whispered conversation. Mitch pointed to the edge of the screen. Reese keyed in more codes. The images altered. Mitch tapped a button at the side, and what had been one screen changed to a split screen.

  The one on the left stayed as the radar tracking screen, the screen on the right showed a satellite view. With a couple more taps, the colors changed. Again, the two men began pointing and pegging images. The more they talked, the less she understood. Evidently, they were speaking OPAQUE jargon.

  Mitch raised one eyebrow. “Call for backup, Drake. The drone may be gone, but they’ve got us targeted.”

  “Looks like there’s a large yacht trolling the waters.”

  “Vacationers?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  Mitch almost growled with his heavy sigh. “From what I’m getting off the satellite feed, that doesn’t look like a family on vacation.”

  “Keith was the elite team expert on the sonar/radar gig, but best I can tell”—Reese pointed at the screen—”that looks like four PWCs zipping away from that boat.”

  Liz couldn’t sit still any longer. She stood. She knew she was in the way. She couldn’t help that. She was afraid. Afraid that…

  Never taking his eyes from the satellite feed, Mitch reached out and pulled her close to his side. “They’ve got a smaller boat being lowered into the Gulf. Looks fast. Damn fast.”

  Drake slammed his fist on the table. “How long till they get here?”

  Chapter Twelve

  How long till Coercion Ten arrived?

  The tracking screen in the boat’s main cabin calculated in knots and minutes. Mitch calculated in specifics. Answer— Never, if he had anything to do with it.

  He might not have all the specifics on this case, but he’d already figured out this was no ordinary Coercion Ten versus OPAQUE. So far, only Drake held all the answers.

  Answers Mitch planned to have soon. Real soon. “Reese, get this boat moving, stat. Buzz our Navy contact for rescue. Tell them we’ll be running south till further notice.”

  “Got it.”

  “We’ll need a chopper. Two line drops. Two guys to steer the boat in the wrong direction.”

  “Got it.” Reese grabbed a couple of guns from a wall rack then pushed past the others and climbed the stairs. The sound of his footsteps had barely hit the wheelhouse deck before the engines kicked into high gear.

  Mitch braced his feet wide apart as the boat arced into a turn, heading south. “Liz, finish getting dressed. There are extra shoes in the locker. Find a pair that fits you.”

  “I know. Get tie-ons.” Steadying herself against the side of the table, she bumped into his chest.

  “You learn fast.”

  “Can you give me ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes. No more. Drake still needs to bring us up to speed on this.” He jerked a nod in her direction, and she headed to her stateroom.

  She stopped at the doorway then caught his attention as she waved her finger up and down in his direction. “You might want to get dressed, too. Unless you plan to run around in your skivvies all day.”

  He glanced down, then rolled his eyes and walked back to his own room. Without thinking, he threw on some clothes, strapped holsters in place on his shoulder and thigh, and stuffed extra clips in his pocket. Shoving the knife and gun into place, he grabbed his other Glock. And a pair of shoes. Tie-ons.

  Stepping back into the main cabin, there was no sign of Drake. He’d probably already headed up on deck.

  From the hard bump of the hull hitting the water, he had no doubt the boat was running flat-out. Mitch paused at the tracking screen for another check on radar and satellite. Looked like they had a good hour lead time on Coercion Ten’s chase boat and PWCs and were steadily increasing that lead.

  “Hurry up, Liz,” Mitch shouted as he headed up the stairs, out of the cabin.

  “Don’t rush me. I’ve still got two more minutes.”

  If she wasn’t on deck in two, he’d go down and pull her upstairs. The conversation with Drake had to happen, and Mitch wanted her to be part of that talk. Her reaction to whatever the boss said would tell him a lot about how much she’d known all along. Plus, he wasn’t sure if she and Drake had had a chance to talk about paternity.

  He found Drake leaning back against the side rail of the boat, staring out at the Gulf. He’d strapped on his gun, too. Hung his binoculars around his neck. And plopped on one of his three favorite baseball caps. Anyone not familiar with him would see a harmless, early-fifties man with tinges of gray streaking his once dark brown hair.

  That might be their last mistake. Not only was he six foot with eyes that seemed to stare right through a man, he also worked out every day. He might not be as fast as he used to be, but he’d fight as hard as he had thirty years ago. He’d put you down or die trying.

  Since the drone had appeared, Drake had stayed off to the side for the most part, quiet and watching. He might be the Director of OPAQUE, but once the chopper escape became their only option, the control of the assignment had shifted back to Mitch.

  “She about ready?” Drake asked.

  “Not long,” Mitch replied.

  “You got everything you need?”

  “Yeah. Except for the answers.” His implication hung in the air.

  Drake glanced up at the sky. “Beautiful day. Got a few clouds on the horizon. Might even get a little rain tonight. Maybe a storm.”

  Mitch didn’t see any clouds. Neither did Drake. This was just one of his ways of softening what was to come. None of the agents had figured out if the softening was meant for them or for Drake.

  The noise from the boat engines notched downward and then finally silenced. The boat slowed, and once it came to a slow float, Reese came down from the wheelhouse. “Chopper should be in the vicinity in less than thirty. Let me know when I should call them in close.”

  Reese focused across the deck. A slight widening of his eyes was his only outward sign to whatever had grabbed his attention.

  “Good. That should give us enough time to…” Drake stared toward the stairs leading to the boat cabin, his eyebrows pinched together.

  Grabbing the gun from his holster, Mitch was ready for whatever waited behind him. He spun around. Straightened his arm. Aimed. Jerked it back down, pointing the gun at the deck. He gulped and swallowed, as his core took in what he was seeing. “Oh, Liz…”

  Standing in front of them, Liz looked determined, defiant, and drained. She’d cut her hair finger-length short all over her head. And, it was streaked with what looked like a light desert-sand color.

  He walked closer to her and stared. Gone were the straight bangs. The overly neat smoothness. The soft shoulder-length strands he’d wrapped his hand around as he kissed her out on the Q40.

  “Back at the beach house, Cat showed me all the ways you can change your appearance. When I told her no one would ever make me cut my hair, she told me hair can grow back. Dead is dead,” Liz said as she gently dabbed the short strands of hair. “I can make this even lighter if I need to.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.” He brushed his fingers through her hair.

  “Cat’s lying in a hospital because of me. The least I can do is cut my hair,” she said softly. “I had a little trouble with changing the color.”

  He glanced at his palm covered in a coating of the light desert-sand color. “Is this camo?”

  Nodding, she appeared quite happy with herself. “I was search
ing for a pair of scissors in the kitchen drawers when I saw the camo face paint. I figured, why not give it a try until I can get to some tinted spray.”

  “There’s just one—”

  Drake loudly cleared his throat. “You did a good job, Liz. Next time I talk to Cat, I’ll tell her.”

  “See? He says I did a good job.” Liz nodded as she took a seat in one of the chairs, then glanced up at Mitch. “You scowl.”

  Before long, she’d be the one scowling enough for both of them. Getting camo face paint out of hair was no easy job.

  To change her look had taken guts, and that defiant little lift of her chin as they’d all first seen the new her had been powerful. An expression he wouldn’t soon forget.

  The one thing he didn’t like was the way she seemed to be inching her way into his psyche. No one had permission to go there. No one.

  “I hate to break up this moment”—Reese pointed to his earbud—“but, the chopper’s ETA is now twenty.”

  “Got it.” Mitched turned toward Drake. “I want some answers. Now.”

  “Bottom line, OPAQUE can’t get a handle on what’s happened to Liz’s dad, Russ,” Drake said. “This isn’t like one of his usual call reports.”

  Isn’t like one of his usual call reports? This time was different? Mitch didn’t need a brick upside the head to pick up on the insinuation. “He’s one of ours?”

  “Not exactly.” The boss caught each of their gazes with his own then stared at Liz. “About nine years after her family went into WPP, a couple of representatives from Coercion Ten showed up at their front door. Russ fought to keep them outside.”

  Liz’s expression paled as she stood up. “Oh, for all that’s holy. That had to be when my mother dragged me through a doorway behind the bathroom linen cabinet. There was a room I’d never seen before. No windows, just a dim light. A couple lawn chairs, a cot, a small table in the corner with an even smaller fridge underneath.”

  The look on her face and tone of her voice was all Mitch needed to know for certain she’d had no idea what this case was about. Or anything else that involved OPAQUE or CT all her life.