“Hold it, Ben.” Colonel Drake stood up, poured water over a tissue and passed it to Darcy. “This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with Darcy.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.” Darcy finally found her voice. She dabbed at her face and throat with the wet cloth. “It’s me. Not you. It’s all me.”
Frowning, he turned a hard glare on Darcy, but clearly recognizing her upset, his features quickly softened and he sat back down. “Darcy?” He pulled his chair closer to the table, and gentled his voice. “What the hell is wrong?”
“You explain,” Colonel Drake said, looking in Darcy’s direction. “I’ll have Amanda cut your orders.” Colonel Drake stood up. “Ben, who’s the nosiest agent at Los Casas?”
“Fred Burns.”
“Fine. We’ll put him out of commission.”
Shock elevated Ben’s pitch. “You’re going to kill him because he’s nosy?”
“Of course not.” She sniffed, affronted. “I’m sending him out on sick leave.”
“But he’s not sick.”
“He will be.” Colonel Drake left the conference room and shut the door.
Gape-jawed, Ben swerved a worried look to Darcy. “She’s not going to hurt him, is she?”
“Not really. He won’t feel well for a bit, but he’ll be fine.” Darcy swept her hair back from her face. Her forehead was soaked. “I can’t do this, Ben.”
“Why not?”
He hadn’t argued with her. Probably saw little sense in it. Her skin must still have a green-to-the-gills cast to it. “I have residual challenges from an injury sustained on a mission five years ago. They’re…substantial.”
“Talk straight to me, Darcy. I deserve it.”
He did. “I was trapped in a fire and the roof caved in on me. I got a severe head injury.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked confused. “But what has that got to do with this?”
She’d have to give him more sordid details. God, but she hated recalling them. Reliving them. Seeing Merry’s face in that fire. Her muscles clenched. She would not talk about Merry. With all of this going on, she just couldn’t take the added stress. She just couldn’t. I’m so sorry, Merry.
“Darcy?” he prodded. “Talk to me.”
She turned her attention to him and answered. “I stayed in a coma twenty-one days, Ben. When I woke up, I was…different.”
“Different?” Perplexed, he furrowed his brow. “How?”
She lowered her gaze to the conference table—smooth and slick and gleaming light. It didn’t look back or judge or see a person’s flaws. Its reflections were soft, and Darcy needed the forgiveness in those blurred edges. “I sense things now,” she said in a whisper. “And I have total recall.”
He looked up at the white ceiling, at the bald and bright fluorescent lights. “Are you an operative, Darcy?”
“I’m the chief intelligence analyst for the S.A.S.S.”
“That’s a cagey response.” He looked back at her.
“Not intentionally.”
He grunted his opinion on that, and thumbed the edge of the table. “You said you were on a mission then. Were you a covert operative?”
No answer. She was, but she couldn’t admit it then, and she couldn’t admit it now. To do so was paramount to treason. And if he’d been offered a S.A.S.S. assignment, he damn well knew it, which meant this was an ethics test.
“So since the fire, you can’t do field work anymore?”
She shifted on her seat and debated on what she could say that was both true and ethical. This was one of those times when combining the two proved difficult. “I can’t stand to be in a room with more than two people for longer than a few minutes. Going to the grocery store is sheer hell. Forget dropping by a club or seeing a movie—and a shopping mall?” She rolled her gaze. “They’re torture chambers.” She steadied herself and released a little held breath. “I can’t even go to a restaurant for dinner, Ben.”
“You’re afraid of crowds?”
“No, no, no. I’m not afraid,” she said impatiently. “You don’t get it.”
“I’m trying, Darcy.” He swiveled his chair and propped his arm on the table. “This is new to me, okay? Cut me a little slack.”
She stood up, leaned across the table toward him. “I have total recall, Ben. That means I process everything I see. I hear everything. I smell everything. Everything, Ben.”
“So in a group, you’re bombarded by everyone’s input, and it makes you a little nuts, right?”
“A lot nuts.” She sat back down. “Totally nuts.” Darcy wrung her hands. “I can’t function. It paralyzes me. My muscles go into such deep spasms that I lose control of them. I’m helpless.” Not to mention humiliated. “Sometimes the attacks are so severe that I can’t see or even stand up on my own.”
He looked up at her, his face changing from all hard angles and planes to ones softened by compassion. “I’m sorry you have to go through that, Darcy.”
“Me, too.” The understatement of the decade, that.
The skin between his eyebrows wrinkled. “So you isolate yourself most of the time, then.”
Was he being critical, or just curious? She studied him and decided he wasn’t being either, just trying to get an accurate understanding. “It’s essential for me to stay on an even keel, so I rarely interact with other people.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Actually, I’ve spent more time with you today than I have anyone else in months.”
That revelation surprised him. He sat completely still for a long moment that stretched between them. Then he did the oddest thing—a thing she couldn’t have expected or appreciated more.
He reached over and clasped her hand. “I really am sorry this happened to you, Darcy. Living apart…well, it’s got to be hard.”
A rush of heat swept up her arm from her fingertips to her elbow. He had great hands. Steady and large but not overbearing. Gentle, but definitely a man’s solid touch. “My own company isn’t that bad, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I get tired of it.” Why was she telling him this?
“I’m sure you do. Who wouldn’t?” He looked into her eyes and let her see inside him. “I spend a lot of time alone, too. Los Casas is pretty isolated. But I can go to Mick’s bar for a beer when I get tired of hearing myself think.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah.” He searched her face. “I didn’t realize it until today, but you’re right. Lucky me.”
He let go of her hand and straightened his back. “Well, under the circumstances, I guess we’re done.” He started to push off the table to stand up.
“Are you leaving?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Wait.” A flutter of panic lighted in her stomach. “You can’t go.”
“Excuse me?”
“We have to work together to stop the attack.”
He looked baffled. “Darcy, we can’t work together. You just gave me all the reasons why.”
“But—”
“But, what?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Just talking about taking this mission on has you close to fainting and throwing up.”
“I know, but, Ben, the consequences…”
“Darcy, listen.” He softened his voice. “Your courage is inspiring and your intentions are admirable. More than admirable, considering the personal costs. But realistically, how are you going to handle being at a very busy border crossing? Los Casas isn’t a little place with just a few tricklers strolling over every now and then. It’s remote, yes, but it’s also the third most active border-crossing in the State of Texas.”
“Oh, no.” Darcy blinked hard against the spots blinding her eyes. “I really can’t do it, Ben.” Anguish lighted in her eyes, tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I wish I could—I know the consequences of not stopping the attack—but…but I just can’t do it.”
“With utmost respect for you, I’d say all things considered, it’d be crazy for you to even try.”
“Crazy it might
be.” Colonel Drake left the door and walked across the room to them. “But, Darcy, not only will you try,” she said with steel in her voice, “you will succeed.”
Ben intervened. “Take a look at her, Colonel. There’s no way she can handle this mission.”
“She’d better find a way.” The commander cut loose a tone, revealing a temper as fiery as her short, spiked red hair. “We can’t use surveillance equipment. With the security improvements made since 9/11, any device we install will be detected. If Wexler so much as sniffs a whiff we’re involved, then he’ll blow off GRID. They’ll just activate an alternate route—one we’re not privy to—and GRID will succeed. Maybe we prevent the attack on the spectators at the White House, maybe not. But they will blow up something, and somewhere in this country, people are going to get sick and die.” She held her gaze on Darcy. “We must track GRID from Los Casas to pinpoint the targets. There’s no secondary path to them.” Swinging her gaze, she added, “And, Ben, remember this…. Without Darcy’s perfect memory, we’d be forced to rely on other means—any of which have high odds of being discovered. Remember, too, that discovery does not offer a positive outcome for your personal future.”
He shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. “They’d kill me.”
“They would.” Darcy groaned. GRID never left loose ends or potential witnesses. Minimizing risks through attrition was a steadfast rule with them.
“Glad you two get the full picture.” Colonel Drake passed Darcy an envelope. “Your power of attorney— Maggie’s up next on the recipient’s list—and your last will and testament. Review them both, complete the POA and make sure any changes you want are incorporated in your will. Have them ready by the time your orders are cut.”
Typical premission protocol, but one that had fear cutting through Darcy like a sharp knife. Swallowing hard, her hand unsteady, she reached for the envelope and lifted her gaze to Colonel Drake. “You realize I’m going to fail.”
“I realize no such thing,” she said, her expression and voice flat and unwavering. “You realize that if you fail, thousands of innocent people are going to die on July 4th and many more, in the years to come, are going to suffer terminal medical crises and disease.” Her jaw ticked and she looked at Darcy as if looking over glasses propped on the tip of her nose. “You can’t just roll over and accept failure, Darcy. They deserve better.”
“I know they do, Colonel. They deserve someone who can—”
“You swore to serve and protect them. They have every right to expect you to do it. I have every right to expect you to do it. And you have every right to expect it of yourself, Darcy. So just do what you’re expected to do.”
“I know my job and my duty. This isn’t about that.”
“What’s it about?”
“Not being able to do my job. I’m a realist, Colonel.”
Sally squared off on her. “You’re afraid, Captain.”
Anger sparked in Darcy’s stomach. Anger and five years’ worth of resentment erupted. “Hell, yes, I’m afraid. I don’t want to kill anyone else, and I can’t do this.”
“You can,” Colonel Drake shouted, then caught herself, and deliberately lowered her voice. She tugged at the hem of her blouse, pulled it down. “Dr. Vargus and I have spoken about your challenges at length, Darcy. He believes—and I agree with him—that your best odds of reclaiming a normal life are to suck it up and force yourself into hyperstimulated episodes until they become so common, they don’t affect you anymore.”
“That doesn’t work.” Darcy clenched her jaw. She’d tried. Damn it, she’d tried everything. True, they didn’t know it, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t tried it on her own.
“Suck it up, Darcy.” Colonel Drake moved back to the door, sliding Ben a cocked brow look that Darcy hated. “I’ve arranged for Fred Burns to be put out of commission. Maggie is taking care of inserting you as his replacement.” The colonel looked from Darcy to Ben. “Brief her on operations at Los Casas. I’ll be back with the orders as soon as we’re good to go.” She again walked out and closed the door.
Darcy felt her world spinning out of control, crashing down around her ears. “Suck it up.” She grunted, stood up and parked a hand on her hip. “Suck it up.”
Ben rolled his eyes back in his head. “Oh, hell.”
She spun on him. “What?”
“I know that look. It says you’re going into bitch mode.” He let out a heartfelt sigh. “Can you wait until later? I’ve had about all the fun I can stand in the past two days.”
“Not my problem.” She lifted a staying hand. “I’m busy sucking it up over here.” She walked around the table and stopped near him. “Of course, that equates to severe suffering that incapacitates me to various degrees, which could get me or you or others killed, but having no choice, I’ll just suck it up and hope for the best.”
Ben stared up at her for a long second, torn in internal debate. Finally, he made his call, stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. “Darcy, do you think Colonel Drake would put you in the field on a mission of this magnitude if she wasn’t sure you could do your job?”
“Normally, no. But it’s not like she has a lot of options, Ben. I’m the only S.A.S.S. resident with total recall. She’s stuck.”
“You really believe that?”
“It’s the truth. Of course, I believe it.” His hands felt warm on her shoulders. Warm and firm and far too pleasant. And he smelled good, too. She’d forgotten how good a man could smell when he’d been out in fresh air, earthy and tangy like summer.
“Then we’ve got a problem.”
“I know that,” she said sharply. “We’ve been talking about it for the last ten minutes.”
“You don’t understand.” He shook his head, then turned even more serious. Serious and grim. “First of all, I don’t believe Colonel Drake would insert you unless she felt you had reasonable odds for success. You don’t believe it, and on this, we’ll have to agree to disagree. But beyond that, if you’ve already decided to fail, I’m not going to work with you, Darcy. You can kill yourself, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you kill me.”
“I haven’t decided to fail,” she corrected him, prickly from his attitude and all the upset. “I intend to use all necessary means to succeed. But the odds aren’t stacked in my favor, and that’s just a fact, Ben.”
“So you intend to succeed, meaning you are going ahead with this.”
“I have to. I can’t sit here because I might have an attack and watch people die because I didn’t do anything.”
“Okay, then. That takes care of that. And isn’t going in with intentions of giving it our best—trying—all any of us can do?”
“Don’t oversimplify, Ben.” She crossed her arms. “We don’t all suffer from hyperstimulation attacks.” He was ignoring the parts he didn’t want to hear. Typical male attitude. Damn it.
“The rest of us have our demons, too.” The look in his eye turned remote.
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate, leaving her to wonder what he’d meant. Regardless, his insight changed her attitude. “Okay, so we both fight our demons and do our best to accomplish the mission.”
“That’s about the best we can do.” He shrugged.
He played her, but didn’t manipulate her without letting her know what he was doing. Actually, to be fair, she had to admit he wasn’t manipulating or playing her, just offering a shifted perspective. Whatever his demons were, he put them on par with hers. That saddened her. “We can do a little better,” she said.
“I don’t see how.”
She parked her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “We can pray that if anyone dies as a result of my involvement, it’s only me.” She let her fear shine in her eyes, knowing he’d never miss it. “I like you, Ben Kelly. I don’t want to kill you.”
He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple rippled in his throat. “I don’t want to kill you, either.”
“Well, that’s one point of agr
eement.” She blew out a staggered sigh.
“Let’s find another,” Ben said, and backed away from her. “Let’s put your Intel skills to work and trace ownership of TNT Incendiary Devices, Inc.”
“Definitely, but where’s your thinking on it?” Darcy shoved her chair up under the table.
“When Paco Santana and Lucas Wexler cut the deal, Santana was wearing this red shirt with the TNT emblem above the pocket. Call me skeptical, but I want to verify whose payroll he’s on in addition to GRID’s.”
“That, I can handle. Come on.” Darcy jerked her head toward the door. “We’ll go to my office and take a look.”
“What about Colonel Drake? Won’t she look for us here?”
“She’ll find us.”
Darcy led Ben down the hallway. “You know whatever we find,” he said, “won’t be good news.”
“Ha. Again, we agree.” They were on a roll. She shoved through a set of double doors that warned people to stay out. “But maybe, if we’re lucky, what we find won’t be deadly.”
He grunted. “Care to bank on it?”
“With GRID mixed up in this?” She considered it a full second just for show. “Not a chance.”
Ben looked to the left and right, then at Darcy’s hub. “Unusual office.”
Seeing the twenty-by-forty warehouse of unused furniture stacked in rows, and the shelves housing files that ran the full length of the area, and the hub where she’d carved out her workstation through his eyes, she had to agree that it was unusual. Her computer desk was clear of clutter, her desktop littered with piles of Intel reports and files on just about anything of interest to the S.A.S.S. She’d appropriated a drafting table and light where she mapped out areas of interest. To its right, she had placed a section of portable wall she’d snitched from the Providence warehouse. It was split into sections, each signifying a different S.A.S.S. mission. Every section was crammed full of tacked-up photos, reports and scraps of paper that bore pertinent notes written in her own personal shorthand no one else could decipher. Together, all the sections formed a cozy cubicle about fifteen-by-fifteen, which suited Darcy fine but would strike anyone accustomed to a normal office as unusual. More likely, she admitted, it’d strike them as weird.
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