by Rosa, A.
"There's that word again. Who is your father?"
Her lips curl upward again. "Shariff Moradi, of course. Didn't my name sound familiar? He's the one buying your product. He plans to use it on a small area in Ethiopia. There is a large Coltan mine there that the villagers won't give up without a fight. It isn't worth the fight to us, so why not nip it in the bud with your solution?"
My throat goes dry. I don't like the sound of that. I wish she wouldn't tell me these awful details. It's too much blood on my hands, cure or no cure.
I rub my temples with my eyes closed, trying to grasp her words, but I'm distracted by a movement on the couch. I open my eyes, and notice she has scooted closer to me. Trying to keep the moment level, I ask, "Coltan? Isn't that what's in cell phones?"
She runs her slender hands through her thick, long mane of hair. It's distracting. "Yes. Very lucrative business in that part of the world."
"Hmm," is the only thing I manage.
"My father owns a lot of those mines already in the Republic of the Congo. It's a dirty business." I swear her eyes twinkle at the mention, as if she's proud of her old man.
"All you do is deal with Coltan?"
Another slinking smile appears. "No, of course not, silly. That is not for you to know. Let's just say my father has his fingers in all sorts of different dangerous pies." Without any hesitation, she scoots a bit closer.
Is that a warning? Her demeanor is shifting more to a young girl seeking attention, and I have to look away. If her dad is a scary son of a bitch, then I don't want to mess with his daughter.
"That reminds me,” she squeaks, causing me to jump. “I have something for you. It's from my father. Partial payment as incentive to follow through."
Well, this I isn't expected. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I watch her lean over the coffee table, and grab her purse. As if this space is hers, she starts pulling things out of her purse and placing them right next to my drugs. She rummages, haphazardly pulling out her cell phone, mascara, and a compact. An eerie giggle escapes her lips. I try to hide it, but I can't help tensing as she pulls out a small pistol and lays it next to her other stuff. She shoots me a snide glance, and a smile as if to say, try me, I dare you.
I wonder if she pulled out the gun on purpose. Is she showing it to me to confirm that she is a threat? Or is it to show me that I can trust her, and she trusts me enough to lay her weapon out in the open? I have never been good at dealing with these people.
Finally, she pulls out a bulging envelope and hands it over.
"Ten grand. Cash. Just for you." She pouts.
I take it from her grasp, worried there is a catch, but she watches me place it back on the table without a word.
"Thanks." I don't know what else to say. Even though this woman has my blood pressure running high, I want her to leave. Her proximity is dangerous. I lick my lips at the thought. I worry that this girl—and yes, I mean girl—is going to want something in return. Maybe something her daddy didn't anticipate.
"You're an attractive man, Marcus Gibbs. Rarely are the men I have to deal with as handsome as you."
I turn to look at her, though I know it's a mistake. I can't believe she said that, but I have to admit that it's nice to hear. I remain speechless as I watch her slinking smile rise. I'm afraid to offend her, because I get the sinking feeling she has a mean streak buried behind the piercing eyes and lush lips.
"Do you find me attractive, Marcus?"
My eyebrows furrow at her direct question, and she looks downright, deliciously evil. She is already sitting too close to me. I am frozen, staring at her, and I realize my mouth is watering.
She leans a little closer. "You can tell me if you do." It's a breathy whisper.
"Yes." It's barely an answer.
She grins, satisfied. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Would it even matter to this temptress? My breathing is shallow. She is obviously dangerous. My eyes shoot to the pistol still sitting on my coffee table, and then back to her onyx eyes.
"No. I don't have a girlfriend." I get a flashback of Jeremy in his doorway a few days ago with a girl I wanted. My face flushes.
Boldly, this woman continues her seduction. She leans into my neck, and her warm, humid breath caresses my skin. "Do you want me?"
I know the answer to that, but I do not want to answer—so I don't.
She places a singular kiss under my ear, and my hypersensitive body tingles all the way down to my toes, but I still don't want to speak. I scrunch my eyes closed. I'm bad at doing the right thing, but I have to try.
"Y-you should stop," I stutter.
A maniacal laugh escapes her lips as she pulls away. "Open your eyes, Marcus. I don't bite." It's another demand. I bet you she has a bigger bite than she lets on.
I reluctantly obey. Her look makes me want to readjust my pants. What would this girl want to do with me?
She grabs my hand and pulls it toward her, deliberately placing it on the bare thigh of her crossed leg. Her skin is warm, soft, and ever-so tempting. She knows it too, and she forces my hand up farther.
"It's OK, Marcus. I'll be good to you."
Her voice could melt butter, and I wonder if she has done this to other confused men like myself. She seems practiced in seduction, or maybe she’s is used to getting what she wants.
I manage to turn my glance toward her. Why the hell not? What do I have to lose at this point?
"What about why you're here? What about the product?" I take in another breath, and my brain-to-mouth filter malfunctions. "You're dangerous."
She giggles, and it's almost cute; well, cute like if the Care Bears decided to go on a killing spree. "You are right about one thing: I am dangerous. But would you really rather we go back to your silly lab to discuss diseases and directions?"
I bite my lip, refusing to respond. I know what I want, and she's right. It isn't found in my lab. Dangerous or not. She leans in closer, knowing what my unspoken answer is. She presses her lush lips against mine, letting go of my hand, trusting me to do the right thing. The right thing? Isn't that a matter of perspective?
I don't refuse her soft lips as they guide mine, and she hums. She smiles against my lips, saying, "Pleasure now, business later."
Who am I to argue at this point?
ALEX TURNER
Back home and back to reality. I sigh. I get comfortable in the plush leather seat and fiddle with my seat belt with one hand. Jeremy holds my other as we begin take off, knowing that I hate those shaky turbulent moments.
His lips brush against my temple as we gain altitude, and he nuzzles my ear, sending calming chills down my back. I take a deep breath, popping my ears as the plane levels out.
"Babe, you mind if I put in a bit of work right now?"
I bat my lashes. "I almost forgot you worked," I say playfully.
He rewards me with his boyish grin. "Well, being the big man on top has its advantages, but all good things must come to an end. I checked my phone and I have to tackle a load of e-mails. Is that OK?"
Why is he asking me permission?
"As long as I can work too."
He furrows his eyebrows, as if he has no idea what that even means when it comes out of my mouth. "Sure."
He kisses me on the lips and gets up to grab his laptop from his suitcase.
I lean down for my backpack and pull out my own. I should catch up on my own caseload. I have been ignoring my e-mail, and I need to log in to peruse the surveillance cameras of the Sunscape building that Derek managed to get access to. Jeremy comes and takes a seat next to me. He adjusts his casual, plain-black V-neck and his worn jeans, and with a business-like air, he swings his leg over his knee and places his laptop on his lap, all the while peering over to see what I am up to.
"Any news with what's going on?"
I can't help but twitch at the question. It really is the first time Jeremy has voluntarily shown any interest in the case. For a while there, he was too preoccupied catching up with his bizarrely comp
licated girlfriend—that being me—to really get a grasp on much of anything else. His mouth is set in a hard line. I wonder if maybe the topic is still hard for him.
I kiss him on the chin to show my appreciation. "Little developments here and there."
The ping of my e-mail distracts the both of us.
I notice it's from Derek, and it has a video clip attached. The e-mail reads:
Turner,
Doesn't she look familiar? I can't place the face. It looks like she is avoiding the security cameras. After 45 seconds, scan to 7:38.
Jeremy turns away to avoid seeming rude, but he peeks over every moment or so as his computer boots up. I know he is more curious than he lets on.
I begin the video and watch the grainy image of an empty, sterile-looking hallway appear. When the video hits the forty-five-second mark, a fast-moving figure appears at the far end of the hallway, making its way straight toward the camera. As the person gets closer, it becomes obvious she's a woman by her curvaceous form, but she is wearing sunglasses. How inconspicuous of her.
The woman does look familiar, and I can't figure out why. She keeps her head down. She moves swiftly past the camera, and the image shifts to a different camera. The image is now of the empty doorway of a locked lab. I can guess where this is leading.
Sure enough, the woman appears again, but her back is to the camera. I can't imagine her being one of Marcus's interns. She looks too old to be a college student desperate for intern hours. She stands in front of the secure door, rifling through her purse, and then pulls out a couple items. She confidently places something that looks like a credit card into the card reader next to the door. The image is poor quality, but it's obvious the card doesn't exactly open the door, but confuses the system, causing a little light to flash. She isn't even checking if anyone is around. Either she is a rookie or she has done this a million times.
She pulls out two thin metal sticks, similar to sewing needles. I am able to identify them immediately. I use them in my job, and any greedy, delinquent teen that has half a mind to look into it could get their hands on these items as well. They are used to pick locks. With skill and precision, she inserts them into the lock and fiddles for only a moment before the door opens. She pulls the fake key card out of the reader and moves inside, the door shutting behind her.
Interesting. Forced access? But why? She has got to be connected.
As I'm trying to place the woman, the familiar image of Marcus Gibbs enters the screen. He keeps rubbing his face, maybe trying to wake up, as he puts his valid key card in and slips inside. Curious, I peer at the time in the corner of the video. It was nearly eight in the morning when this video was captured.
"Hmm."
"Babe, what is it?"
"Wait." I stick my finger up to halt his words. He sits frozen to the spot, watching me.
I decide to do what the e-mail directed, and fast-forward to 7:38. Sure enough, Marcus and the mystery women exit together. This time the woman isn't wearing sunglasses. I freeze the image.
Marcus looks strained and tired even in the blurry screen cap, and the women looks to be smiling. I can't get a good feeling for her face, especially her eyes, with the angle of the camera. But I know her, I know I do, but from where?
"Jeremy, do you recognize her?" I can't help my poignant tone. I tug on his arm, and then point at my screen.
He leans over, trying to get the detail that isn't there. "These are my security cameras?" he mutters.
"Yes."
"I didn't realize you had access to them."
I roll my eyes. "That's beside the point right now. What you should be concerned with is your company's investment in such a low-quality system." I gesture at the grainy, hard-to-make-out image.
"Watch it." His tone is stern, but he shoots me a small smile as he continues to try to identify the woman. "I have no idea who that is," he says. "The woman doesn't look familiar, but Marcus looks nervous as hell."
"Well, she got past your security, and managed to break into a lab without a peep."
His brows shoot up in surprise. "I have people at the front desk checking IDs, and most elevators require access codes to get to these floors. Hell, most doors need IDs to get in. What more could I do?"
"Maybe when this is all said and done you can contract our services to overhaul your security?" I can't help batting my eyelashes haughtily at him.
He nips at my lip with his teeth. "Maybe. So many skills, Miss Turner."
"Mr. Hunt, you have no idea. I'll have you know that before I became a field agent, I was pretty good at hacking into advanced security systems."
"A woman of many talents," he says.
"You'd be good to remember it," I quip.
"Why would I need to remember it when you remind me so often?" He tilts his head toward me with an arrogant, but adorable air.
I squint and feign anger, but he leans in to kiss me. I can't help growling. When he pulls away, he looks smug, and as if to turn the tables, Jeremy's phone rings.
He kisses me once more. "Gotta get that, babe."
He sets his laptop down, and hops out of the chair to take the call. "Jeremy Hunt speaking."
I roll my eyes when I hear his professional demeanor. Who is he kidding? He is a marshmallow.
Another ping in my inbox distracts me. It's another one from Derek.
Turner,
Did that woman look familiar to you? The image from the cameras isn't good enough to put it into our facial recognition software. Currently, I am trying to gain access to Gibbs's building's security cameras. I'd like to know how often he makes it home, and with whom.
Also what's our plan for Saturday? Who's getting wired and when?
I stare at the screen for a moment, and debate how I want Saturday to go. I peer over my computer to see Jeremy still on the phone. He's mumbling about meetings and some sort of budget bottom line. It's obvious that work is his element. Even this far away I can see the intensity reflected in his crystal eyes. He's commanding and confident, and he looks glorious standing there running his hand through his blond hair while pacing. His shirt ripples over his toned Viking physique. Who would even want to attempt to cross him? He catches me staring and shoots me a smile even though he seems to be scolding someone on the phone. I smile back, but shake my head at the fact he can easily distract me. I take a deep breath and write an e-mail to Derek.
I keep staring at my screen trying to identify her. Did you run the image by Interpol? See if they can identify her. Maybe the face will look familiar.
You're right; I know that face, but can't figure out why. She looks like she could be Middle Eastern maybe. These are just guesses. I asked Jeremy to see if he could identify her, and he has no idea who she is either. Do you think she is linked to Luc Olivier? Have we figured out what terrorist group is looking to do the buying? I think we should keep an eye on Marcus's bank account. Besides the $5,000 transfer, maybe they will start depositing funds as collateral. All just guesses.
I don't like this guessing game, Agent Matthews!
As for Saturday, let's meet at Jeremy Hunt's apartment at 1900, and get both Jeremy and me earpieces linked to a surveillance team that we can station outside of the event. I will put that tracker on Marcus's phone then as well. I want to collect as much intel as possible.
I press send and close the laptop. This isn't making sense yet, and these puzzle pieces are coming in fast.
The five-thousand-dollar transfer, Marcus's drug problem, Luc Olivier, the mystery woman—I need concrete evidence, dammit.
If we don't put these pieces together quickly, we could be too late.
I huff, trying to regain some control. I need to be patient. After Saturday, everything will be in motion. It should go off without a hitch—right?
"Penny for your thoughts?" My eyes shoot up. Jeremy is off the phone and stands in front of me. I have no easy response for him. He smiles a weakly. "That bad, huh?"
I shrug, trying to play indifferent. I d
on't want to talk. I feel tense and frustrated. The details of this assignment feel random and miscellaneous, and I know that isn't the case. I don't like not knowing.
Jeremy takes a seat next to me, and puts his arm around my shoulders. His embrace is warm and inviting. Immediately, I know where I want to be, and I lean in and nuzzle his neck. He kisses the top of my head. "It's OK. Let's not talk. Let's just think." He tightens the embrace, and runs his thumb up and down my arm in a relaxing rhythm.
I take a deep breath, the beats of Jeremy's heart a calming metronome as I gather my puzzle pieces in my head, and sort through them.
What does any of this mean? Why do I feel helpless all of a sudden?
Patience, Alex, patience.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Attack & Accuracy
ALEX TURNER
I take in a deep breath. It's Friday morning, and the more time that ticks by, the more I want it to be Saturday night. I have spent the past twenty-four hours distracted.
This is my least favorite part of my job, but it is also the part Derek and Alvarado grind me for: my lack of patience. I mean, isn't it obvious? Look at my relationship.
I sip my coffee, then set it on the coffee table and place my computer on my lap. Jeremy is down the hall, taking another business call. It's his sixth call since 7 a.m., and it's only nine.
I make myself comfortable, realizing I can't remember the last time I slept in my own bed. My life has been such a whirlwind since last week, and I haven't given myself a moment to digest that simple fact. One week, and life turns into something I never anticipated.
Maybe this is my normal, or at least as close as I'll ever get. Jeremy is pacing the halls, making his employees accountable while he's been away, and I'm sitting on his couch, enjoying the quiet moment, watching his delectable profile, and stealing a smile from time to time.
I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts, but I can never sit still.
I'm still annoyed and frustrated. I stared at the screen capture of the woman from the surveillance video for hours, digging through our system files, searching for her face, and I've found nothing. She must not be that important—does that make her worth remembering, or dangerous? I haven't a clue. I know I have seen her face, whether it be in person or in some picture on the wall back at headquarters. I gnaw at my lip, staring at the screen, wishing I could have a straight shot of her face. Why can't I place her?