Devil's Gold (8 page)

He reached out a hand and rubbed her shoulder. “I'm on your side, remember?”

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes tightly. When she refocused on Steve, she smiled, trying to alleviate the concern from his face. “I'm okay. Just tired. So tired.”

“Run away with me, then.”

Cassidy winked, enjoying the familiarity of their old game. “To where?”

Steve frowned, pretending to think hard on his answer. “Iowa.”

Laughter bubbled up and burst from her lips, freeing her mind temporarily of the burden of memory. “Now that's a new one. And what will we do in Iowa?”

“Farm and raise a family.”

Cassidy snickered. “The family thing might be a bit hard seeing as there's not an ounce of attraction between us. But I'm game to try my hand at farming. We could grow corn and make little husk dolls.”

Steve sighed and shrugged his shoulder. “Gee, what fun. You must've been my grandmother in a previous life. That's the only way to explain this thing we've got going on.”

Cassidy patted his cheek, then offered him a light hug. “I wouldn't trade this relationship for the hottest love affair in the world. I need you just like this.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved her through the door. “You're a better person than me, Cassidy Lowell. I'd drop you in a second for a steamy, torrid love affair.”

The humidity of running showers enveloped her, and Cassidy grinned to herself, chuckling at Steve's last statement. “Yeah, you probably would.” She didn't know how he did it, but after a few moments in his presence the world brightened to an almost functional level.

Cassidy hummed a Garth Brooks melody, ignoring the rock in her stomach. The elevator lurched upward in fits and starts. ZEBRA's office complex needed an entire overhaul. Because it was a multinational government organization, its funds were carefully allocated. Dr. Sharpe placed tremendous pride in their used desks and worn carpet, insisting that the United States wouldn't appear wasteful or wanton. The athletic center was his only concession.

She exited the elevator and veered to the left. A quick stop at her office was required before venturing into the lion's den. The scent of buttered popcorn filled the corridor, making her mouth water. One of the disadvantages of having a spacious corner office was that it sat within ten steps of the break room. Reaching her door, she picked off the Post-it notes left by the department's administrative assistant. Cassidy scanned them, satisfied that there wasn't an emergency.

Turning the doorknob, she moved to enter her office. Her door wouldn't open past a few inches. Puzzled, she pushed against it. It wasn't locked. Something was jammed against the inside wall. She pressed once more, then smacked her shoulder and hip against the wooden veneer, putting all her weight against the stupid thing until finally it budged. After squeezing through the narrow gap, Cassidy froze.

“What the hell?” She dropped the Post-its and knelt on the floor. A worn canvas travel bag sat before her. Lifting a shaking hand, she trailed her fingers along the familiar fabric. “And where did you come from?” Unzipping the top, Cassidy searched its interior. She sighed in gratitude at the picture of her parents, then kissed the frame and hugged it to her chest. Digging deeper, she discovered all her notes and her laptop.

How could this be?
She was certain these things were all destroyed by the Kill-and-Go militia. The stench of unwashed clothes hit her dead-on. It smelled like wet towels left in the washing machine for a month. Wrinkling her nose, she quickly zipped the bag back up. “Yuck. That's ripe.”

Cassidy's intercom buzzed, and Drew Sharpe's voice barked from the receptacle. “My office. Now.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” She huffed and jumped to her feet.

Reaching behind her, Cassidy snagged a folder off her desk. She flipped open the file and glanced at the preliminary report she'd written. “Let's go ruin my career.”

Kicking the bag away from the door, Cassidy left the soothing interior of her office and jogged down the hall to Drew's.

“Cassidy!” Sharpe's voice boomed from behind double wooden doors.

She rolled her eyes at his secretary and entered his office. It was three times the size of hers and came complete with antique Persian rugs and a fully stocked minibar. “I'm here. Sorry.” Cassidy approached the imposing executive desk that dominated the entire back wall of windows.

Drew Sharpe sat behind the shiny mahogany, his stature slight but not overwhelmed by the oversized piece of furniture. A scowl slashed his brow and flicked a feather of fear in Cassidy's stomach. “You're late.”

Checking her watch, she refused to surrender to intimidation. “I found my bag from Africa. How'd it get here?”

He stepped from behind his desk and walked toward her. “Really?” Pointing to a chair, he raised one eyebrow and silently commanded her to sit.

A brief flash of hope brightened the day. “You've had no contact with the Black Stripe unit that pulled me out?”

“None. As far as this office is concerned, they don't exist. Sit.”

Cassidy covered the disappointment on her face by concentrating on the view outside his office. Modern buildings graced the skyline with tops of gilded metal and bronzed arches. Sliding into a leather chair, Cassidy decided to take the offensive position. “I know you're upset about the lack of a report.”

“You think?” Sharpe sat back down behind his desk, leaned forward, and folded his hands. “What can I do to salvage this operation?”

“Salvage?” Cassidy frowned. “Like how?”

“I would still like to submit something to New World Petroleum for OPEC regarding their standing within Nigeria. What do you suggest?”

Cassidy flipped open her folder and shuffled through several sheets of paper. “I've begun a brief outline of my recommendations. First and foremost, all oil corporations operating within the Niger Delta must adhere to the same regulations as those operating within the United States and the rest of the world.”

“I thought you understood my position, Cassidy. I'm not looking for negatives but positives.”

Cassidy stood up, irritation making her restless. “And I thought you understood mine. There are no positives.”

“Dammit, Cassidy. What am I to do?” Sharpe smacked his palm against the desk. “NWP donated a very large sum of money to ZEBRA.”

Straightening her back, Cassidy gazed at her boss. “NWP sanctioned an attack against our camp.”

Sharpe shook his head. “There's no proof of that. This is a political game, Cassidy. One that's fought on battlefields of financial give and take. Taxpayers don't pay for our high-tech equipment, laboratories, and missions. It's about marketing, selling, and finding contributions. It doesn't behoove New World Petroleum to piss us off right now. They need us.”

Cassidy didn't move. “I know what I saw.”

Sharpe's eyes didn't flicker. He stared straight at her, not one iota of emotion showing. “I contacted Robert, and he has no knowledge of the attack. He's deeply sorry and hopes you'll be able to compile something that'll sway OPEC.”

Her brain screamed at him,
Bullshit!
Cassidy glanced at her notes and collected her temper enough to speak professionally. “I won't lie.”

He rested his forehead against the top of his desk. Straightening, he stared at her. “I don't want you to.”

She re-crossed her legs and tapped the toe of her shoe against his desk. “Why don't we twist the report and offer our opinions as to how they can present themselves in a more positive light? Clean up the spills. Transfer the never-ending gas flow into pipes that can be channeled for power. Abolish the Kill-and-Go mentality and assist the natives in protecting their homes.” Cassidy shrugged and then sighed. “I'm not good at politics. I'm sorry. This is all I can offer.”

Sharpe gazed at her for a second, his bland expression masking his thoughts. She uncrossed and crossed her legs again, feeling like a misbehaving school child. His refusal to accept her version of the Kill-and-Go hit spoke volumes of her position within ZEBRA. Her job was vulnerable. After several excruciatingly long minutes, he nodded and tossed a sealed eleven-by-seventeen envelope at her. “These are the specs for your new assignment. It's in a place you're quite familiar with.”

She ripped open the edge of the envelope. “Oh yeah?”

“Yellowstone.”

Cassidy's heart skipped a beat. She gripped the edge of the envelope, no longer curious of its contents. “What's going on in Yellowstone?”

“Wolves are disappearing.”

This couldn't be happening. She'd been yanked out of Africa for a bunch of wolves? It didn't make sense. “What?”

“Read the papers, Cassidy. Your team is already in place, gathering background information. You're scheduled to fly out on Friday. In the meantime, take a few days off and decompress.”

Although worded nicely, she knew he wasn't suggesting vacation but ordering her to mentally regroup. She'd disappointed him. Cassidy smiled but knew the smile didn't reach her eyes. “I'm sorry, Drew.”

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Whatever for?”

Sharpe spoke as if amused, but she knew better. He was shutting her out, diminishing her contribution. With a sick feeling sticking in her gut, Cassidy shrugged. “I'll see you in Jackson for the briefing on the wolves?”

“I'll be there.”

“Dr. Lowell's been reassigned to Yellowstone National Park.”

Jake frowned and glanced at Colonel Price. He drummed his fingers against the cool metal of the makeshift conference table. The clanging of pipes and rushing water echoed within the tiny basement room in the deepest recesses of ZEBRA's corporate headquarters that Black Stripe used as their central command.

A paneled wall separated Jake from the inner sanctum of Black Stripe. He didn't need to be behind those doors where advanced technology monitored the safety of the United States. He was field. The rules were clear. Sighing, Jake shook his head. “Have the grizzlies been warned?”

Price tipped his chin downward in an attempt to hide his smile. “You're going with her. Strip your fatigues and attitude, soldier. It's time to put on your jeans and use that degree we paid for.”

“Shit.” Jake rubbed a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. “I'm going as her biologist?”

Price winked. “Smart man. Besides, I'm sure the grizzlies will appreciate your backup. She have a beam on you?”

Shrugging, Jake considered lying, then decided it wouldn't do him any good. “Nah. The light was funky, and I was in full camo. What's going down at Yellowstone?”

“Wolves are disappearing.”

Jake grinned. “Is this some kind of terrorist plot by the prairie dogs? Take out the wolves first and next the entire country?”

Price snorted his soda through his nose. “Smartass.” Jake laughed, following the colonel with his eyes as he stood and grabbed a piece of paper from inside an old beaten file cabinet. Jake knew the second they left, the file cabinet would retreat behind the wall into the safety of central command. “Myrtle spit out these facts. Steve can't trace the origin of the wire transfer.”

Glancing at the sheet, Jake lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Why would ZEBRA wire this amount of money to the Nigerian government?”

“They didn't. They laundered it for NWP, who then sent it on to the Nigerians.”

Whistling through his teeth, he set the paper on the table. “This amount is much larger than the usual bribe. What gives?”

“Find the answer, and you win the game. Right now, Dr. Lowell is our only lead.”

“Because she worked over there for six months?”

Price rested his palms on the table and leaned forward. “No. Because they want her dead.”

Jake pushed back from the table, the bottom of his chair scratching against the linoleum. “Why not bring her in for questioning and just ask?”