Thin Ice

by Maryann Jordan

  Vivian eyed him warily, but he was listening. His face was all hard lines, stormy eyes, and frowns, but he was listening. Continuing, she said, “If I send you in, I will have to give explicit instructions and, since biochemistry isn’t your thing, it will be much harder for you to instinctively know what you’re looking at. Yes, I could be watching and I’m assuming you’ll have some kind of ear-thingie so I can talk to you, but that’ll take time. Precious time.”

  Leaning forward, she placed her hand on his leg, “And honey, you can’t make a mistake. That’s what scares me…there is no room for error. If they come back before we expect them, and you’re still inside, you can’t just rush out, jiggling the samples. Too much is at stake. And I sure as hell don’t know how to create a diversion…unless I set the grill on fire.”

  His lips twinged, but he fought to remain stoic.

  “You, on the other hand, would make a much better outside person.” Seeing him about to speak, she said, “I’m not finished. You gotta give me this.” When he settled back on the sofa, his eyes still on her, she continued, “You could get me in, then stay on watch outside. I go in, quick and efficiently get what I need and get them labeled in a scientific shorthand, while leaving enough that they don’t suspect anything…hopefully. Then I can get back out to you. You do your super-spy lock up and they’ll never know. Or, God forbid, they come back early, you would know what to do to give me time to get out.”

  Sitting on the worn sofa in a little, somewhat shitty house, in the middle of nowhere Alaska, Logan stared at Vivian, his heart filled with everything she was. Smart. Funny. Daring. So beautiful. And resourceful. And he hated like hell to admit, but she had a point. A really fuckin’ good point.

  26

  Vivian stopped outside the plastic covered door, sucking in a deep breath before her hand reached up to gently pull the tape from the doorframe.

  She and Logan had spent days working on their plans, practicing them in their house, modifying as needed until he was satisfied. He had groused and grumbled every step of the way but she knew it was because he was worried. And the last few nights, he held her long after they made love, even in his sleep. It was as though his fears were penetrating his dreams and she would wake with his arms tighter around her.

  He had planned her steps exactly. They had carefully watched and, on schedule, the Zamans left on Friday morning for their time at the mosque in Fairbanks and none of the others showed up either. Logan had tracked them before on Friday mornings and knew all five attended the same mosque. It was the only time they were all gone. And now, Friday morning, she was inside.

  She noted her gloved hand shook slightly as she peeled the tape back slowly, not wanting to tear any of the setup in the Zaman’s house. Wearing a full, chemical hazmat suit, complete with mask, she finished peeling the plastic. Knowing time was of the essence, she opened the door carefully and stepped inside. Having familiarized herself for weeks with the inside of the room, she moved with determination to the table on the left wall, ignoring the ones in the middle of the room.

  Setting her tray on the floor, she took out the first test tube and dropper. The work was repetitive as she removed a few drops from one of the vials on the table, noted the label before depositing the drops to her tube, placing the stopper in, and then marking it with the chemical shorthand. Next, she replaced their vial back in its exact position, having noted it before she moved it the first time. Over and over, she moved down the table, taking the ones she was sure she needed.

  “Babe, you okay?” Logan’s voice came through her earpiece, causing her to jump, but giving her comfort at the same time.

  “Yeah. Just finishing the table where Malik and Rashad work. I’m heading to Nafisa’s work now.”

  Outside, Logan kept an eagle-eye out for any return of the group. He had set up a camera on the road, just down from the driveway, to give him more time. He glanced at his watch, his heart stuck in his throat ever since he had gained access and she had entered the house.

  Wiping his sweaty brow, he let out a long sigh, angry that he allowed her to talk him into going inside. But she had been right—she knew what she was doing and how to do it quickly. But it still gutted him to have her in the danger and him on the outside.

  Vivian, battling the urge to keep talking to him, kept quiet, determined to focus on the job at hand. Moving to Nafisa’s lab table, she sucked in a deep breath, noting the difference in the vials and dishes she had. Not recognizing the labeling language, she returned to her task, taking drops of the liquids and depositing them in her vials where she had to copy the labels onto her labels. A drop of sweat dripped down the side of her forehead, but she ignored it, not wanting to touch her face or hair with her hand. Even gloved, she did not want to transfer anything that might have gotten on her glove.

  Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. By the time an hour had passed, she stood, knowing she had all she came for. Jumping when Logan spoke again, she bent to pick up her test tube tray. “Honey, I’m finishing. I’m getting ready to leave now.”

  “Okay, babe. I’m right outside.”

  Stepping through the lab door, she gently set the tray on the floor and turned back to the door. Shutting it, she carefully taped the plastic back in place, making sure to fix it exactly the way it was found. Looking at her handiwork, she nodded in satisfaction. Her eye for detail helped and she was certain they would not be able to see a difference.

  Taking her tray, she walked down the hall and turned right into the kitchen. Their house was like the one she and Logan shared, only flip-flopped. Walking carefully, she was aware her booties were slick on the floor, so as she approached the counter, she set the tray down before pulling them from her feet. Stuffing them into her hazmat suit pocket, she picked up the tray and approached the back door.

  Seeing Logan’s frantic eyes on her, she smiled. “It’s all good, honey,” she said, as she stepped outside, avoiding his hand, which naturally shot out to assist. “No, don’t touch me. Not now.”

  Hating to keep his hands to himself, Logan nodded in acknowledgment, turning back to the door closed behind her and making sure it was secured exactly the way it had been when they first came. He did not need to glance at his watch to know that they had been at this for seventy-seven minutes, each one branded on his heart as the seconds Vivian had been in danger ticked by.

  Forcing his mind to clear, he stepped back carefully, viewing the area, certain it was as they found. With a last glance back, he turned and followed Vivian, who had made her way to their side yard and toward the back. Determined to keep her from the front as much as possible, they had charted out the path she was to take. By the time he jogged after her, she had made it out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that if the Zamans, or any of their cell, returned early, they would not see her. Catching up with her as she made her way toward the path into the woods, heading toward the shed, he followed her, keeping a watchful eye on her progress.

  Approaching the shed, he reached his long arm around her and opened the door. She replaced her booties over her shoes and stepped past him, entering the clean, plastic-lined interior. Turning, she said, “Close the door behind me, honey. You know you can’t come in.”

  Grimacing, he stood with his fists on his hips, his unhappiness rolling off him. “I know, but I don’t like it.”

  “We talked about this, Logan,” she added, her gaze holding his.

  “But what if something happens? I don’t want to be back at the house with you out here alone.”

  “I’ve got my earpiece, honey. But I need to get started.”

  Nodding, he stepped back. His hand stayed on the doorknob, battling the desire to throw it open, pull her out, and get her to safety. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and walked back to the house, thinking of what needed to happen to the terrorist cell—and what Vivian would think about him, if she knew the rest of his mission.

  Vivian immediately got to work, almost positive she knew what Nafisa had been wor
king on. Hours passed as she carefully analyzed the contents of the vials. Having set up her makeshift lab in weeks prior, she moved efficiently from one table to the next. Logan had affixed a portable air conditioner inside, allowing her to keep a steady temperature.

  Even a simple lab, set up in an old shed, was familiar to her. Finally, able to complete the tasks she had been trained to do, she found herself smiling slightly as she meticulously analyzed her data.

  Back in the house, Logan waited impatiently, trying to keep from talking to her on their radio, afraid of startling her. Sitting down at the table where he propped his laptop in a position that also allowed him to view out the front window toward the Zaman’s house, he found he could not focus. Not knowing what the terrorists had been working on, his fears of what Vivian might be exposed to shook him to his core.

  Akram and Farrah had returned from their Friday sojourn two hours ago and he anxiously monitored to see if anything appeared out of the ordinary, but they had not been outside, nor had Akram made any call or sent any emails. Knowing that they had not been aware of Vivian in their home, at least on the outside of the lab, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Honey?”

  Smiling at the soft voice coming through his radio, he replied, “Right here, babe. How’s it going?”

  “Good, sweetie, I’m good. As you know, I had an idea of what she was working on, so that was my starting point.”

  “And…”

  “And it looks like I was right. I’ve definitely discovered they are working with Tularemia. The good news is, if you remember, it’s not lethal—”

  “I’ve gotta confess, I don’t remember much about the different diseases. Sorry, but—“

  “Don’t apologize, Logan. Not with all you’ve got to keep up. I just didn’t want to go into details about something you already knew.”

  “No worries. Tell me anything and everything,” he assured, his mood lifting as he heard the excitement in her voice.

  “Well, the low lethality is the good news. The bad news is that the bacteria can be stable for months and it has a short incubation period.”

  “I know all this is important, but, Viv, what I really want is for you to get the fuck outta there and back here.”

  “I’ll be there soon, honey. Now that I know what it is and that it’s stable, I can destroy what is here safely. I also need to dispose of my suit. Do you have the fire barrel ready?”

  “All set for you, babe.”

  Twenty long minutes later, he watched as she exited the woods, the evening sun having set, casting the yard in dark shadows as the sky above turned deep shades of blue. Her hair was still in a tight bun, exposing her tired face, but her smile was firmly in place. In her hands, she carried the tray of vials.

  Bending, she said, “These chemicals are not dangerous, pointing to the ones near the back of the tray. I have added water to them to destroy them and they can easily be added to the fire.”

  He took what she handed him and dropped them in, one at a time. Next, she bent to choose the last vial, the one she had been studying. “It can be safely burned,” she assured. “The bacteria won’t be airborne, so we’re safe.”

  Nodding, he watched as she destroyed it as well.

  Peeling her hazmat suit from her body, she dumped the armload into the metal drum. Within a few minutes, the flames took the suit, turning it to ashes. Looking up, she said, “There’s nothing left but the equipment.”

  “You need food, baby,” he said, his voice full of concern.

  She turned her gaze from the fire up to his eyes. “What I really want is a long shower. I feel gross.”

  Grinning, he reached for her hand, linking his fingers with hers. “Come on. The shower’s small, but we’ll make it work.”

  Wiggling her eyebrows, she laughed as he led her inside.

  27

  Standing in the kitchen the next morning, Logan poured a cup of coffee for himself, then pulled down another mug and filled it with coffee, creamer, and sweetener. Hearing the scuffing of footsteps coming down the hall, he hid his grin as he pushed the mug toward a flannel pajama wearing Vivian.

  “Umm,” she grunted, taking a sip before moving around the counter, straight into his arms.

  Tucking her head under his chin, he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sweet floral scent of her shampoo to tease his nostrils, finding it eased his stress. Her body fit perfectly into his and the feel of her arms around his waist, her cheek resting against his chest, made his heart pound with joy.

  “Is zombie Viv awake yet?”

  “Maybe after a few more sips,” she grunted, hugging him tighter. Tipping her head back, Vivian stared at his chiseled jaw, the worry from yesterday having etched deeper lines radiating from his grey-blue eyes. “You okay? About yesterday?”

  “I never worried about a mission,” he began. “The men on my team…we worked as one. We could look at each other and know what the other was thinking. We could tell by the tone of each others’ voices over the radio what the fuck was happening and what we needed to do.”

  She watched as pride morphed into concern as he dropped his gaze to hers, his arms tightening around her back.

  “But yesterday damn near took me over the edge, babe. You gotta know though…I couldn’t be prouder of you than any SEAL I ever served with.”

  He bent and took her lips, his mouth plundering, tasting, searching as his tongue tangled with hers. She responded in kind, desperate to join with him.

  Walking her a step backward, he plucked her up and planted her onto the counter. His hands were on her shoulders, pulling her top downward, when the sound of his phone buzzing halted them.

  “Ughhhhh,” she groaned, but accepted he needed to take the call. He had rarely received a call since they had been working together so, whoever was on the other end, it was important. Hopping down from the counter, she grabbed her mug on the way back to the bedroom.

  Changing into a pair of jeans and thick cotton and wool socks, she slipped on her bra and thermal shirt. Deciding to be domestic for a change, she gathered their dirty clothes into a pile next to the door. Stripping the sheets off the mattresses, she threw them into the ever-growing pile. Finding clean sheets, she made the bed, tossing the pillows to the head near the wall.

  Stepping into the hall, she opened the closet door, revealing a washer and dryer. Throwing in detergent and a load of clothes, she started the machine. Listening, she did not hear Logan’s voice. Assuming he was finished, she walked back into the kitchen for a coffee refill. Looking out the window, she saw Logan sitting in his truck, still talking on the phone. Curious as to who he was talking to, she moved to the cabinets, pulling down bowls and cereal. She continued to glance out the window as he spoke and then had long periods of listening.

  Out in his truck, Logan spoke to Greg, telling him everything that they had discovered.

  “So, Ms. Sanders is certain it is Tularemia?” Greg queried.

  “Yes, she’s sure. I’m not at my computer right now, so I can’t give you the details, but she said it was a stable bacteria and that the incubation period is only two to fifteen days. It’s rarely passed from human to human, but the cell’s scientists may have done something with it.”

  “I’ve got it pulled up now,” Greg said. “Ingestion of contaminated food or water. So, it could be simply added to a water supply. It says it can also be used in aerosols. Fuckin’ hell, Preacher. Fever, chills, nausea, vomiting, muscle aches—”

  “I remember Vivian telling me that many people could have it and doctors wouldn’t know to look for it until vast numbers were showing up, draining the medical resources.”

  “You know what to do, Preacher. Take them out. Everyone. Then destroy that house. Today.”

  “Sir, I’ve got a request. I need to get Vivian out of here first. She has no idea what will happen next and I’d rather her not find out.”

  “She’s finished with her analysis and should leave, although you’ve got to get h
er input on how best to destroy the house.”

  “I’ll take care of it, but I’d feel better if she were gone.”

  “Understood.”

  He sat in the truck for a moment, trying to figure out his next move. Never, as a SEAL, had he been faced with such indecision. He had to keep her from knowing how he was going to dispatch the cell members…hell, she can’t even know that I am dispatching them. But to send her home early might undermine the relationship they were building. Christ, what the fuck am I going to do? He sat for another minute, steeling his resolve, knowing that whatever happened when he went back inside would gut him, but he prayed when the mission was all over, she would let him explain—grovel, if that’s what it took.

  Climbing out of his truck, he slammed the door harder than he meant to. Stalking to the kitchen door, he entered, seeing Vivian sitting at the dining room table, finishing a bowl of cereal. Lucky Charms. A grin slipped over his face despite his mood, seeing her turning her bowl up, slurping the milk.

  Standing, she walked over to place the bowl in the sink. “You okay? ‘Cause you don’t seem very okay.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he ducked his head, staring at the counter instead of her.

  “Now you’re not looking at me.”

  His gaze jumped to hers as he said, “You’ve done your job, Viv. Thanks to you we know what we’re dealing with and how to move forward.”

  She narrowed her eyes but his face gave nothing away. “Okaaaaay.”

  “It’s just that now things will get hotter and I’ve got to be able to do my job. And that’s not something that I need an audience for.”

  “An audience?”

  “A distraction.”

  Her voice rose slightly as she repeated, “A distraction? I’ve gone from a partner, to an audience, to a distraction? Wow, that’s some kind of demotion. Do I dare ask how me as a lover fits into that?”

  “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”