Exposure

by Dee Davis

  "Sorry. Almost done." He swiftly wrapped the gauze around her arm, securing it with surgical tape. "That should do for now."

  He moved away, sitting in the chair opposite hers, the loss of contact sending shivers of regret racing through her. She pushed her riotous thoughts aside, concentrating instead on her surroundings.

  The suite was a nice one, bordering on regal, and somehow it suited Nigel. The bedroom opened off a small sitting room, with the bathroom in between. Her nerves prickled at the sight of the bathroom door, sensory images of the two of them in the shower bringing her full circle stop to where she'd started.

  Damn the man.

  "I've called for some food and new clothes," Nigel said, bringing her attention back to the present. His expression was impassive except for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that signaled the fact that he'd accurately been following her train of thought. His mind reading was a trait she'd cursed fifteen years ago, and unfortunately it appeared the ability had not lessened with age. "I guessed at the sizes."

  There was something very intimate in the idea of his buying her clothes, and her cheeks burned with the thought.

  "It's going to be all right, you know." His face tightened with the words, all signs of flirtation gone, and she knew that if it were humanly possible he'd make it so. He reached out, and instinctively she responded in kind, their fingers touching, a pulse of pure energy arcing between them.

  Then fortunately, or unfortunately—quite honestly she didn't know—there was a knock at the door and Nigel sprang to his feet, reaching for the Sig Sauer. Gun drawn, he motioned her back. "Who's there?"

  "Room service," came the voice, and Melissa immediately relaxed, but Nigel stayed vigilant, moving so that he could see through the peephole.

  Apparently satisfied, he opened the door, sliding the gun back into the holster at his back.

  A young man with the hint of a beard and livery to fit a king rolled a food cart into the room, his gaze sweeping over Melissa to land nervously on Nigel. "Your breakfast, sir." The sentence would have been perfunctory except for the fact that his voice broke on the second word, his focus on Nigel's now-empty right hand.

  The kid had obviously clued in to the fact that Nigel had a gun, but he hadn't the slightest idea what to do about it. With a move worthy of James Bond, Nigel managed to smile reassuringly at the bellboy and flash some sort of credentials.

  "Thank you, Walter," Nigel said, reading the boy's name tag. His smile had erased some of Walter's fear, but the kid still took a step back toward the relative safety of the door.

  "The, ah, clothes you requested are in the sack underneath the table." Walter waved toward the cart, still edging toward the door.

  Nigel reached into his front pocket, and the boy jumped again. Melissa swallowed a bubble of laughter.

  "This is for your trouble," Nigel said, producing a twenty. In seconds, Walter's greed overcame his fear, and he stepped forward to snatch the bill away, bis head bobbing with gratitude and a good measure of awe.

  Now that the boy was fairly certain he wasn't going to get his head blown off, he was beginning to enjoy the situation. No doubt the incident would be greatly embellished and shared over beer with Walter's buddies.

  "I'm sure we can count on your discretion." It was a statement, not a question, and if there'd been any doubt of the fact, Nigel's fierce expression sealed the deal. Walter nodded with a vigor that probably left loose teeth, and literally ran from the room. "That went rather well, I thought." Nigel lifted one of the silver lids and inhaled deeply.

  The scent of bacon earned over to Melissa and her stomach grumbled in response. "Only if you count making the poor kid wet his pants as a victory."

  "I really didn't mean to scare him." Nigel straightened and turned to Melissa. The intimate look was back, as if the two of them shared a private line, separate from the rest of the world.

  "You were fine. After he's had a chance to recover, he'll dine out on the story for years."

  They stood for a moment, communicating on a phero-monal level, then with a little shake of his head, Nigel broke the spell, reaching for the bag underneath the room-service cart. "Your clothes, milady."

  Coming from him, it seemed truly chivalrous, and Melissa wondered why the hell she'd ever walked away. There were reasons, good ones to boot, but at the moment they all escaped her. She reached for the bag, carefully avoiding his fingers. No need in further inciting her already riotous nerve endings.

  "Thanks. I'll change in the bedroom." She stood for at least three more minutes, trying to convince her feet to follow the command, then finally managed to move down the hallway. Ten minutes after that, she was sitting at the table wearing a pair of designer jeans and a Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt that accentuated every curve she had plus a few she hadn't even been aware of.

  Nigel obviously had experience choosing women's clothing, despite his earlier protestations to the contrary. Not that she was about to acknowledge the fact.

  The omelet he'd ordered was equally perfect, and despite her earlier stomach problems, she was enjoying every bite. Nigel, on the other hand, was still on alert, his gaze darting every few minutes to the windows and door. She supposed the movements ought to make her feel equally jumpy, but conversely she felt only a sense of contentment. As if she'd surrendered her problem.

  It probably wouldn't last, but at least for the moment it was comforting.

  "I talked with Payton Reynolds, one of the friends I was telling you about," Nigel said, his attention returning to her.

  "The one with helicopter connections?" Again she found herself responding more because it seemed expected than because she really wanted an answer. Her brief burst of energy was fading fast.

  "No." Nigel shook his head. "That's Cullen Pulaski—and he's more of an associate than a friend. Payton was with me in Iraq. Anyway, he's going to see what he can dig up. Try and trace your handler for one thing, and maybe find out who it was you saw at your apartment."

  Melissa opened her mouth to protest, but Nigel held up bis hand to silence her. "The more information we have, the better we can assess the situation. Payton will be discreet, believe me. You've no worries there. Until we know what it is you're facing, no one will have any idea that we know where you are."

  "You think someone is trying to kill me?" They both already knew the answer. But she needed to say it out loud, to face the specter hovering between them.

  "I'm afraid it seems likely. New York certainly has its fan-share of people with guns, but generally you don't find them on Park Avenue taking potshots at pedestrians, and when you add the events of last night to the equation I'm not sure how you could think anything else. The big questions, of course, are who and why. Any ideas who might be after you?"

  "Quite honestly, there are any number of possibilities." Melissa laid her fork on her plate, her appetite dissipating. "I haven't exactly been hanging out on the sidelines, you know?"

  "But for the most part your work has all been undercover, right?"

  "True." She nodded. "But that doesn't mean the information isn't available. Just a whole lot harder to obtain."

  "And if your handler gave you up—"

  "No," she interrupted, her anger surprising her. "I've worked with Ed Wyland a long time. There's no way he'd rat me out."

  "There's always a way, Melissa." Nigel's expression was grim. "Even when people really care."

  She blew out a long breath, knowing he was right. Still, she'd lay odds Ed would die before giving her up. At the thought she shuddered. "You think he's dead."

  "I think it's a possibility." As usual he didn't sugarcoat his words, and for some reason she found that she was absurdly grateful for the fact.

  "Which could mean I've been compromised." "Again, I think it's possible. Look, we're not going to find answers sitting here speculating. Payton and the others will pull together whatever they can, and then we'll assimilate it and see where we are. Until then, the only thing we can do is lay
low." He glanced at his watch. "The helicopter will be here soon. Have you had enough to eat?"

  "More than enough." Her stomach was beginning to regret the whole thing actually, the reality of the situation back front and center.

  "Right then." Nigel stood up, offering his hand. "Let's go."

  She took it before she had the chance to think about what she was doing, the contact immediately sending waves of heat dancing along her skin. Whatever else was between them, she sure as hell couldn't deny the fact that there was chemistry present. Mind-numbing, explosion-causing chemistry, her brain cautioned.

  Bragging or complaining ? the little voice in her head countered, and Melissa grimaced.

  It didn't really matter anyway. The fact was that she was here, and for the moment at least their lives were again intertwined. Time would tell what the repercussions might be, but in the meantime, despite the situation, Melissa was determined to enjoy the ride.

  "SO DID YOU SEE this woman?" Payton asked, his attention on the tree line passing below them. He and Gabe were on their way to pick up forensic pathologist Tracy Braxton. She'd worked with them on several cases, and Nigel had requested her help.

  Cullen had arranged a helicopter so that once they had Tracy, they could head straight to the retreat. Harrison and Madison had gone ahead in the SUV with various pieces of necessary equipment. For all practical purposes they were moving headquarters, at least temporarily, to a compound in the Upper Hudson Valley.

  "Just when she came into the room. It was hard not to notice." Gabe raised an eyebrow with a shrug.

  "A looker?"

  "And then some. But not in the sultry way you're thinking. It was more about grace, as if she wasn't really aware of the package, you know what I mean?"

  "The most dangerous type."

  "Damn it, Payton, there's no need to be morose. You know as well as I do that we work in a small world. Nigel's running into someone from his past isn't exactly the end of the world."

  "But she's a journalist."

  "Photojournalist, actually. And she works for us." Gabe's expression turned darker. "Look, I don't blame you for seeing a parallel between your past and Nigel's, but that doesn't mean there actually is one."

  "I know." Payton sighed, running a hand through his hair, wishing Sam were here. She had a way of calming his demons, allowing him to see the world as it really was, not as his nightmares would have him believe. "It's just that I can't help being cautious."

  "So what did you find out?" Gabe sat back, crossing his arms, making the copter look small, despite the fact that it was built to carry at least twelve people in the lap of luxury.

  "Not as much as I'd have liked. The dossier was sealed. But between my connections and Harrison's skills with a keyboard we got quite a bit. She was born m Dallas. One sister, Alicia, married to a midlevel diplomat named Aaron Rosenblatt."

  "He's Jewish?"

  Payton nodded. "Very low-key about it. I checked his dossier, too. But there's nothing out of the ordinary. Career officer with the foreign service. On the rise, but nothing extraordinary."

  "What about the sister?"

  "Even more bland. Not even a traffic ticket. According to the file, the girls were orphaned when they were still young. Raised by an aunt in Lubbock. The aunt apparently remarried and dumped the girls when they were close to college age. So the two of them moved to Austin, where Alicia met Rosenblatt and Melissa studied photojournalism. They appear to be close, but don't see each other much. Probably thanks to Rosenblatt's schedule and Melissa's assignments. Alicia and Aaron were at the party, though."

  "I saw them when Melissa came in. Sister's good-looking, too. What about Melissa's dealings with the Company?"

  "She's been on the payroll since she got out of college. Small stuff at first. Passing information, observational photographs, that sort of thing. Basically using her assignments to provide various levels of intel."

  "I take it she's worked up to bigger things?"

  "Yeah, according to the stuff Harrison finagled, she infiltrated a terrorist training camp in Afghanistan under the guise of journalistic freedom. She even managed to map the coordinates, and thanks to her work, the air force destroyed the place."

  "Score one for the good guys."

  "Something like that." Payton shrugged. "She worked Afghanistan for several more years and then got called home after 9/11. Her latest assignment has been working the UN to try and discover the identity of the suspected turncoat. From some of the reports I read, she's not too happy to be doing domestic duty."

  "I hear that." Gabe's grin was commiserative.

  "I thought you liked Homeland Security."

  "In some ways I guess I do. But it's deadly dull compared to the old days." Gabe, like Payton, had spent the bulk of his career in the CIA working deep-cover operations overseas. Gabe's assignments had primarily been in Europe, while Pay-ton's had been in Asia. And although Gabe's time in Delta Force as team leader had meant involvement in black ops, his path with the Company had been slightly more desirable.

  Payton, on the other hand, had accepted assignments that no one else had been willing to carry out, one-man missions that often were expected to end in failure and/or termination. Of course they hadn't been counting on Payton.

  "I can't say I'd like domestic duty beyond the occasional Last Chance case," Payton said. "But there's something to be said for staying this side of the firefight."

  They were silent for a moment, each remembering. Pay-ton was the first to shrug it off. If he'd learned anything it was that the past had to stay the past. "Anyway, there's nothing in Melissa's records to indicate she's anything but on the up-and-up."

  "But you're still worried."

  "Yeah, I am. I just don't want to see Nigel taken advantage of. Not to mention the fact that there's potential for our mission to be compromised."

  "How do you figure that?" Gabe frowned, his brows drawing together in one black line.

  "Melissa was Nigel's contact. So it follows if she's in trouble, it's pretty darn certain it will impact our operation one way or the other."

  "I suppose there's validity in that," Gabe acknowledged. "But until we know all the details I don't want us jumping to conclusions. Especially based on something that has nothing whatsoever to do with Melissa."

  "I hear you." Payton lifted a hand in supplication. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's a hell of a lot more going on here than some old flame of Nigel's needing him to ride to the rescue. So if there is anything out there on Melissa Pope, I damn sure intend to find it."

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE HOUSE RESEMBLED a fortress more than anything. If Melissa had been in England or Scotland or maybe the Rhine Valley it wouldn't have seemed unusual. But here in the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley it seemed oddly out of place. Constructed of gray limestone, it rose out of the rock as if it had sprung from the ground fully formed.

  Trees clustered around it like protective soldiers, and Melissa had no doubt that the compound would be all but invisible to the casual observer. The helipad consisted of an empty field, and as Melissa and Nigel ran from underneath the whirling blades, her primary thought was that getting out of the compound would probably be as difficult as getting into it.

  Nigel's friend Cullen certainly liked his security.

  She stopped underneath a large oak tree, grateful for the protection as the first spatters of rain bit the ground. The sky, which had been threatening all day, had finally decided to let loose.

  In the distance, the helicopter rose into the air, and with a whir of blades disappeared into the clouds. "Will he be all right?" Melissa yelled above the rising storm.

  Nigel nodded. "He's probably flown in a lot worse." His words were whipped away by the wind, and with a tip of his head toward the house, he slid an arm around her and they began to run, rain pelting down in earnest now.

  There was no front drive. Nothing at all to allow vehicles of any kind, and Melissa wondered again if this were a
fortress to keep people out or keep people in. She shivered, but Nigel evidently thought it was the rain, because he tightened his hold, pulling her into the curve of his hard body.

  The years had done nothing to soften Nigel Ferns, and some part of her was unaccountably pleased by the fact They ran between stone pillars that parted the wall surrounding the compound, up a flagstone pathway onto the covered porch marking the entrance.

  "So," he said, stopping in front of the door, "we're here."

  It was the literal truth, and yet Melissa felt as if the statement had more meaning somehow, as if by stepping through the threshold she was moving into completely uncharted waters—both physically and emotionally. A part of her urged her to run as far and as fast as she could, but the part of her that had lived on the edge all these years knew that she'd already mentally crossed the threshold There was no turning back.

  "Let's do it."

  Nigel nodded and then slid an elaborately carved rosette, situated just to the right of the door, to the side. Beneath it lay an electronic keypad. Nigel entered a series of numbers, waiting twice for answering beeps, then finishing with an additional three-number code. The door, apparently a facade, slid silently into the wall in response, the entry hall yawning cold and sterile.

  "Don't worry, it gets a lot better from this point on." Nigel smiled down at her and ushered her into the anteroom. It reminded her of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World, and she half expected the floor to drop out from under them.

  But instead, after Nigel punched another set of numbers into an identical keypad, the wall on the far side opened to reveal a much more inviting entryway. This one was paneled in walnut, with rich Turkish carpets lining the wood-planked floor. There was an ornate credenza bright with inlaid wood against one wall, and a gilded mirror opposite it on the other.

  "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," she murmured to no one in particular.

  "I warned you." Nigel shrugged, his hand warm against her elbow as he escorted her to a room that opened off the wall with the mirror.