Deadly Little Secrets (14 page)

“I'm not sure it's a good idea, Gates,” she prevaricated. Part of her really wanted someone—no, scratch that; not just anyone, Gates—to take her to dinner, make sure she got home. She wasn't sure she could trust herself to drive anyway.

Her car. Crap, she wasn't going home in her own car tonight. They wouldn't be done with it yet. Plus, she'd have to get the window fixed, report it to insurance.

“Ana? If you don't want to run probabilities, that's okay. In fact, we probably shouldn't. We can pretend it's Friday,” he said, referencing the date they'd already made. “Just let me take you to dinner, make something in your day go right.”

How could she refuse? “A lot went right today. The meeting with you and Dav. That was good. I enjoyed it.” She had to admit that. It was true.

“Did you, now?” He sounded pleased, a bit smug. “Just because of all that lovely data, right? You can tell me, I know about this data stuff.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” She nearly giggled at his teasing. Of course, that was probably incipient hysteria. “Like I'd share my secrets with you.”

“Afraid I'm better than you? I can take you, Agent. Bet ya'.”

“No, I'm not afraid,” she said, just a little stung. She was afraid. A bit. Not so much of his computer prowess, but he was a magnetic, powerful personality. He affected her in equally powerful ways.

Not what she needed right now.

Maybe never. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to handle that kind of intensity turned her way. It was business now, even with the teasing. What if it turned personal? Hell, it was already personal; he'd nearly kissed her. She got the shivers, the so-bad-it's-good kind, every time she heard his voice. She had to keep her cool, her distance from Gates. He was trouble in all kinds of ways.

“Then it's settled. I'll pick you up in three hours, there at the building. We'll go someplace for a nice quiet meal, and then I'll get you home. I'm sure they've arranged for protection for you, yes?” His cadence was enough like his boss's that it surprised her, coming as it did in his crisp New England accent.

“I'm sure they have or will, yes. Which means they'll know you and I had dinner.”

“I'm not worried, are you? It's a working dinner, Agent Burton.” His voice was a low rumble of humor. “I have some additional information for you, of course. So, since I'm going to be in the city, and you are in the city, we'll have a dinner meeting.” He laid out the logical explanation without batting an eye.

“Practice that line much?” she drawled, finding a bit of her old spark. It helped that she enjoyed the sarcasm as a change from the edgy panic that was a constant companion.

“Absolutely every chance I get,” he popped back, and she laughed.

“In that case, Mr. Bromley, I accept. I'll bring my case notes, and we'll compare…techniques.”

“We'll see to that, Agent,” came the brisk reply. “Excuse me a moment.” He moved the phone away so that she couldn't catch what he said to whoever had interrupted. She wouldn't want the tone she could hear used on her, however. Remembering his discussion with Dav's nephew when she visited the estate, she decided it didn't take much to push his bullshit meter into the red zone. After a brief pause where she could hear nothing, no voices, he came back to the phone. “So, Agent,” he said, in that melted-chocolate tone, “I'll look forward to seeing you in three hours.”

“Gates,” she began, suddenly unsure.

“Yes, Ana, I know. See you in a bit.”

And he was gone. Just like that. Revved her up and left her hanging.

Wait. What did he know? Had he realized she was wavering, thinking of backing out?

“Damn it,” she cursed softly, not wanting anyone to hear her frustration. Then again, most of them were still placing their lunch orders.

No sooner had the thought formed than Caldwell popped into view. “Hey, Burton. Since lunch is on the boss, you gonna eat something besides a salad for once?”

“I don't always eat salads,” she protested, surprised he'd noticed.

“Sure you do. Nearly every day. Hey, I'm an operative, I notice these things.” He lowered his voice in mock severity. “I notice everything.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a comic parody of a leer. “So, now, I've got your order, we'll get some good fattening grub into you so you can work.”

“Uh, about that. Change it to just fries and a drink, will you? In all the craziness, I forgot I'd had lunch. Now I've got a dinner meeting,” she said, absently. What did Gates know about her?

“Ooooh, dinner meeting,” he teased. Someone called his name, and he shifted into a more serious mode. “Coke and fries, got it,” he scribbled the order down. “Hey, you should let the boss know you're going walkabout, though. With a mark out,” he used the shorthand for marksman, “you need eyes on you.”

“I was just going to tell her. Thanks though,” she said, smiling at him.

“Sure. No worries. Hey, fries in and dinner out. We'll get some meat on those skinny bones yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she pretended to grouse at him. “Get out of here.”

He scooted away, laughing. Reluctantly, Ana picked up the desk phone and buzzed Pretzky.

“Yes. I will check in with the security detail,” Ana assured her. “Yes, I'm sure San Francisco's finest will be up to the task. Dinner. Yes. A meeting. Well, he's outside the city. Yes. Coming in for another meeting, wanted to follow up…” Ana sighed and decided to see if playing a trump card would help. “I'm going for one reason, Special Agent. Mr. Bromley mentioned a Russian connection related to the old art-fraud case. I want to interview him about that without being too obvious. If there's a connection between my visit to Mr. Gianikopolis and our computer security breach this morning, especially a Russian connection—yes, Georgian—I want to root it out.”

By the time Pretzky was done with her, the Coke was on her desk along with the steaming fries. Caldwell had dropped them off with an amused expression for her trials with the boss.

Fitting into the office had only taken the expedient of getting shot at. Evidently, for this crew, it made you one of the team.

It took her most of the Coke and another promise to check back with the office when she got home before she got off the phone.

When she pivoted to her left, she saw that Pearson was standing at her cubicle entrance.

“Computers are back up on safe mode,” Pearson began without preamble. “Also, wanted to say thanks. Your bomb about dinner got me out of Pretzky's office. I had shit to do, so…appreciate it,” she said with a grin. “Hot date.”

“Hope you make it,” Ana said, checking her watch.

“Nah, no worries. My kid's with his grandma for a few more days. She took him to Disney. Even if I'd had to put the date off till tomorrow, I'd be okay.”

“How old's your kid?”

“Seven. He's great.” Pearson was about to say more when Ana's phone rang. “Go on and get that. See ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ana said, picking up the phone. She'd been in the office almost four months, and this was the first she'd heard about Pearson having a kid. It explained the Disney comment though. “This is Burton.”

“Back off.”

Two words and the line went dead.

 

Jurgens called him at eight on the office line in his home office. Jurgens was the only one who had it.

“Problem?”

“Ja. Perkins fucked up. The computers were compromised. He threatened her, called from a pay phone.” Annoyance surged in Jurgens's voice, an unusual occurrence. “That phone is compromised. It's outside the Agency. They monitor it. They will be talking to him shortly.”

Closing his eyes, he sighed. What the hell had made him pick Perkins? What an idiot. Well, flawed tools pretty much guaranteed a flawed job. “Repercussions?”

“Ja. Issues. We will need to monitor them. A messenger will drop something later.”

“Good. That job we discussed, let's see to that. I'll call Perkins.”

“Now? He's alone, at home.”

He sighed. He needed to finish a proposal for the county. It was due at noon the next day. Well, sometimes you just had to make time for these things. “Yes. Give me a moment to get a disposable. I'll call him. You can act then.”

“Ja.”

They clicked off, and he opened the bottom drawer to get a GoPhone from the desk drawer. He needed to procure some untraceables soon. He hated to be that obvious; it was much safer to skirt the law than break it outright.

He pocketed the unit and strode into the kitchen. His wife was clearing away the dishes and making a snack for their son's preschool the next day.

He kissed her cheek. “I'm going to run over to Staples real quick. I don't want to run out of ink for the printer at two a.m. if it takes me that long to finish this bloody proposal.”

She frowned for a moment. “But I thought—” she began, and he remembered that she'd bought ink cartridges at Costco. Ever thrifty, his Caroline.

“Color. You got the black and white, so that's good. I've got charts and graphs. You know.”

Her face cleared, and she smiled. “You worry too much, honey. But okay. Take it easy out there, it's raining.”

“Will do,” he said, closing the door behind him.

He dialed as he drove to the Staples. It wouldn't do to come home without the ink now.

“What?” Perkins answered the phone, his voice shaking. “I didn't call you.”

“Idiot,” he stated calmly. “In this case, you should have. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Perkins lied. “Nothing.”

“Perkins, don't be an ass. Would I be calling if nothing happened?”

“It was a fluke,” he began, protesting his competence. “The computer virus should have just corrupted her files. I didn't know she'd been shot at, I didn't know anyone had a hit on her. How could I know? That wasn't me, the shot. I just diddled the files, trying to get her off the scent.”

There was a small popping sound through the phone, and he heard the thump of the other man's body collapsing onto some hard surface. He quickly held the phone away from his ear as Perkins's phone clattered to the floor.

He smiled, relieved. At least Jurgens could be counted on.

Right.

Now to find someone competent to monitor the situation. Perkins was a terrible liar, but he had truly been concerned enough about the new searches to act rashly. The idiot. Now what might have passed off as a cursory review would be amped up to a full-scale check. Perkins's death might or might not be a factor, but either way, Perkins had put the operation in jeopardy and he never allowed that.

Problem number two, though, was the shot. Had his rival on the East Coast gotten wind of the investigation as well? If he'd stepped back into this to muddle the works again…

There was a faint rattle of sound from the phone, and he put his ear back to the receiver.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Done and done,” Jurgens said with satisfaction. “Last deposit?”

“In thirty-five minutes, same Swiss account. You'll transfer the money out by morning this time, understood? And dispose of the phone.”

“Ja.”

“One more thing.” There was a waiting silence, so he continued. “Perkins mentioned a shot at the woman. Were you aware of it? Oh, and any suggestions on a new monitor for the situation?”

“It is possible.” Another silence. “A second messenger will come.”

“Good.”

The line went dead, and he walked into Staples to get ink.

“We'll trace the call, but it probably won't register.” The internal security geek qualified his answer. “Too short.”

“Thanks.” Ana hung up, and went to report the latest to the boss. She had to call McGuire and Hines before she headed out as well. If she'd stirred this much insanity up by making phone calls, she needed to warn them as well.

She didn't want to tell her boss about the call, but if she let it wait till tomorrow, Pretzky would fry her ass.

“Back off what?” Pretzky mulled. Ana was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, so she kept quiet. “I'm thinking this isn't about Rome, Burton. How 'bout you?”

Reluctantly, Ana agreed. “There are ways it might be, but they're a stretch,” she finally said. “And the first closed case I finished here is just that, closed.”

“Yeah, with that perp dead, that isn't a bone to pick.” Pretzky paced back and forth in the small office. “Your dinner date cancel?” she said, turning suddenly to face Ana.

“Uh, no.” Ana checked her watch. “He'll be here in about twenty minutes. He'll pick me up downstairs. On the call though, I wanted to be sure and follow procedure, let you know.”

“Good, good,” Pretzky muttered. She shot Ana a sharp look. “You've had a shitty ride, haven't you, Burton? Pretty shitty day too.”

Ana wanted to cry. Instead, she managed a laugh. It was watery, and weak, but it was a laugh. “Yeah, that's an under-statement though.”

Pretzky nodded. “When one of us screws up, it's bad. May seem like a little thing, but you and I both know those little things have a way of turning into one damn all mess. Been there, done that. Go finish up, and get out of here. Ring me here when you get in tonight.” She handed Ana a card. Neatly printed on the back was a telephone number. Ana looked up at her.

“That's my personal cell. I want to know you're in and okay.”

“Thanks. Will do.” Ana kept her voice clear and sharp, even though the gesture made her want to crumble into a heap of quivering goo. Personal gestures, closeness, had that effect these days, no matter how hard she worked to shut them out, keep them at bay.

Or maybe it was just this day.

“Don't mention it.”

“I—” Ana began. Pretzky forestalled her.

“Seriously. Don't mention it. I got a hard rep to maintain.” She kept her expression bland, but her eyes twinkled.

“Got it. Good night.”

“Uh-huh.” Pretzky was already on the other side of the desk, reaching for a folder.

At her desk, Ana looked at the card. It was the number, nothing more, but somehow it was like a mini-lifeline. A connection.

That alone made her want to weep again, a luxury she wouldn't—couldn't—allow. If she started, she might never stop. Straightening her spine, she cleared her throat and dialed McGuire first. He'd been the friendlier of the two agents who had originally worked on the case.

“That sucks,” McGuire said bluntly, when she filled in the details of her day. “Related to the case, you think?” Before she could agree or disagree, he was moving on. “You're gonna let Hines know too, right?”

“Yes, he's my next call. Or did you want to call him?” Ana asked, thinking the former partners might want to talk.

“Nah, you go ahead. Me'n Hines weren't close. Fact is, that case is the last one I worked before I retired. My partner got out couple of months before I did so I got paired with Hines. Still, he should know.” Ana got the impression that McGuire didn't think much of his former partner even now. Then again, if they'd only worked the one case, and not solved that one, it probably grated on the retired agent.

“I'll let him know. Thanks again, McGuire.”

“Good to be in the loop,” he said, a dark tone infusing his voice. Ana wondered if that was a reference to Hines and if the other man had been one to keep the details to himself. They hung up, and Ana dialed the Oregon number for Hines.

“He's out of town,” Hines's secretary told Ana when she asked for the Senior Special Agent. “He had business in Washington State today, he said.” The woman offered to give Hines a message, or give her Hines's cell number. Ana took the number, and left a message for Hines to call. She wanted anyone connected with the old case to have a fair warning.

Her due diligence done, all Ana wanted to do was put her head on her desk and cry.

 

As predicted, Gates was waiting for her in the traffic circle in front of the building. When the guard called to let her know he was there, Ana struggled to pull herself together. Now, she wasn't sure why she'd agreed to meet him. She was playing with fire, and she'd sworn to give that up when she got burned in Rome.

She heaved a sigh, irritated with her own melodrama. It was just dinner, and God knew, she could use the distraction from the trouble of the day. If she went straight home, which was her impulse, she'd just brood. Or cry. Or scream. None of that was productive, and dinner with Gates might be, so she went.

She kept her pace brisk and level as she came across the lobby, but it took every ounce of willpower she still possessed not to duck and cover on the way to the car. There was a misty rain falling as she came out the doors, and Gates's driver held an umbrella up to shelter her. With that kind of service, she was glad she'd approved him to come through security rather than meeting him on the street.

It was only five steps, and she was nearly a jelly-kneed weakling by the time she slid in beside Gates in the back of the town car and the driver closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Ana,” he murmured, handing her a wineglass. As she took it, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, taking her completely by surprise.

“It is,” he said, smiling.

“What?”

“Your cheek. It's as smooth as I remember it to be. Now, have some wine, relax, and tell me about your day.” He paused for effect before adding, “Dear.”

Surprised at his quick switch from sensuous to banter, she blinked. “O-o-okay.” She caught up a split-second later and grinned. “Dear. Brought home the bacon. Fried it up in a pan. Got shot at, wigged out on the boss. You know, the usual.”

“Nearly got fried, then got hacked.” Still playing, he made a mock-derisive sound. “So little happening in your narrow world, Agent. You really should broaden your horizons.”

“To international commerce, like you and Dav? No thank you,” she joked. “It's just too dull. Although, you had shots fired too, so perhaps it isn't as mundane as everyone says.”

He laughed. “There, you have the right of it. See, we have so much in common. Computers, getting shot at, mayhem, a love of good wine. So, let's relax and enjoy this lovely vintage on our way downtown. We'll get back to pandemonium and computer hacking over dinner, of course.”

“You know, you really need to get more action if this is your idea of a date,” she flipped back without thinking. Just banter, right?

Evidently not.

His fingers curled around hers, where they lay on the bowl of the wineglass. “Oh, I'm sure we could come up with some diversions if we put our minds to it,” he said, leaning in to brush her cheek with another kiss. Using a fingertip, he turned her head. She let him. He brushed a feathery touch of his lips over that cheek as well. “This, for instance,” he whispered as he took her mouth in a soft, probing kiss.

When she would have leaned in, taken more, he eased back. “But we wouldn't want to spill this excellent wine, would we? Especially since you were so adamant that this was just business.”

She almost heard the sound of her jaw dropping at his dangerous, sexy play. She wasn't ready for it. She didn't know if she could handle it, not now, not tonight. Once upon a time, she would have been able to toss off the lines, make the right moves. Now, she was mired in emotion, jumbled by the whole day as well as her incipient reactions to Gates.

Since she couldn't manage a coherent thought in the face of such a blatant assault on her senses, she resorted to an age-old ploy. She drank the wine.

He smiled and drank as well, once he'd touched his glass to hers.

Still feeling half a beat behind, she registered the full-bodied taste of the wine, the rich pear and fruit scent of it. It was like drinking sunshine.

“Wow,” she verbalized her surprise, staring at the wineglass like she'd never seen it before. “That's fabulous.”

“Thank you.” His smile was smug now. “It is good, isn't it?”

She knew she was still being incredibly slow on the uptake, and replied, “It is. And so are you. I'm presuming you had something to do with this,” she wiggled the glass, “since you look so pleased at my appreciation.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” he said, taking another sip, but giving nothing away.

“Hmmm. Smooth is a word that comes to mind.” She sent him a challenging look.

“Ah, a good word. Another word I like is creamy, like your skin.”

“Hmmm. Yes, but strong also applies, don't you think?” Surprising herself, she slipped into the groove of the banter. Oddly enough, it helped her feel more like herself, the real Ana.

“Oh, yes. This sort of thing, it's strong enough to go to your head if you're not prepared for it.” He seemed to be talking about more than the wine as he let a fingertip caress her hand where it lay on the wineglass.

For some reason, the words and the touch hit a nerve. Memories and sorrows flooded into her heart. “Are you ever prepared?” she managed to say as her ghosts grabbed her by the throat. She'd held them at bay all day, but his kindness, his interest and banter, and his touch were her undoing.

He must have seen something of her devastation on her face, because he slipped the wineglass out of her hand and slipped it into a clip in the small table. “Ah, Ana, I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Here, come here.”

She couldn't move, couldn't close the distance between them. If she did…if she did, she might never recover. She had to maintain. Had to.

He gave her no choice. He came to her. His warmth enfolded her, his voice murmuring soft words she couldn't understand for the roaring of emotion in her mind. Everything crashed in.

Everything.

Rome. Her friends on their biers in the morgue, their bodies burned beyond recognition because they'd followed her directions, gone after the bomb. Her parents. Never seeing them again after the attack. Their funeral, the devastated hold her aunt had kept on Ana's shoulders. All the images and feelings tore through Ana like a scream, adding to her fear and panic over the afternoon's events.

Ana struggled to keep up the façade, to regain control. Then streetlights lit the car, outlined the driver and the headrests behind the smoky glass between the front and back of the car.

A bullet in the headrest; a threat by phone. It was too much. Ana lost it.

Vaguely through her shaking and the moan of pain that rolled out of her, she heard him instruct the driver to give them ten minutes' delay.

Ten minutes. How could she ever recover? Much less in ten minutes.

“There, now. Ana.” When he called her name, it was a caress of a longtime lover, rather than a new flirtation. “Anastasia,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

She raised dry eyes to his with soul-deep reluctance. She expected pity. Maybe superiority. Instead she found an echo of her own pain.

“Let go,” he said with soft insistence. “Feel it and let it go.”

The command, the darkness of the car, like a cocoon where no one else could reach her, did what no amount of debriefing and counseling had been able to do.

She wept.

As the tears flowed, it was as if she thawed her soul. Everything within her seemed to take on new life, to stretch and open up to life like a napping child who's waking to a new afternoon.

The car continued to circle the neighborhoods as Ana brought herself under control. It hadn't been a long, drawn-out session, but the short burst of emotion, held in someone's sheltering arms was deeper and more meaningful than it ever would have been alone.

Gates presented her with a handkerchief, and she accepted it gratefully, easing out of his embrace, trying unsuccessfully to regain her social distance. Lord, she knew she looked a mess. She didn't cry well. It was vain, but for the first time she regretted not carrying a makeup kit with her.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her head bowed over the soft cloth as she wiped her eyes. Streaks of mascara made dark smudges on the snowy fabric. “I don't usually cry all over…” What the hell was he?

“Colleagues? Friends?” he suggested some terms. “Dates?”

“None of the above. Ever,” she confessed, finally looking up. “I've never cried on anyone like that. I'm sorry. How do I look? Like a weeping, idiot female?”

“No, you look vulnerable,” he said, his expression sympathetic. When he saw her reaction, he winced. “Ouch. That pissed you off, I see. Sorry, didn't mean to.”

She shook her head. “No, don't worry, that's just one of those trigger words for me, like weak, or silly. I don't think of myself as any of those things and resent it if anyone else sees me that way.”

“The key to pissing you off, now in my hot little hands.” He grinned, encouraging her to laugh with him.

“Right,” she drawled. “But I have your handkerchief, and I'm holding it for ransom until you agree never to call me vulnerable. Ever.”

“Oh, man. Tough terms.” He pretended to consider the ransom terms as he unclipped their wineglasses and handed hers over. “I'll have to think about it. I can't do that on an empty stomach.” He stroked a finger on her cheek again. “I seem to be unable to keep my hands off you, and that's dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she stuttered, unsure what he meant. Was he still teasing, or was he serious?

“Very dangerous. A simple touch had you weeping in my arms,” he made the blatantly false statement with a poker face. “Can't have that.”