by Gennita Low
“She sells information to Dilaver—how’s that useful? She’s probably responsible for some of the leaks. In fact, she might be in league with the D.C. rat’s nest that’s been betraying us.” To find all those responsible for selling information to the enemy was one of Admiral Madison’s goals. Too many of their military brothers had been compromised by those traitors. “Is there no other guide?”
“She’s the most qualified, having been over there for four years, Hawk. She knows that area very well or I wouldn’t use her as an asset. As for the matter of trust…” Jed paused, as if choosing his next words. “Her ratio for providing the truth runs about seventy percent, and that’s in her dealings with me. So you can expect less than that toward you.”
“That sounds encouraging,” Hawk said wryly. That was one thing he had noticed about these GEM and COSCO operatives. They tended to talk in ratios and percentages, assets and losses. “So why do you think she tapped my line?”
“How did she do that in the first place? Did you meet her personally already?”
Hawk scowled. He knew Jed would want to know what happened. It wasn’t easy admitting that he’d managed to be drugged. He briefly outlined the events from the night before—the fight, the needle, his few hours on the floor. His SEAL team commander, Admiral Madison, wouldn’t be pleased that one of his men had been taken down so easily.
“Now you know what kind of woman you’re dealing with,” Jed said quietly. There wasn’t any hint of humor or anger in his voice. “Amber Hutchens is a very careful woman. She was probably testing you because the last operative the CIA sent over nearly blew her cover. She’s also a contract agent, not necessarily a hundred percent loyal to one agency. From her viewpoint, information is valuable and it doesn’t hurt to get it in any way possible. And if you’re a weak link, she made her point if she’d succeeded in tapping your phone and finding out information and about my whereabouts. It looks like she might not cooperate.”
“I’ll take care of her test,” Hawk said. “I’ll convince her I’m capable.”
“How?”
“By doing something that’ll catch her attention. She’s into information and testing. I’ll take her on her challenge and then some.”
“Interesting. It’s always good to show that you can do the same thing she did to you,” Jed suggested. “It might gain her respect.”
Hawk hadn’t given the full details of where Miss Hutchens had left her message. He doubted any of his intentions would get that result. In fact, he was getting pissed off at being put on the defensive; this wasn’t a usual position for him and it didn’t sit comfortably.
“I intend to get to know how she works,” Hawk said. “I don’t care about her respect. I do need her constant cooperation, though, if she’s to be my guide. I can’t have an operative testing my decisions every step of the way.”
“You have limited time to get acquainted with Amber while you find the locations of Dilaver’s weapon silos,” Jed said. “Any headway on that?”
“Dilaver has been recovering from his wound, so he’s been using his cell phone a lot. But he’s doing a rundown of some sort now and as a side note, there’s trouble brewing in his business. Velesta is supposed to be one stop of many. I’m slowly getting the feel of his holdings and operation procedures.” Hawk paused, then added softly, “His sex-slave operation’s very big.”
“That part of his business is his credit card. Your goal, lieutenant, is to look for the hidden weapons, especially the most recent ones that were dropped off while Dilaver was in Asia. I know he’s human trash, but it isn’t your job to take care of him that way.”
“I know that, McNeil,” Hawk said, “but I also want you to know that if I weren’t doing this as part of a joint mission between your agency and my team, Dilaver would be put out of commission. I have seen enough.”
Too damn much, in fact. The images of the locked-up young girls at the kafenas were starting to haunt his nights.
“Madison said you’re one of his best men. Tell me now whether you can do this, that you won’t let other things interfere with the main mission. We can’t afford any misstep here,” Jed said, his voice calm and assessing over the phone. “You must gain Dilaver’s trust, and that means getting your hands dirty. The admiral told me you could do this.”
Hawk had to give Jed credit. Bringing up his commander was good. As a SEAL, it was ingrained in him to handle anything to get the job done. Physically, he had barely any challenge—guiding the injured Dilaver and his men out of a particularly hostile Asian mountainous terrain was child’s play. Mentally, he had been taught to block pain and emotion when he was in the war theater, but watching women and young girls victimized had been—he hated to admit it, even to himself—very, very tough.
“McMillan.”
He realized Jed had been waiting for some kind of reply, and it had better be convincing or he’d be pulled off the job. “I have been doing it,” he said crisply. “Dilaver’s now going to different cities and I’m mapping out the routes. I’ll find out more very soon.”
“Good. I’ll wait for your communication. And Hawk…” Jed waited a beat to get his attention. “Don’t underestimate Amber. This business of ours isn’t black and white. You either learn to function within a gray area or be killed.”
Hawk looked thoughtfully at the cell phone after Jed rang off. As usual, he had more questions after talking to Jed. Why had Amber Hutchens been placed here for four years in the first place? And exactly what information did she sell to Dilaver? What did she get in return?
The more he learned about the lady, the more intrigued he was. Underestimate her? He hadn’t been given the chance. But she had shown her disdain for him by initiating this pissing contest, introducing herself with a…memorable and naughty handshake.
He pocketed the phone. Gray ethics, huh? He could only misbehave in return.
Brad frowned. She was here. Amber hadn’t mentioned it—would she be joining them for dinner? It had been almost six weeks since she had gone off on one of her “trips.”
He stepped out of his car and locked it, his eyes trained on the little European car parked two cars down. He wasn’t going to let her leave this time without first talking with him. The problem was, Llallana Noretski wasn’t an easy person to corner.
The Last Resort was a small café, decorated like an American diner, with out-of-the-way things like a scarecrow sitting on a rocking chair in one corner and pictures of American movie stars and NASCAR drivers on the walls. Things from home for homesick young American peacekeepers. Even the tablecloths looked homey, with their cheerful prints of Americana.
As usual, it was bustling with activity, filled with hungry men looking for home cooking. They all recognized him, of course, and he nodded to those who made eye contact. Unlike the previous department head, he hadn’t gone out partying and thus was getting to know some of these men casually. He didn’t like some of the entertainment the men had gone for, and one of these days he would address that problem, too.
“Those are beautiful flowers, Brad,” Amber said as she walked toward him.
And as usual, all male eyes followed the owner of the café. Amber Hutchens wasn’t just attractive; she was strikingly beautiful, of the All-American blond and blue-eyed variety. She had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a chignon, showing off the gold loops in her ears. The smile she gave him lit up her eyes.
“I spent a fortune,” he told her, as she kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Then I’d better make sure dessert’s richer than usual,” she said.
He smiled back and followed her to his table in the back. It was screened off from the rest of the dining area, sometimes used for private parties. It also reinforced the assumption that Bradford Sun was more than just a client to Amber Hutchens, especially when he would disappear through the door marked “Privat” later for what he knew others thought was more intimate time.
Amber was a superb hostess. She steered clear of politics
during dinner, amusing him with anecdotes of peacekeepers’ gossip. She was also a good listener, letting him bring up various topics that interested both of them—the new opera in town, the book he was currently reading, the big wedding of a mutual friend. There was not one mention of the latest bombing victim just a few streets from the café. Or the news of the restaurant downtown that had to shut down because the owner had mysteriously disappeared. Or the scandal about a number of peacekeepers caught literally with their pants down in a kafena.
They retired into the back room for drinks and dessert. Brad settled back in the sofa comfortably, sipping his wine, as he watched Amber bring in a covered dish.
“Did you hear that the younger prince of Modevia gave up his eligibility to be second in line so he could marry his civilian sweetheart?” Amber asked, as she served him a piece of cheesecake.
“I read it in the paper,” Brad said, taking a bite of the dessert. It was strawberry cheesecake. “This is simply delicious, Amber.”
“Have another piece.” She smiled. “Take some home.”
“Thanks. That would be…” Brad put down his fork. “Hello, Llallana.”
Llallana Noretski was slim and tall, her dark coloring a direct contrast to her girlfriend’s. She was dressed in a pantsuit, with swirling patterns that reminded him of a bright sunset. She walked slowly into the room, carefully studying everything around her. Brad knew from past observation that she never moved her head but her dark eyes were constantly darting, taking in every little thing. They were large, fanned by long eyelashes that she sometimes peered under, especially when she was pretending not to look at him.
“Hope I’m not interrupting dinner or anything,” she said, without returning Brad’s greeting. She sat down across on the adjacent sofa seat. “But I heard you wanted to see me?”
Brad had casually asked Amber a few weeks ago when Llallana was coming back into town, using business as an excuse. It was frustrating he couldn’t bring up what she was doing because he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have any knowledge of any illegal activities. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder. The woman sitting nearby seemed incapable of doing anything illegal other than attending the art soirees in Europe to bid for her clients.
Fine, she didn’t want niceties. “How did the last trip go?” he asked.
Llallana shrugged. “Didn’t Amber tell you that it went fine? If there was anything wrong, I’m sure she’d have informed you.”
Amber had silently retreated to a corner of the sofa. Brad suspected she was hiding a smile behind the cup of coffee. Unlike with her, he was always sparring with Llallana Noretski.
“I just wanted more details,” he said.
“I thought you said before that you didn’t want any details,” Llallana retorted. “Didn’t he, Amber?”
“I think Brad meant that certain things, like how you secured the passports and whom you talked to, are off-limits,” Amber said smoothly. “He’s interested in where the girls are and how they’ll fend for themselves in their new homes, Lily.”
“Is that right, Brad?” Llallana asked, her brows arching sardonically. “As long as your hands are clean, hmm?”
“We’re on the same side on this,” Brad said softly. “You know I want to help those girls as much as you do.”
“And you’ve been helping,” Amber assured him.
“Then why doesn’t he take scum like Dilaver off the street?” demanded Llallana, her eyes blazing with sudden fire. “You have the power, don’t you, Brad? Or are you just a puppet?”
He wasn’t going to discuss UN protocol with her. She wouldn’t understand how his hands were tied by votes and red tape. He put down his glass of wine. “We all have a job to do, although you seem to have more freedom than me because of your…shortcuts.”
He watched as Llallana straightened her shoulders. Well, it wasn’t his fault—she attacked him first.
“My shortcuts save lives,” she told him.
“You’re dealing with gray people and breaking international laws,” he reminded her.
“I get my job done. Do you?”
Ouch. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“And yet, supposedly, you have all avenues at your disposal.” Llallana tilted her head. “Capture Dilaver. He’s in town. What’s so tough about that?”
“He’s KLA.”
“Oh yes, UN-sanctioned ‘good’ guys.” Llallana laughed. “You can get around that.”
“Break the laws I uphold?” Brad narrowed his eyes. “And what would that make me? There are consequences each time I compromise.”
“Oh yes, it might affect your way up the diplomatic chain of command,” she said, a cynical smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Who would want to stay here in this hellhole?”
Before he could reply, Amber interrupted. “Now, Lily, be fair. He’s helping as much as he can, especially now that he’s found out what we do,” she said, leaning forward to pour more wine into the glasses, her eyes catching Brad’s.
As always, he wondered about the two women’s relationship, both of whom seemed to contrast so in style and manner. One was calm and assessing and the other bothered the shit out of him. Yet, he’d caught them laughing in the kitchen before, giggling like females sometimes did when they were talking naughty stuff. Maybe he just hadn’t tried hard enough with Llallana. Hell, how could he be friendly with a woman who corrected him each time he called her Lily? He wasn’t a friend. Fine. He’d stopped after the first few times.
“That’s because you’re contracting with the CIA and he feels obligated.”
“Is that what you think?” Brad asked, curious. She wasn’t wrong, but she was also assuming that he approved of the CIA. Llallana shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. He had a feeling that there was more to this than surface accusations. “Tell me how they’ve hurt you, Llallana.”
Bingo. Something flared up in those beautiful eyes for a moment, then she dipped her head to study her fingernails. She gave him that sideways glance that always managed to hide her thoughts. “Getting melodramatic, aren’t we? Now, what is it about the girls you wanted to know again? Where are they? Out of this country. How are they? Better than before. Those too afraid to go home have enough money to survive for a while. Will they get better care?” She paused. “I don’t know. I hope so. Some of them are in bad shape, as you know.”
Her voice had lost some of its passion, as if she were trying to control her emotions by being businesslike. Brad didn’t miss the way her hands clenched and unclenched on her lap.
“When you”—he stopped to find another word for “smuggle”—“move them, don’t the authorities question some of those in bad condition? I’d be suspicious if a few girls boarded my plane with bruises and cuts.”
Some of them had more than bruises and cuts. And all of them were psychologically damaged.
“I try to give them some downtime, Brad. It isn’t easy preparing a girl that age for a journey away from everything she’s known. But then, she’s already suffered a fate that’s beyond anything girls her age should know. I try to prepare them. This is their chance to escape and they know this. There aren’t many choices, you know.”
“That’s why getting them before they’re destroyed by the kafena thugs was a good strategy,” Amber said, then added with a small smile, “and it was Brad’s idea.”
“That’s the information I can easily get without raising too many eyebrows.” After all, it was his job to trace the drugs and illegal human trafficking. “And I do know the risks you take to get them to a safe place, Llallana.”
He still couldn’t believe the woman sitting across from him was also in charge of some team of thugs or mercenaries—she wouldn’t tell and, of course, he wasn’t going to ask—who literally played highwaymen, pretending to be going after the girls for their own gain. Where did she meet with these men?
“Let’s drink to the success of the next road trip, shall we?” Amber lifted her glass. “Brad has more informati
on, Lily.”
Brad picked up his glass and drank to the toast as he broodingly studied Llallana. He wanted to get her alone with him…like the last time. Part of him wanted to kiss her again.
4
“That went quite well,” Amber said, after loading up the dishwasher. Despite the cool weather outside, she’d opened the kitchen back door that led onto the second-story deck outside. Standing by the entrance, she studied Llallana sitting on the stool outside, smoking a cigarette. A sign of nerves—Lily hardly smoked except when something was bothering her.
“Don’t you have other guests downstairs to attend to?”
“That’s what the staff is for,” Amber replied, “and I usually take the evening off when Brad comes to dinner.”
Llallana turned around in the semidarkness. “Sorry to have interrupted your plans.”
“Oh, come on, we’ve been friends for four years, Lily. You don’t have to play those games with me. And Brad isn’t interested in me, and vice versa.” Amber took a deep breath. “There was choking tension in the room this evening between the two of you that’s new. Mind explaining the source to me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Llallana took a drag of her cigarette, then crushed it into the ashtray. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“When you guys didn’t hit it off when Brad first came on the scene, you told me you didn’t like his type. Too strait-laced, or something like that. What changed?”
“I still don’t like his type,” Llallana flashed.
“Uh-huh,” Amber murmured. This thing between her friend and Brad had gotten more and more interesting to watch each meeting. They were antagonistic toward each other from the very beginning, yet there was a subtle hint of sexual attraction. “It’s cold out there. I’m going to close the kitchen door now. Coming in?”
“I have my jacket on. In a few, okay?”
“Okay. Don’t leave without saying ’bye. I have stuff to talk to you about.”