by Anna Hackett
She was dressed in old, khaki cargo pants, and a baggy, but comfortable, Star Wars T-shirt that sported Princess Leia’s iconic hairstyle, and said “Rebel princess.” She had a plain, brown wig on that was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and a pair of cute glasses perched on her nose.
She approached the computer shop, slipping into the role of female computer geek like it was a cloak. She slumped her shoulders a little, her steps losing her usual brisk, determined stride.
Evan stepped inside the shop.
A portly man greeted her. He had “geek” stamped all over him, from his coke-bottle glasses to his sweater vest.
“Welcome.”
“Oh, hi.” She sent him a tentative smile. “I’m new in town, but I’ve heard great things about your store.”
“Excellent. Anything in particular I can help you with?”
She shook her head, scanning the packed shelves. “I’ll just have a look around.”
“Then look all you please. If you have any questions, let me know.”
Evan took her time, pretending to study computers and gadgets with rapt attention. She liked tech just fine, but it didn’t leave her giddy, like some.
The door jangled.
Ahh, right on time.
She glanced over, then made herself blink and blush.
She had to admit, pretending interest in Brooks Jameson wasn’t difficult. The man was very easy to look at, and also the most well-built geek she’d ever seen. Muscled arms were covered in tattoos, and his white shirt clung to his muscular chest. His rugged face was topped with thick, brown hair and black-framed glasses.
Prime-grade geek.
Like her, he wore a Star Wars shirt, his sporting an image of Baby Yoda, and he had a sleek laptop tucked under one arm.
“Hey, Eamon, you got that part I ordered?”
The store owner smiled. “Hi, Brooks. Yup, it arrived. I’ve got to keep my best customer happy.”
Brooks grinned. “How’s your gorgeous wife?”
Eamon grinned back. “Still gorgeous. And your beautiful girlfriend?”
“Still beautiful. Damn, we are lucky.”
The men laughed. Evan circled the store, looking at merchandise. She felt Brooks glance her way and she looked up, then nervously looked away again. When she looked back in his direction, she shot him a shy smile.
One part of her waited nervously for him to recognize her, but he just smiled back.
The shop owner brought out a box and the men cooed over its contents. Okay, she hoped the info she’d paid a crap-ton of money for was good. She didn’t know anything about the innards of a computer, but she was going to pretend she did.
She glanced over Brooks’ broad shoulder. “Oh wow, is that a Pantherware processor?”
Brooks’ eyebrows rose. “It is. You into computers?”
Evan shrugged a shoulder. “I’m into gaming, so I like to have a good machine.”
“Cool. I’m Brooks.” He held out a hand.
“Sarah.” She shook his hand.
“I like your shirt, Sarah.” His grin was sexy as hell.
She laughed. “Yours is great, too.” She eyed his laptop. “Wow, what is that?”
Brooks shrugged. “It’s not available on the market.”
“Brooks builds his own machines,” Eamon said. “With the latest and best components.”
“And the priciest,” Brooks said dryly.
“Man has to make a living.”
The men grinned at each other, clearly good friends.
“And he has a few top-secret pieces he cooks up himself,” Eamon said conspiratorially to Evan.
Brooks winked.
“Can I see?” She made her voice breathless.
Brooks opened the laptop, but didn’t turn it on, careful not to show anything classified.
Evan ran a hand over the shiny, black surface. “Nice.”
“It’s got top-of-the-line graphics, memory, and a processor to make a grown man, or woman, weep.”
And she had a tiny, clear microdot on her fingertip that was top-of-the-line too.
She pressed it to the laptop’s cover. She could barely even feel it. It was a little experimental something the gurus at the CIA had cooked up. She’d snuck a few out when she’d escaped Langley.
“I bet it’s awesome,” she said. “One day, I hope I have something as equally amazing.” She smiled at them. “I’d better get going.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” Brooks said.
“You too. Have a good day.” She gave a cheery wave.
Evan headed out of the store, keeping in character until she was several streets away.
In an alley, she pulled off her wig and yanked her T-shirt off to uncover a black tank top. She dumped the wig and shirt in a dumpster. Then she pulled on a baseball cap.
She walked down the street and stopped beside a plain, old Mustang she’d bought for cash. She got in and drove to the mid-level motel at the edge of the Strip that she’d rented under an alias.
Once she was safely locked inside her room, she pulled a large lockbox out from under the bed. She entered in her security code and the lid opened.
Inside, sat her top-of-the-line laptop, her weapons, money, and ID and passports for all her aliases. Not CIA-created ones. Over the years, with her mother’s encouragement, she’d collected her own aliases.
Just in case.
Evan had never dreamed she’d need them.
An ugly burn filled her gut. She stomped it down and set the laptop on the bed, then strode over to the mini fridge and grabbed a can of Diet Coke.
She popped the top and took a long pull of the fizzy, refreshing goodness. She started up her laptop, then logged in with her fingerprint. She pulled up her program and got to work.
Come on. Come on. There. Evan fist pumped the air. She was in.
She’d just tapped into Team 52’s secure system by piggybacking off Brooks’ computer.
There was so much data. She scanned through some of it. Hmm, it looked like the files on the artifacts weren’t on the network. Probably on a discrete system at the base. Good. That made it harder for Brennan to get the info he wanted.
She tapped a finger against her lips. Next, she sent out her sneaky little program she called a wraith to monitor the system. If Brennan got in, she’d spot him, and see what he was looking for.
She just had to be careful that Brooks Jameson didn’t catch her. She knew he was good.
Evan pulled up some info. Ah. She smiled and took another sip of her Diet Coke.
Jonah Grayson’s private, secure number.
She shouldn’t be taking such delight in one-upping the man. This was dangerous. It wasn’t a game.
But Brennan aside, this felt like a titillating game of cat and mouse. She hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.
She pulled up her tablet, ran her blocking program, then leaned back on the pillows and dialed.
A second later, that impossibly handsome and intimidating face filled the screen.
Seeing her, his dark brows drew together. “How did you get this number?”
She smiled. “I’m very, very good, Director Grayson.”
Sitting at the desk in his home study, Jonah fought back his anger. How the hell had she gotten his secure number?
Reluctant admiration punched through him. If things were different, he’d recruit her for Team 52.
Or maybe not. Staring at her smile and the tumble of her red hair, it would be pure torture to have this woman—who tempted him like Eve with that damned apple—working for him.
“If I can get to you, then the man I warned you about can, too,” she said.
“Tell me who you are. Tell me who he is.”
Frustration filled her face and she drew in a breath. “Please, listen to me.”
“Did you try to kill me?” Jonah asked.
Her extraordinary hazel eyes popped wide. “What? No! I saved your sorry ass.”
“You lured me onto the balcony.
You sure the sniper wasn’t yours?”
“No!” She sounded like she was gritting her teeth. “They belong to Br… The man I warned you about.”
She looked sincere, but it could all be an act. “I’m not in the business of trusting blindly. Neither, it seems, are you.”
She made an angry noise.
Jonah was getting to her, and he liked that. “Contact me when you’re ready to talk. I’ve business to attend to.”
He ended the call. Rising, he moved to the jug on the side table and poured himself a cold glass of water. He didn’t doubt her skills, or her persistence. What was her endgame? He drank the water, but it did little to cool him down.
Something brushed his legs and he looked down at his black cat. Kowi wound through Jonah’s legs, then stalked off like he owned the place. Another creature that didn’t ever listen to him.
Sitting back at his desk, he used his tablet to call Brooks.
“Hey, boss-man. I just got back to the Bunker—”
“She contacted me. On my secure line.”
“What?” Brooks exclaimed. “That’s not possible!”
“My secure Team 52 line, Brooks.”
Jonah’s tech expert broke out in a spate of colorful curses.
Jonah raised a brow. “You kiss Callie with that mouth?”
“She can cuss worse than I can when it suits her.” Brooks hunched over his laptop. “I’ll find out how she got in, dammit.”
“Any chance she can access our full system?”
“No!” Then Brooks’ face twisted. “Fuck. I’ll run some scans.”
“Brooks, dig deep. I don’t trust her, and I don’t know what her agenda is yet.”
“Got it. I’m on it, trust me. That dirty nerf herder is not getting away with this.”
Jonah frowned. “Did you just use a Star Wars reference?”
“Maybe. I’ll call you when I know more. Wait.” Brooks held up a hand. “Ty just sent his lab report.”
Jonah leaned forward, excitement licking his veins. “Did he get something?”
“He ran the DNA from the blood.” Brooks’ eyes sparked. “And he got a hit.”
Elation punched through Jonah. “Who is she?”
Brooks shook his head. “Don’t know. Ty hit a very classified wall. The DNA and its owner are protected.”
Jonah leaned back, chair creaking. “She’s government.” High-level, if Team 52 didn’t have high enough clearance. “Probably CIA.”
Brooks nodded. “My guess, too.”
It made sense considering her skills. A CIA agent warning him of a powerful man who should be a good guy? It could be someone else in the CIA, or a politician, or a high-powered businessman. There were still too many options.
And that was if she was telling him the truth.
“We’ll talk soon, Brooks.”
Jonah sat there and found himself doodling on his notepad. He realized that he’d sketched her face. That beautiful face that taunted him.
He had somewhere to look for her now.
His laptop chimed that a call was coming through. He saw that it was one of his contacts at the Department of Defense.
Robert Broderick’s face appeared, with his pointed chin and goatee. “Jonah, you’re looking well.”
“And you look like you need to get back out in the field. Getting soft.”
His friend grinned and patted his stomach. “No, I’ve hung up my fatigues. I do miss the old days sometimes, especially watching you caress the controls of a helo, flying us into hell.”
Jonah missed those days too.
“Remember that mission in Iraq?” Rob shook his head.
“I’ll never forget it,” Jonah said.
Rob’s smile evaporated, his face turning serious. “Look, I had a colleague of mine get in touch. He wants to talk to you about a security issue.”
Jonah raised a brow.
“His name’s David Brennan. He’s an assistant director at CIA.”
Jonah fought the urge to stiffen. “Okay. About?”
Rob shook his head. “Wants to talk to you directly. Can I patch him through?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Thanks, Jonah. Stop by for dinner next time you’re in D.C.”
“I will.” The screen went blank for a second, then a man in his late fifties appeared on screen. He had salt-and-pepper hair and bright-blue eyes. He clearly kept in shape and was sitting in a nondescript-looking office.
“Director Grayson, thanks for talking with me.” The man had a deep voice and a Boston accent.
“Not a problem, Assistant Director Brennan. Robert said it was important.”
The man nodded gravely. “I have reason to believe you’re in danger.”
Jonah cocked his head. “Go on.”
“Several weeks ago, one of my agents went rogue.”
Shit. It was the worst situation. A skilled, highly-trained agent with classified knowledge who either joined the enemy, or went off-grid for their own purposes. A knot formed in Jonah’s gut. He’d had his own run-in with a traitor and it had ended his military career.
“I believe you’ve encountered her,” Brennan continued.
A prickling sensation washed over Jonah’s skin. “Her?”
“Agent Evan Fletcher.” An image popped up on the screen.
Jonah’s pulse spiked. It was his redhead.
Her hair was in a neat ponytail, and she was wearing a sensible pantsuit and not smiling.
“She’s a very experienced field agent, a weapons expert, and a master of disguise. She’s extremely dangerous.” Brennan paused. “And she’s planning to kill you.”
Jonah’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face free of emotion. “That is disturbing. Why me?”
“I’m not certain of her plans, or what she’s working toward,” the man replied. “I’m sorry I don’t have more intel.”
“Can you send me her picture and file?”
“You haven’t seen her?” Brennan’s voice was sharp.
“No. I’m sure I’d remember if I had.” There was no way Jonah was showing his cards yet.
Brennan was silent for a moment, something working behind his eyes. “I’ll send you the information. Some of the highly classified information will be redacted.”
“Of course. I’ll alert my security team of a possible risk.”
“I suggest you shoot to kill, Grayson. She’s a convincing liar.”
“Understood.”
The man gave a single nod. “Stay safe.”
Jonah steepled his hands together.
Fuck. A rogue CIA agent.
And it got even worse, because all he could think about was the fact that he now knew her name.
Evan.
A traitor to her country.
Chapter Four
How could she make the man listen to her?
Evan paused outside the Wynn Casino. She’d needed to get out of her hotel room and, walking the Strip, she was just another anonymous tourist.
The large, brown-gold building loomed over her and inside it, she knew plenty of tourists would be enjoying its impressive offerings, but most would be at the slots and tables. All of them having fun, living their lives.
She hunched her shoulders and pulled her ball cap lower. Without thinking, she walked up to the front entrance and strode inside. She wore her special necklace, so she could avoid the facial recognition system. When was the last time she’d done something for fun? Once upon a time, she’d taken vacations, gone away for weekends between missions. Slowly, the job had consumed her. Then Brennan had ruined her career, smeared her reputation, and shattered her.
No. Evan lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to let Brennan ruin her life.
As always, she was assaulted by the gaudy, bright carpet, blinking lights, and tinny, jaunty music from the slot machines. She crossed the main gaming area. Gambling was not her idea of fun. The odds didn’t stack up for her. She spotted laughing couples, groups of friends, a bachelore
tte party, and sweaty solo gamblers hoping for a big win.
She enjoyed the Monte Carlo Casino in Monaco, when she was wearing a fabulous dress, and hunting bad guys, but not sitting at a slot machine for hours.
There was a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye. A big guy rammed into her and they crashed into the back of the slot machine.
What the hell?
“Hey!” a woman at a slot machine screeched.
“Come quietly,” the man murmured.
Oh, no. Evan didn’t do quiet. Her adrenaline spiked.
She spun and hammered her fist into his face.
The man staggered, and she pressed a finger to a certain, hard-to-find pressure point in his neck. He gagged and dropped like a heavy suitcase.
Her head shot up and she saw several other fit, hard-eyed people closing in.
Fucking Brennan.
Evan turned, half running through the maze of slot machines.
Behind her, gunshots sounded.
Fuck. She ducked. Screams broke out through the casino. The idiots. The place was too crowded to open fire in. They weren’t CIA. Brennan had obviously hired contractors to take her down.
She ran up some steps and into an opulent corridor lined with expensive shops. She rushed along, pulling her ball cap off. Her hair spilled out. She forced herself to walk slower, trying to blend in with the panicked crowd.
She glanced back. A man raced into the corridor, gun in hand.
More screams and someone bumped into her. Evan spun and saw a sunburned family, still in their swimwear and flip-flops. They all froze, staring at the man in horror. The kids were wide-eyed.
Shit. “Move!” Evan cried. She pushed the dad and his towel slid off his shoulder. “Get them out of here.”
Bullets hit the tiles close by. The kids went berserk—their high-pitched screams piercing. The dad snapped into gear and scooped up one of the kids. Evan shoved the mother, her filmy pool wrap coming off in Evan’s hands. The woman pushed her terrified older child ahead of her. They ran into a nearby boutique.
Finally, Evan could get—
A bullet hit her side, blood spraying into the air.
Pain exploded like a searing burn. Fuck. Fuck.
She blinked, then turned and jogged away. She wadded up the pool wrap in her hand and pressed the fabric to her bleeding side.
