INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) (20 page)

Harden’s expression was shuttered as he examined her, then he nodded and left the room. Breathing in slowly, Steve willed his hands to unclench. It wouldn’t do to let his O.C. see him in this state. Marlena, on the other side, accepted her handbag from the newly arrived Cam. There was nothing in it except makeup and some cash. Didn’t she understand that she wouldn’t even have that stuff if she allowed herself to be confined? Frustration rose again.

“Thank you...Cameron, isn’t it? For the drink, too.”

“No problem. If you need the ladies’ room, just yell. Someone will hear you.”

“Would they come to let me out or would they just sit there and watch me squirm?” Marlena’s query was amused, nodding toward the mirror.

Cam didn’t deny they did that sometimes, but after a pause he said, “Tell you what. I’ll check back in myself to make sure you get to the ladies’ room, if you want to.”

“Thank you,” Marlena said.

When Cam left, she turned to the mirror to face Steve, and for the first time in five hours, they met eye-to-eye, even though she couldn’t possibly know where to look. But Steve felt her gaze deep into his soul anyhow, whether she knew it or not. She cocked her head slightly, raising one elegant eyebrow. Then she smiled slowly, in that challenging way of hers that reached right in and grabbed his beating heart.

“Hi, Stash baby,” she crooned. Then she coolly started to apply some powder and makeup. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.

The door behind Steve opened. “Thanks, Cam, I owe you one,” Steve said as he continued watching Marlena.

“Not a problem.”

“Will Harden see me now?”

“In an hour, he said. He wanted you to cool off first, I guess, after sitting in here for five hours yourself.” Cam sat next to him and watched Marlena for a few seconds. “He probably wants to give you a chance to think about what you’re going to say to him, buddy.”

Steve stood up. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, does he? Why didn’t he say so?”

Cam shrugged. “Can’t really guess what’s on the chief’s mind. He didn’t break her in there but seemed quite satisfied when I talked to him, as if he had a few answers already.”

Steve shook his head. “Then the art of interrogation is lost on me. I didn’t hear anything she said that was of help to the case.”

“That’s probably because you weren’t listening much, I bet.” Cam’s voice was wry.

“I heard everything,” Steve said quietly. “Harden and you and the rest of the team may think my head is elsewhere, but I can assure you I pay attention to everything. After all, I knocked down that would-be murderer and talked to du Scheum. I was there. What I saw and heard is just as relevant as the police report. If he doesn’t want to listen, I’ll have to go about it another way.”

Cam made a tsking sound, but his grin was lopsided. “That’s not teamwork, Stevie. You’re supposed to work with us, not against us.”

“He’s against me for some reason,” Steve accused.

“What do you want to do, Steve—stop this? How?” Cam asked, turning his back to Marlena so he could study Steve closely. “The O.C. is doing his job. He gets the order from the deputy director to monitor Marlena because of her presence in this city. You know, we do have many important people congregating in a small area. She’s known internationally for certain incidents that left several political and influential deaths, so of course our O.C. is antsy about stopping her. Last night’s incident, perhaps not ironclad with evidence, was a good excuse to jolt her timetable, if nothing else. Who knows how long she could take this? Harden is a thorough bureaucrat. He does his job by the book, so unless she tells him something to convince him she’s not in town to do anything other than shop, he’ll continue doing his job.”

Cam’s long speech made sense, but Steve’s gut was telling him otherwise. He tore his gaze from Marlena, who was fluffing her hair in the mirror. “I know she didn’t do this one. And if you help me, it’s teamwork, isn’t it?”

Cam gave a long dramatic sigh. “I knew it. I knew you would drag me into this.”

“I just want to think things through logically. Remember when I said I wanted to look at her old files? I want to see patterns and her victims, as far back as possible. I want to know how she worked besides what you told me. For example, are there any incidents that echo the one last night? Where are the files you promised me, anyway?”

“They’re still on request, probably.”

“Can we get there right now, and read them there? You know those people better than I do. And can we also pull up anything about the dead perp last night?”

Cam sighed again. “You’re going to owe me again,” he warned. “Come on then, we don’t have much time, if you need to find a strategy to talk to Harden.”

“I’m ready,” Steve said. He badly wanted to go to Marlena, but all he could do was give her a backward glance. The law of inertia, she’d said about her job. Something started in motion kept moving. Steve nodded at her, finally understanding. He said aloud, “Unless stopped.”

“Huh?” Cam asked at the door.

Steve joined him. “Something left by itself will remain constant. Something started in motion keeps moving, unless stopped,” he repeated. “That is one of the laws of inertia.”

“Uh-huh. That’s going to carry over real well when you lay that theory on Harden.”

But Steve’s mind was already on Marlena’s past. What if she’d meant to tell him whatever was set in motion was started way before this D.C. foray? That she couldn’t stop it herself? That didn’t mean an outsider like him couldn’t try. One way or another, he would make up his mind whether he was right about this woman.

***

M
arlena balanced the empty glass on her index finger. Isolation. Then boredom. She knew what would come next. Bait.

Unless, of course, the TIARA operations commander had undergone more than basic training in textbook interrogation. If he had, he should already guess she was testing him as well. He was difficult to read, with his indirect questions that moved back and forth from what he wanted to know to what he suspected. She had deliberately given him certain answers, watching him surreptitiously. Except for that last reaction, he was surprisingly tough to gauge. Which led her to conclude that he had more than the basic training. And maybe, just maybe, her gamble would pay off.

The glass tipped over. The loud clatter when it hit the table echoed thunderously through the carpetless ten-by-ten room. She didn’t have much time to waste. She had been in similar situations before and had never lost an assignment because something unexpected cropped up. She didn’t intend to mar her record. Unlike a gambler, she had other chips to fall back on. There were a variety of ways to get out of her jam, the easiest of which could also be her death warrant. Admit what she was on record. That would really be the end of her.

Not that she feared the end. In fact she had once contemplated it, thinking that she could just recede into oblivion, like some famed mobster. However, admitting defeat wasn’t her way. If she had to go, she would end it on her own terms, not because she was cornered.

And she was far from being cornered yet.

Pushing with experimental fingers, Marlena sent the stationary glass rolling. The desk, she mused, must not be level because the glass glided back to her. She repeated.

She’d done this dozens of times. Set things in motion. Used them to her advantage. It was her job. Sometimes she accidentally set things off that she hadn’t meant to start. Like this thing between Stash and her. Right from the beginning she’d felt that he was different. Her body responded to his like a chain reaction of sensual atoms colliding. And yielding to temptation was a mistake on her part. Making love to him once only made her want more of him; she’d caught herself daydreaming about him once too often. She couldn’t afford that kind of reaction to anyone, any man.

She couldn’t feel him on the other side of the mirror any longer, but during her interview she could have sworn she felt his anger. That touched a raw nerve, knowing he was mad for her sake. She didn’t blame him. After all, they both had a job to do, no matter how unpleasant. If only she hadn’t been weak last night, giving in to her heart instead of listening to her head. Knowing he’d had an ulterior motive all along left a flat taste in her mouth.

He was probably being debriefed right now. Something twisted inside her. She wondered whether he would include the more intimate parts of last night’s activities, besides his part in saving Pierre du Scheum. She willed away the little nudge of pain. Been there, done that. She’d gone through this before. Hadn’t she sworn she wouldn’t be used this way again?

Granted, it was an entirely different situation, but the consequences were still the same. The man she’d thought cared about her had given information to others to expose her, with the twisted naiveté that once they knew who she was, she would retire from the job and live a quiet life with him. He had bugged their conversations, willingly imparted clues to her whereabouts so she could be followed and monitored. Not for money, but for love, he’d claimed later.

Fortunately for her, he’d contacted the wrong person, someone who had, in turn, moved in quietly to save the day. She’d never met him to thank him for saving her life, but he and his group were now working closely with Tess.

Everything had worked out. She hadn’t died. Marlena Maxwell was, however, alone again after that. As she ought to be. Tess had even fallen for one of these men, and look at her sorry state now. Like her, back to square one.

She sighed. There were more urgent matters to think about, and here she was behaving like a rejected lovesick teenager. Stash—Steve, she corrected with a sharp grimness—was out of the picture right now. He’d probably been taken off the case and reassigned after having done his job. Gotten close to her. Searched her belongings. The weapon charge was just an excuse, she knew, to get her in here to answer questions. There would be no charges. She looked around her. This was no local law enforcement holding facility, after all. Oh yes, he did his job well.

Well, let him move on then. That should make things easier. Out of sight, out of mind. She was getting too lackadaisical as it was. Oh, damn, damn, damn. Her lips twisted in self-derision. Now she was beginning to sound like Tess and her word games, which reminded her...

Marlena picked the glass up and balanced it on her finger again. When she was powdering her nose, she’d activated the call on her compact cell, a secret code that should have reached Tess by now. She had no idea what her friend would do to help her, but if Rick Harden didn’t do something soon to get her out of here, she was sure Tess would.

***

“W
elcome to the Gatekeepers’ Place,” Cam said as they entered the Records department.

Steve let Cam lead, since he had no idea who was in charge in here. The middle of the room was a long aisle cutting the space effectively in half. On each side of the aisle were narrow tables about eight feet long, with breaks between for walking space. There were envelopes and files, stacks of folders, boxes, all of which Steve noticed had names marked clearly in thick black ink, and arranged in alphabetical order down the tables. At each corner of the room there was a desk and an operative working, all four ignoring the people walking up and down the middle aisle as they looked for their names. Cam cut through one of the spaces between the low tables and headed for a desk.

“Watch this,” he whispered to Steve.

A woman sat with her back to them, typing at a furious pace. Her back was ramrod straight. Her ash-brown hair, pulled back neatly in a French twist, was a stark contrast against the crispy white of her silk shirt. She didn’t turn around to greet them.

Cam reached down and moved the in box an inch to the right. Then he pushed the out box an inch to the left. He gave Steve a wink, then gave a fake cough.

The woman ignored them, continuing to type. Cam opened the candy jar and picked something out before offering Steve the container. Steve shook his head. Cam unwrapped his candy and popped it into his mouth, scrunching the wrapper loudly and dropping it on the desk.

The woman stopped typing. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Steve watched her back expand and constrict as she took in what looked like a calming breath before turning around.

Expressive gray eyes behind glasses peered up at both of them. She didn’t return Cam’s big smile. Gingerly she picked up the candy wrapper with two fingers and threw it into a wastebasket. She moved the in box back an inch to the left. Lastly she rearranged the out box to its original position. She looked up again, clearly not going to say anything as she waited.

Cam didn’t seem perturbed by the telling look she directed at him. “Hi, Patty, miss me?”

“No, since I’m not in the mood to shoot.” Her voice was frosty and polite.

“Oooh. Ouch. Ouch.” Cam patted his chest and turned to Steve. “Do you see any holes, buddy? I think I’ve been hit.”

Steve shook his head. Clearly the woman didn’t like Cam at all as she continued looking at them without smiling at his antics.

“Meet Patty, Gatekeeper of Details Nobody Cares to Know Anymore. Old unconverted classified files. Dead people. Missing links. Ask Patty. She’ll make them magically appear. Patty, this is Steve from Task Force Two, here to beg a little favor from the goddess.”

Patty looked annoyed at Cam’s introduction, but she gazed at Steve with mild interest. “You’re the new guy,” she said. “The Kisser of the Millennium.”

Damn. The Internet was a gossip line. He was never going to live that name down. “Yes,” Steve answered, keeping it simple. He didn’t have time for small talk. Not that—he looked at the name plaque on the desk—Miss Patty Ostler looked like the flirting type.

She looked exactly like a woman in charge of details—the carefully drawn-back hair revealed intelligent eyes under a wide forehead, a standoffish expression on a face that had a stubborn square chin, a mouth that she pursed into a straight line. The impeccably clean white of her shirt, with the little buttons all the way to her neck. The way her pencils were arranged by length. The exact spacing of everything on her desk.