Smokescreen

by Meredith Fletcher; Vicki Hinze Doranna Durgin

  What she couldn’t know was the things Jeth had learned this night by Sam’s side, seeing a world in which he’d never before been involved. So her eyes widened at his understanding. She took an unwilling step backward at the urging of the restless guardian; Gretchen tugged her hand, murmured something to her.

  And Jeth said simply, “Call me when you can.” He stood on the sidewalk, hands jammed into his back pockets, and watched Lizbet go. Let her go.

  Sam gave him a moment. A long moment. And then she switched guises and quietly cleared her throat.

  He whirled, alarmed; his face cleared when he saw her—and then turned rueful. “I suppose you were there all along.”

  “A few moments,” she agreed.

  He stuck his hands back into his back pockets, and fatigue washed over his features. Yeah, it’d been a long night.

  “You didn’t fail, you know,” she told him.

  “What, you read minds, too?”

  She moved up to him, off the grass and onto the sidewalk. She, too, was tired, and achy in too many places to count. Her hands had stiffened up in his gloves, skinned and tender and now puffy around the knuckles from the most recent action. “Expressions,” she said. “Body language. It takes more than new faces to pull off my guises, you know.” She moved closer yet. “The point is, your sister is safe. That’s what you really wanted, isn’t it?”

  He looked away from her, putting his face in total shadow. “Yeah. It is.”

  “I passed the van on my way here…the cops will have all the pieces to tie Scalpucci up for a long time.” She cleared her throat again, looked directly at his shadowed face. “You should know that I erased the existing pictures on your camera. What’s left should go to the police, one way or the other. Just wipe my prints, will you?”

  “Sure.” He finally turned back to her, his expression not what she’d expected—fierce enough to make her blink. “This is it, then? What you do? And you’re fine with all this hiding and skulking.”

  She laughed. “I excel at all this hiding and skulking. I even earn a very good living while I’m at it.” She took a step back, held her hands out in a take-a-look gesture. “This is me.” She changed from her standard public guise to a young woman with mocha skin and a free-form Afro. “And this.” A man—slight of stature, but with a mustache that mirrored Jeth’s. “And this.” And back to the public Sam again. “This is what I do.” And then, finally, she dropped the guises altogether. His eyes widened slightly; she knew what he saw. Sam with the shaggy, copper-touched hair, Sam with the gold-brown eyes and the strong flare of jaw and the stubborn chin. Wiry, with the high, narrow waist that would have looked so much better under a bigger cup size. Sam I Am. “I had hoped,” she said, “that with all you’ve seen tonight, you could understand why.”

  A twitch of his mustache gave away his small smile. “Holy freakin’ chameleon,” he said. “Damned if I don’t.”

  She looked at him a moment, holding his night-shadowed gaze and startled by the realization that this night was over. That if they walked away now, with nothing more said between them…

  She didn’t want that. She surprised herself, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to lose the honesty she’d seen and felt and offered here tonight. She didn’t want to lose—so quickly—the man who had shared it with her.

  “I had hoped,” she said, “that with all you’ve seen tonight…you might want more.”

  “Holy freakin’ me,” he said. “Damned if I—”

  Sam cut him short the best way she knew how—up close and personal with that mustache after all.

  UPGRADE

  Meredith Fletcher

  Dear Reader,

  I find technology so fascinating! In this world we live in, you really can’t escape it. (Well, I suppose you could, but it would mean giving up electricity and other necessary comforts.) And who would want to?

  I engage new software applications all the time (which has made me one of the greatest computer virus hunters in the world!) and pick up computer hardware that I can find the slightest excuse for (and a way to write it off on taxes!).

  With all of these changes taking place in our everyday lives, with the medical leaps we’ve made in rebuilding the human body, adjusting the brain, and fabricating organs and limbs, I can’t help but ask myself when the technology becomes available to rebuild ourselves in the image we want, will we? And what will happen then?

  That was one of the questions I posed to myself when I wrote “Upgrade.” If we have the ability to integrate the human body with computer systems, when will we stop? What will be left?

  When I was younger, I loved watching The Six Million Dollar Man. Steve Austin (Lee Majors) was just so yummy. He was the kind of guy you wanted to rescue you and “upgrade your security clearance.” But when The Bionic Woman spun out of that series, I wanted to be Jaime Sommers. Her stories, although with the same kind of bionic action, somehow came across as more human, more real. I really love the escapist action blended with human dynamics.

  Hopefully, that’s what you’ll find in “Upgrade” as Enhanced FBI Special Agent Christie Chace squares off against military bodyguard Dalton Geller are in a no-holds fight for what they both believe in. Both are dedicated to their cause, compelled to do their best. Poor them. Of course, you see, they’re doomed to fall in love. But that’s not so bad, is it?

  If you like this story and would like to see more set in the Enhanced universe, please let Harlequin and myself know. I can be reached at MFletcher1216@aol.com.

  Happy reading!

  Meredith Fletcher

  Chapter 1

  Washington, D.C. 2052

  10:57 p.m.

  Above the big barrel of the Colt .45 semiautomatic pistol pressed against Christie Chace’s forehead, the man’s sea-green eyes stirred like clouds in a sudden summer storm. He’s excited, she thought.

  She logged that fact in a nanosecond as she held her own Glock forty-caliber pistol where she thought his nose was. She couldn’t really be sure since he wore a flesh-tone electrostatic-cling face mask that covered everything but his eyes.

  “I hope that you’re as professional as you seem. If you’re not,” Christie said, holding her fear in check and reminding herself that he hadn’t fired yet and they might both get out of the situation alive, “I’m going to be embarrassed.”

  That caught the man’s attention. Interest flared in his gaze.

  Christie kept her breathing quiet and as relaxed as she could. After all, this wasn’t the first time that she’d had a gun pointed in her direction. She’d even been shot twice before, once in the line of duty and once during a private matter that had spiraled out of control. Of course, if things went badly tonight, it would be the first time she’d ever been shot in the head. And, at this range with the caliber of weapon the no-faced man held, it would probably also be the last time.

  She stared at the man, trying to make sense of his presence there. She couldn’t. In her capacity as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, she’d been assigned to shadow Arturo Gennady. Gennady was a major developer in the Enhanced program, which drastically augmented the human body for military and law enforcement purposes. Some of that technology was filtering into the private sector.

  A few days ago, Gennady had been contacted by blackmailers who threatened to expose one of his assistants if Gennady didn’t turn over copies of the project he was currently finishing up. Unwilling to sacrifice his assistant or knuckle under to the blackmailers, Gennady had turned to the FBI. Christie’s director of operations had turned to her.

  The Enhanced program was of personal interest to Christie. She’d been one of the first FBI volunteers to undergo the extensive two years of surgeries to augment her speed, strength, hearing and vision, and implant cutting-edge communications devices inside her body. Her father had been a police officer, so a career in law enforcement had more or less been in her blood. But her interest in technology stemmed from her own love of it.
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br />   Plus, volunteering for the program fast-tracked her career in the FBI.

  Covering the assignment, Christie had helped Gennady leverage the meeting place. Then she’d put her team in place, covering the warehouse area where the drop was supposed to go down. The plan was for the blackmailers to make contact, then FBI agents would take them into custody.

  The no-faced man dropping out of the darkness in the warehouse where she’d taken up an observation post like he did was a wrinkle Christie hadn’t planned on. The action had been supposed to take place out on the dockyards fronting the Potomac River.

  “I mean, it’s one thing to sneak up on me like you did,” Christie stated coolly, “and major style points for that because I don’t usually get caught off-guard, but I don’t see how you think you’re just going to walk away now. As a professional, I think you would agree that we have something of a standoff.”

  The sea-green eyes never blinked.

  “We can try to discuss this,” Christie suggested, “or we can shoot each other. Because I guarantee you I’m not going to back down.” She waited. “I think we could talk.”

  He said nothing.

  Okay, tough guy, she thought. Let’s dance.

  “We’ll go on three,” she said in a calm voice. “One, two…”

  “What?” Surprise echoed in his voice.

  “We’ll shoot each other. On three. I don’t see any other way out of this, do you?”

  His eyes tightened and she knew beneath the electrostatic-cling mask he was frowning, possibly irritated. She hoped like hell he was irritated. At least as irritated as she was. She hated surprises. Especially during an operation she’d planned for days.

  “And don’t think about shooting early,” she told him, “because I promise you I’ll still shoot. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fast.” He hadn’t counted on her speed when he’d sneaked up behind her. When she’d turned around and pushed her own pistol into his face, he’d been caught off-guard just as badly as she had. His eyes had gone wide with surprise.

  “Faster than anything I’ve ever seen,” the man admitted.

  He’s not afraid either. That fact irked Christie. If she were facing a scared perp, there was no telling what the outcome would be. With a professional, she was certain the man would know when to cut his losses or strike a deal. But his fearlessness of her was insulting.

  “One, two…” she began again.

  “Just like that?” the man asked, his voice tight with displeasure. “That’s how you want to do it? One, two…” He caught himself before he said three and stopped. “Then we just shoot each other?”

  “You have a favorite number?” Christie asked. “I’m amenable as hell, but I have to warn you—I get bored easily. If we have to count up to a three-digit number, I can’t promise I won’t pull the trigger early. Ten would be a real stretch, but if you want to go to ten, I’ll try.”

  She took a deep breath, drawing in his scent. Few criminals thought to change scents or deodorant after committing a crime. And interfering with an FBI agent during a stakeout was definitely a criminal action. From the smell of him, he bought expensive. Match the physical description she had of the guy—he was six-three at least, with broad shoulders and narrow hips encased in a black turtleneck, black jeans and black running shoes—and the scent, and she might have a case that would stick.

  Plus, the man didn’t know she was recording the encounter on audio and video, or that Operations Support had already been alerted to the situation.

  “Special Agent Chace,” the com-officer said smoothly, “at this time we can’t move any agents into your area without compromising the operation. Dr. Gennady’s blackmailers have arrived. I’m running the visual you’re sending through the identification databases. I haven’t gotten a positive ID yet.”

  The man standing in front of Christie didn’t hear the exchange because contact came over the telecom/recording unit in her right jawbone. The unit’s presence was undetectable except by CAT scan, part of the overall cutting-edge Enhanced cyberbundle hardwired into her body that accounted for the incredible display of speed that had caught her would-be captor standing flat-footed.

  Christie stared into his eyes, knowing she was on her own. Terrific. The blackmailers had to show up three minutes early, didn’t they?

  Billions of dollars were on the line, all of it government investments in national defense. This was also a presidential election year. No way was the director of operations going to let go of all that for the life of one special agent in the field. And, she had to admit, the fact that the no-faced man hadn’t shot her outright spoke volumes about restraint. Her D.O. wanted to take down the blackmailers at the stakeout. Grabbing No-Face for interference would be a side dish.

  “I have a favorite number,” the no-faced man said, and Christie couldn’t help noticing that his low baritone was sexy despite the muffling effect of the cling mask. “But I’m not too happy with shooting each other.”

  “Shooting each other?” Christie asked. “Or getting shot?”

  His eyes crinkled and she knew he was getting even more irritated. “Are you really as tough as you make yourself out to be?”

  “At gunpoint,” Christie replied, “do I have a choice?”

  “Chace.” The deep growl over the telecom/recording unit belonged to Stuart Fielding, the D.O. over her present assignment. “Don’t antagonize this man. I don’t want your mission blown.”

  “Yes, sir,” Christie said. “I can see how my getting shot would complicate things. I’ll do my best to see that it doesn’t happen.”

  No-Face’s eyes widened a little.

  Okay, so now he knew she had a com-unit on her. He should be more worried.

  “He’s not going to shoot you,” Fielding said. In his fifties, the D.O. was a coldly pragmatic man, supremely confident of his abilities and his judgment. He’d weathered terrorist action in the field inside the United States and its protectorates, as well as political meltdowns.

  What makes you so sure? Christie wondered. She felt panic hammering around in the back of her mind, but she held her service weapon in a loose, relaxed grip the way she’d been trained.

  “If he was going to shoot you, he’d already have done it,” Fielding went on.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Christie said, “but maybe he’s part of this.”

  “If he was, don’t you think he would have warned his buddies off by now?”

  “If I was part of anything,” No-Face said, “don’t you think I’d have called for reinforcements by now?”

  Okay, Christie thought. The votes are in.

  “I’ll get agents over to your position as soon as I can,” Fielding said. “Until then, sit on this guy.”

  Lovely, Christie thought. Despite her precarious situation, she couldn’t sit by while the stakeout played out without her. Dr. Gennady had believed in her and had put his life on the line to get to the people attempting to blackmail him over one of his research assistants who had a juvenile record for cracking into secure corporate technology development sites that the government hadn’t caught.

  Christie had worked with Dr. Arturo Gennady after the blackmailers had contacted him, and she’d gotten to know him. She’d promised him she would take care of him. No-Face was keeping her from doing that.

  She liked Gennady. He was in his seventies, his mind as sharp as his humor. The whole time he’d been with her, he’d been a complete gentleman, always kind and considerate.

  Gennady was also one of the foremost authorities on nanotechnology involving Enhanced musculature.

  Enhancement covered the vast array of cyberware that had been developed for implantation into the human body. After a long history of cosmetic surgeries and artificial organs and joint replacements, the development of Enhanced—the term agreed upon by the various corporations who had started developing and selling product lines—features designed for the human body was a natural progression. Gennady’s expertise was why the government had placed
him under contract and safeguarded his lab in Washington, D.C.

  He’d been scared when he’d come forward to let the Bureau know he’d been contacted by blackmailers trying to get their hands on research he was conducting.

  Mentally accessing the small computer at the back of her brain, Christie activated the video pickup programming. The live satellite feed juiced through the microfilaments connected to her left optic nerve, taking over the feed from eye to brain and basically opening a simulated video screen in the back of her head. Vision in her left eye went to black, then filled again with the primary digital camcorder view of the blackmailers’ drop site outside.

  Getting used to having two images in her head at once—one from her natural vision, if it could still be called that after all the vision enhancements she’d had done, and the other from the electronic programming—had taken time and effort. That feature alone had gotten a lot of agents released from the Bureau’s Enhanced pilot program when they hadn’t learned to adapt to the simultaneous feeds. Less than three months after the two-year-long period of Enhanced surgical operations to reconfigure her mind and body, she switched from one view to the other inside her head as naturally as breathing.

  She felt the man’s weight at the other end of her pistol. If that moved, she intended to start shooting.

  The warehouse she’d chosen as her observation point was seventy-three yards from the drop point. Nine other Bureau agents lurked in the shadows around the commercial docks of the Potomac River. She was the only Enhanced agent. If No-Face had come after one of them, chances were they would never have known about it. No-Face was damn good at skulking, and those men had purely human reflexes. Even being Enhanced, she’d barely brought the situation to a stalemate.